Page 16

T ristan tried to ignore the gray clouds to the best of his abilities once he was back on his horse, headed toward London.

If only they would hold themselves together until he was in the city. All they needed to do was make it to his townhouse. He even sent up a short prayer in an admittedly annoyed tone in the hopes that no storm would delay them further.

I can see the city there. It’s less than half a day’s ride away.

Galloping away from the carriage would be extremely brusque, but surely they would understand.

And yet I know I dare not. These people and creatures are my responsibility.

Oh Lord, just hold the rain at bay for a little longer—that is all I ask.

He was still praying when he felt the first droplet of rain.

“Your Grace?” His driver, Trevor Wimbley, glanced over with a dubious look on his face. “It’ll be a nasty torrent. We won’t make it tonight.”

We could have if we hadn’t stopped to eat.

Stopping himself from glaring at the carriage, Tristan focused on the driver. The two of them studied the sky and the landscape, the unfortunate truth clear but inevitable.

“There’s a decent hotel over the next ridge, Your Grace.” Trevor sniffed as more raindrops began to pelt his head. “Brand new. Will suit your needs.”

A clap of thunder sounded overhead, and Tristan felt his horse tense up, shaking slightly. He sighed in irritation before putting a hand on his horse’s neck to soothe him. “Blast it. Fine, let’s go.”

Risks increased too quickly for his liking in the rain. There were countless ways for one to perish in a storm, should they be caught even for a moment. He should have refused Verity’s request to have the picnic. He should have pushed them onward. He should have known the weather would turn.

“Er, Your Grace?”

He whirled back to the driver, who merely blinked at him.

Trevor had been with him for some time, mostly doing odd jobs. He had few skills beyond carving bits of wood. But Tristan had taken him in some time ago, appreciating the man’s calm disposition. He might occasionally move as slow as a snail, but he never failed in anything he did.

“It’s raining,” Trevor said. “Rather hard.”

Tristan squinted at him. “And…?”

“Does Your Grace wish to ride in the carriage, then?”

It seemed a rather useless thing to do. They’d have to stop the horses and the carriage, tie his horse to the side, and then climb in, only to spread water inside their little shelter.

Though Tristan was prepared to weather the storm—he’d been a soldier and could do whatever was necessary, given the situation—Trevor was already slowing down the carriage.

“Fine,” Tristan relented. “I’ll only be a moment switching over.”

“We’ll be all right.”

Whether the driver was referring to himself, the horses, or Tristan, he could not know.

Tristan didn’t want to start asking questions, as he saw lightning strike far ahead. His horse twitched. Sliding down from the saddle, he calmed the creature before tying him to the back of the carriage. Then, he hastened over to the door and yanked it open.

“Oh!” He’d forgotten that Verity’s maid was there.

Too late, he was climbing in. He hesitated for a moment, however, half in and half out as he debated where to sit.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Verity said, shoving him back. He might have protested, but then she rose from her bench to join the maid, leaving one side open for him. “Do join us.”

Something about her tone chafed at him deep down in the spine, as if she was mocking him.

He huffed and plopped down on the bench. Once he closed the door, he rapped on the ceiling so Trevor could get them moving once again to someplace dry.

He rubbed his hands over his face and hair, feeling the chill seep into him. His clothes and hair were soaked through. Grimacing, he shifted but found little way of hope.

And then he heard a muffled sound. Almost like a giggle.

That gave him pause. He glanced up at the two women. While the maid tended to her knitting, his wife was peeking through the curtain with wide eyes and her hand over her mouth.

When she finally glanced at him, he noted the pink flush on her cheeks. “Yes, Your Grace?” she asked.

“I said nothing, but I believe you might have.”

Her bright eyes widened to twice their size. “Certainly not. Is something amiss?”

“No. No, I am merely… soaked.”

There came that sound again, a playful little giggle that stopped short when she clapped her other hand over her mouth.

“How dreadful,” she said in a muffled voice.

Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Do you find this amusing?”

“Would it be so awful if I did?” she asked innocently.

“It would be rather childish behavior,” he thought it best to point out.

Somehow, that was what convinced Verity to put her hands down so she could flash him a smile. “That’s a bold comment, coming from someone who enjoyed an afternoon picnic not two hours ago.”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“And yet you joined us. I suppose today is filled with childish behavior. Perhaps when we leave this carriage, we might go stomping in puddles, shall we?”

