Page 28

W hile it was surely meant to be a blessing to have such a distinguished and honorable duke for a husband, Verity felt more inclined to throttle him instead of thanking him for bringing her to the Renfields’ Harvest Ball four nights later.

The Earl and Countess welcomed them in the receiving line, as did their three dogs that nearly ripped Verity’s dress.

If they did, could I have used this as an excuse to leave?

But she wouldn’t leave. She knew this, and Tristan probably knew this as well. This was a ball, and no one dared to leave before midnight. Besides, she had loved the Countess’s previous balls; surely, she would enjoy this one as well.

But I wish I knew what Tristan is up to this evening. Why did he accept the invitation? If only I could bring myself to ask him.

Hearing him accept the invitation to the ball had stunned her so much that she had been at a loss for words, unable to think straight for hours. But by then, she was alone. She didn’t bring him a dinner tray that night or the nights that followed, still trying to understand.

She almost hadn’t prepared for tonight, supposing he must have changed his mind. But he was there when she was ready to leave.

“Duchess,” he had murmured while helping her into the carriage, instead of letting a footman do his duty. She could swear she had felt his heat, though they both wore gloves.

That was the first word Tristan had said to her in days.

“Do you wish to take my arm?”

She started now, fiddling with her reticule. It was new and matched her very lovely gown. Boasting a similar cut to the green one, it was a midnight blue instead, with a silver lace trim. Tiny beads formed stars around her sleeves, and several star pins were placed into her hair as well.

Looking up at Tristan, she felt the air rush out of her lungs. Her husband stared at her with such intensity that she felt like he might very well consume her very existence.

He appeared so composed. He spoke in a low voice so no one else could hear him, offering a touch only when it seemed necessary.

Judging by the curious stares, she supposed it was for the best. She gave a slight nod of her head. It took her a minute to find her voice. Once he lifted his arm, she accepted it.

“Thank you, husband,” she murmured.

“My pleasure.”

For a second, Verity held her breath, thinking he might say something more.

They were standing off to the side of the ballroom, where everyone could see them. Wouldn’t he wish to leave the room for a smaller one?

She was learning that he cared little for crowds in close quarters. But he said nothing. It was like he was waiting for her.

If he is, can he not just tell me?

She let out a long, annoyed sigh. Just when she thought they were making progress in their relationship, he erected a long, wide, icy wall between them.

Unable to take it any longer, Verity asked, “Where would you like to go?”

“I have no interests here.”

Except he was the one who had accepted the invitation to the ball.

Verity wondered if she would regret tonight. But she would at least try to work with him. “Very well. Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“No.”

She felt like she was pulling teeth.

Letting out a slow breath to contain her frustration, she feared she had somehow undone all the progress they had made. Again, they were strangers.

“Surely there is something you would like to do,” she pressed, unable to contain all her ire. “You came here tonight, after all. Is there anything you would like to enjoy?”

Tristan paused, leaning in, and her hope grew.

Then, it deflated abruptly as he extricated his arm from hers. “Please enjoy yourself as you desire. There is no need to hover around me all evening. If you’re thirsty, you can?—”

“How generous of you,” she cut in with a fake smile.

“It is what is best, is it not?”

“As I said, generous.” Then, she walked away. She didn’t want him doing it first.

She took out her fan as she waded through the crowd, knowing he wouldn’t follow her, as the heat of so many bodies warmed the room considerably. She heard Helena before spotting her, caught up with at least five suitors all swooning over her.

“Oh, an absolute angel! Be a dear and come settle this argument,” her friend called with a giddy smile. “They don’t believe I can shoot a rifle. What say you?”

After nodding at the suitors, Verity said, “I believe that no one should be underestimated if they are determined.”

“Aha!” Helena giggled.

“But you shouldn’t need a rifle, My Lady,” said one of the younger men, flushed red with moony eyes. “You have all of us to protect you.”

The widow teased her suitors mercilessly, and Verity hovered by for some time. She laughed at their jests until her cheeks ached. Her eyes darted around the room constantly, though she told herself she wasn’t searching for anyone. Especially not her husband.

Just as she was wondering if she was entertained or desperate not to be bored, a new face appeared before her.

“I know you,” she blurted as he offered a graceful bow to her.

Helena was giggling with another gentleman, not even aware of the new addition to the group.

