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T ristan stole his wife away from the dance floor. The crowd shifted and spun around them, everyone preparing to make their way into the next room for supper. The two of them wound up in the hall, still catching their breath and uncertain of what to say.

“Goodness,” Verity breathed. “I cannot believe how quickly the evening has progressed. Warm in here, is it not?”

“Very warm,” Tristan agreed.

He didn’t remember dancing putting such a strain on his heart before. As he inhaled deeply, he glanced around and then stole another look at his wife. Her cheeks were a warm shade of pink, and her lips parted sweetly as she breathed in deeply, affected just like him.

He tried not to think about what that could mean. And yet he couldn’t help himself.

Was it the dancing that had warmed her? Or was it him? Had she enjoyed their dance?

He hadn’t meant to. When he had told her earlier that he didn’t prefer to dance, it was the truth. But then holding her in his arms had felt so perfect, so natural. She’d moved within his hold with such ease, understanding every word he didn’t have to tell her.

I had forgotten how splendid dancing could be. How she felt in my arms.

It was a dangerous thing to do, Tristan realized. But as he looked at his wife, he couldn’t see where the harm was. If he wanted to dance with her, then surely he should be granted that privilege. Perhaps if they danced again, they could begin to understand one another better.

“Your Grace?” Verity scooted a little closer as she gazed up at him, still using his title with so many of the ton nearby. “I did not expect to enjoy a waltz with you tonight. You’re a splendid dancer.”

“Thank you. And you are as well,” he offered.

“Thank you. Perhaps we can talk over supper?” she asked. “I feel as though there is much that has been left unsaid. What made you wish to dance with me this evening?”

He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. How had he already forgotten? His eyes narrowed as he remembered Halbridge.

The two of them had not seen each other for quite some time. In fact, they had not seen each other since Cassandra’s funeral. There had been a letter or two, but he’d set them aside with no intention of ever opening them. He had no need of further correspondence with that man.

Since Cassandra’s passing, he had put away most of the items that reminded him of her.

Her dresses and belongings were sent off, her maid was offered a position at another household, and so on.

All of her friends and acquaintances had disappeared, since none of them were his friends.

And her family had not been particularly friendly with him.

Whatever she told them about me, I don’t care to hear it. She fit a lifetime into our short years together. No further lies will draw my attention. It was simple enough to let her rest. Now, if only she would do the same. Halbridge, too.

Perhaps, Tristan decided though it was too late, he should have responded to those letters.

Now, all he could do was tell his wife, “It was only a dance. There is no reason behind it. A waltz is a waltz, is it not?”

His question was meant to be rhetorical. But the starry-eyed vision before him grew serious. She peered up at him, seeing through his every layer.

His Duchess saw too much. He didn’t know how she did it, and he felt his heart speed up.

“Perhaps, but you had already told me you didn’t wish to dance, so it made little sense for you to change your mind. Especially after our conversation in the parlor,” she pointed out, a hint of acid in her voice.

“Perhaps I wished to make amends,” he said, his voice hardening as well before he could catch himself.

She pursed her lips. “I wish that were the case, but I don’t believe it. Besides, you were watching me earlier.”

“A husband should always keep an eye on his wife. I vowed to protect you. We already discussed this. Do you still wish to attend supper?” he added, since the party around them had moved on but they did not. “I’m not certain I’m interested in dining with everyone tonight.”

As though that meant something to her, Verity hummed. “I see.”

He didn’t know what she meant, and it didn’t help when she continued speaking.

“Before you go, at least tell me why you cared so much to watch me with my last dance partner.”

Tristan looked away. “Duchess, you’re looking for something that isn’t there.”

“You’re lying,” she said, softening her voice. “What is it about him that bothers you so much? Lord Halbridge, is it not?”

The name made him stiffen. Verity really was too smart for her own good. And for his own good.

Grimacing, Tristan shook his head. “I’m not having this conversation. If you wish to stay, then stay. I’ll send the carriage back to you. Good night, wife.”

He turned down the next hall in haste to find hardly anyone there. No one would wish to leave halfway through a ball. But then he heard a quick patter of footsteps behind him. He let out a low curse.