“I’ll purchase you a toy boat to float down the river so long as you do not splash me,” he sighed, not particularly pleased by company hell-bent on teasing him. It reminded him of his friends but in a different manner.

Verity threw her head back and laughed. The merry sound tumbled past her lips with ease, her eyes bright and her lips turned upward. She was the human depiction of what he thought the Queen of the Fairies might be like: playful and beautiful.

He swallowed hard, trying to look away.

“I would love to have a toy boat, I must say. Bribery works too well,” Verity murmured after letting out a sigh.

She shifted, tugging at a blanket she’d been partially sitting on. The maid moved as well. Instead of wrapping the blanket around herself, however, she leaned toward him.

“Here you are; it’ll warm you up.”

She attempted to wrap the blanket around his shoulders, and he flinched when her hand touched his cheek. How warm she was.

“I am not a child.”

“Then don’t act like one,” she said with a simple smile.

She sat back, and suddenly everything felt too cold. He grudgingly pulled the blanket around him tighter, wondering what it would have been like to allow that intimacy.

“Are we still bound for London tonight? It feels as though we are slowing down.”

Welcoming the change of topic, Tristan answered, “We’re not going any further than we can. The storm could carry on all night, and I will not risk anyone’s life, including those of the horses. We’ll spend the night at a nearby hotel.”

“I didn’t think hotels were appropriate for ladies?” Curiosity had her looking out the window again.

“The good ones are, and you’re married.”

“Duchesses can do anything they like?”

He hardly hesitated. “Yes, so long as they don’t take toy boats into the Serpentine.”

Warmth spread through him as Verity gave him a knowing smile. Something about this felt more than an argument. There was light teasing and nothing serious to it. He wondered if he had misjudged her along the way. But there was little time to sit and ponder as they pulled up to the hotel.

Setting the small victory of making his wife smile and laugh all in one day aside, Tristan went on to put their evening to rights. Their carriage rolled to a stop under a wide awning, allowing him to climb out without getting more soaked.

He missed the blanket immediately. To his surprise, Verity didn’t stay behind and instead grabbed his arm so they entered together. She was warm, keeping him from shivering, though she couldn’t possibly know it.

When he pulled her a little closer, she didn’t seem to mind.

The staff tripped over themselves, offering their finest suite of three rooms for their party. Verity thanked everyone before they finally made it to their rooms.

“Well, isn’t this lovely!” She walked in further to brush her fingers across a tapestry on the wall. She was taking their detour with such stride that Tristan began to feel embarrassed about his dark mood. “It’s cozy. And people live in a place like this, don’t they?”

“They oft let rooms like this, yes. Typically to bachelors or merchants and such,” Tristan explained while carefully setting down his hat.

Sighing loudly, Verity collapsed on the nearest sofa. “What an exhausting day! I would like to sleep for two days after such a long journey. I pray it will be comfortable someday.”

Recalling his short stint in the carriage, Tristan frowned. She was correct. His backside ached somewhat, though he couldn’t have been in the carriage for more than half an hour.

He pulled out his pocket watch to confirm, unable to imagine being cooped up in there for an hour. Or a day. Or several days.

“Perhaps you can explore new options for improving the carriage,” he muttered. “Once we are in London.”

“Oh, could I?”

He snapped his watch shut. “Some expenses are worth the trouble.”

There was a question in her eyes when he glanced her way. She took a step toward him, and he remembered the feel of her warmth at his side. Many husbands cozied up to their wives on rainy, cold nights like this. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t .

“I thought—” she started hopefully.

“The hour is late,” Tristan said, though it wasn’t true. “I believe I’ll retire early in my chamber. Do you need anything?”

Slowly stepping back, Verity shook her head. “No, Tristan. I’ll be just fine. Good night.”

It was easier to breathe when he looked away. He gave her a nod and then left, hoping she didn’t notice how quickly he moved to his room.

“Why won’t you simply do as I ask and give me what I want?

” Tristan could hear Cassandra’s pitiful plea in the back of his mind.

“I am not asking for the world. A few jewels and a few new dresses! You are not poor, are you? Ollie would have told me if your coffers were empty. Why can’t you be like Ollie? ”