Verity studied the golden-haired man’s wicked grin. “Ashcombe, isn’t it? Whatever are you doing here?”

“That would be one of the most boring answers I could give you, my dear Duchess,” he drawled, before extending his arm. “Might we entertain ourselves with a reel instead? I cannot stand to see a beautiful lady trapped in the shadows.”

A light laugh escaped her. “Now you’re mocking me. I’m not trapped.”

Tsking, he moved forward to put her hand on his arm all the same. A dubious move that could have people whispering. But his back was turned to everyone, blocking the gesture from view. He was familiar with rakish behavior then.

She paused to consider him more carefully.

“There. Now you’re not trapped at all. You can dance, can you not?”

“You’re not at all like my husband,” she remarked.

“A pity, a crime, and a blessing.” Ashcombe tapped his nose before pulling her into the crowd. He did so with ease.

She recalled their light conversation on her wedding day and decided he must be harmless. At least to her, if he truly was a good friend to her husband. Wherever he might be.

“He’s off in the smoking room if you wish to find him after our dance.”

Verity hesitated before shrugging, joining him to take her position amongst the dancers.

Quick music and light feet distracted her.

She moved gracefully, as did her partner.

Every now and then, he would make the most amusing face or point out something silly happening nearby.

Someone missing their steps, someone else trying to steal a kiss, and so on.

The man was absurdly observant and witty.

By the time they finished the set, Verity could hardly breathe for all their laughter.

He gestured again to the dance floor, but she shook her head. “I could not, Duke. Or else I will fall in a dead faint.”

“A new dance, I believe. You’ll be the most fashionable lady in London,” he teased.

She shook her head with a grin. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What is the fun in being anything else?” he argued, steering her around a large group. “You’re lovely enough to do as you desire. And since you only missed three dance steps?—”

“Two,” she corrected. “The third was your fault.”

And yet his wicked grin never faltered. “I believe you owe it to all of us to begin a new trend. A new fashion! Come now, London will grow dull and gray tomorrow if we do not have our entertainment.”

Tsking, Verity wiped her brow before moving to a quieter corner. He followed, and she blurted out, “You are the most amusing man I have ever met, I must admit. If only my husband could be as lighthearted or as exciting as you are.”

“Oh, come now. Tristan is a solid fellow. He has brains for days if you let him talk. We can’t all talk the loudest or be the most obnoxious. Your husband is a very good man,” he said seriously.

Shame crept onto her cheeks as she nodded, quickly correcting herself. “I’m very sorry, Your Grace, I shouldn’t have said that. You are correct. Tristan is a good man, and I do respect him. I only… Well, I respect him.”

Ashcombe sobered up as well. Tilting his head, he studied her with a wry smile. It also felt a little sad, though it did nothing to ease her nerves.

What if he went to Tristan and told him what she had said? She didn’t want her husband to be upset with her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Ashcome said finally. His brow creased as he gave her a serious look. Something told her he wasn’t this frank often. “He needs people in his corner. Good people. He’s been alone for too long.”

She felt like he was trying to tell her something, but what it was, she didn’t know.

Verity nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Of course, her boldness was bound to get her into trouble. The drink and the dancing had loosened her tongue in a manner she couldn’t trust.

“Yes, certainly,” she mumbled sheepishly. “I entirely agree. I should… I should go see to him now. If you’ll excuse me.”

She escaped the ballroom, twisting free of the conversation.

The unease in her stomach grew thick with every step.

The hot air didn’t help either. She pulled out her fan once again and tried to cool herself, but it wasn’t until she reached a near-empty hall that she found the temperature more tolerable.

It didn’t take her long to find the smoking room. There was a small sign on the door that confirmed the intended use, and there were three men speaking low in the hall beside the door.

Verity slowed down when she heard Tristan’s voice. He was one of those men, and when he said her name, she froze.

“Whatever you have to say about the Duchess will be said to me. Lady Northcott is my wife, which makes her father mine,” he was saying in a low, dark voice. It was more than stern, nearly harsh. She’d never heard him speak like that before.

A shiver ran down her spine.

“Do not ever speak ill of the Marquess again. I will not have it.”

Her heart pounded as she stared at him in wonder, hardly believing that someone would protect her like this.

Tristan would protect her honor, but they’d hardly discussed her father. As her breath caught, she feared she had misunderstood her husband all along.