He saw Verity approach out of the corner of his eye.

“You don’t like him,” she noted.

“I don’t like a lot of people,” he said flatly.

“You don’t enjoy the company of most people. I can understand and accept that. However, what I don’t understand is why his very name causes you to run from the room,” she pressed.

He huffed in irritation. “I’m not running.”

“You’re walking quickly,” she countered.

He glanced down at their feet, wondering if that was true. He tried to slow down before glancing at her. A small smirk curved her lips.

Too late, it had been a trick.

“That’s precisely what I thought. Did the two of you have an agreement?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He turned away from her to signal to the footmen at the door. One of them was already bringing over their affairs, and the other guided their carriage to the front steps.

Tristan hoped that was enough to pacify his wife. It should have been, since she didn’t strike him as much of a meddler. But they were hardly seated and on the move before she looked him right in the eye and asked, “Should I not have danced with him? Will that look ill of me?”

“I don’t care who you dance with.”

Verity rolled her eyes. “Except for Halbridge, apparently.”

“Stop saying his name, would you?”

“Then tell me whatever is the matter between the two of you! I don’t need the details or an entire novel. Just give me something to better understand him. Or you. Something, Tristan. Please.”

His voice came out harsh between clenched teeth. “No. No more. Not now, not ever. It’s none of your concern.”

Though her pretty plump lips parted like she wished to respond, Verity closed her mouth a moment later without saying a word. She stared at him for another minute.

He sat there, stiff and immobile, refusing to look back at her. But eventually, he watched as she crossed her arms in a huff and leaned back, offering only her profile to him.

It was one of the most uncomfortable carriage rides in his entire life.

Tristan stewed in silence, trying to focus on his thoughts as he defended his actions.

He had never raised his voice. He had let Cassandra walk all over him as he turned his back on her.

Again and again, he kept trying to do that with Verity, telling himself it didn’t matter.

That she didn’t matter. That she could do anything she liked so long as he wasn’t around.

Except here he was, having attended a ball just for her.

They arrived at the townhouse before he had decided on his next move. But Verity made it for him.

The moment the carriage rolled to a stop, she rose from her seat and climbed out without any assistance. She stomped past their driver and up toward the front door, ignoring even their footman as she stepped into the house.

Tristan gritted his teeth and followed after her. “Verity.”

It didn’t make sense how he was the one who kept angering her, hurting her. He wasn’t used to playing the villain, and he didn’t particularly care for it. Not with her.

Maybe he had to tell her something. But what?

He followed behind her, their footsteps echoing in the hall and up the stairs.

She walked on, and he noticed the way her hands curled into fists, tense roses wrapped in gloves. He wondered why she cared. Why she kept trying to learn more about him. Why it mattered to her.

“Verity.” It came out sharper than he had intended, but it stopped her.

Slowly, she turned around on the step above him, her frame silhouetted by the moonlight filtering through the large window beside her. It cast half her face in shadow. She was silver-blue and partial shadow, but he could sense the storm inside her.

“No,” she said in a clipped tone that gave him pause. “You cannot do this. You do not get to play the jealous husband if you will not act as a real husband.”

He nearly tripped.

Tristan stared at her. His jaw tightened as he met her gaze, neither of them looking away. Any man would surely be jealous of the one who danced with her. But then he reminded himself that it was more than that.

“You believe I was jealous?” he asked.

“I believe you glared at Lord Halbridge so hard you looked ready to drag him out into the street to keep him away from me,” she declared, lifting her chin.

He swallowed. Had he done that? He couldn’t remember. But the urge was certainly there. He would gladly drag that man away from his wife for a number of reasons.

“He was… he wasn’t being respectful,” was all he said in response.

“Perhaps he was too familiar with me,” she relented. “But he was there while you weren’t .”

He started when she moved up another step to put some distance between them.

“You ignore me when I let you. You say and offer little when I’m with you. You’re always keeping your distance, Tristan. But the one time someone looks at me— really looks at me—you decide you care.”

His hand tightened on the banister. He thought about letting the truth and pain out, about telling her everything. But what good would that do? She didn’t deserve to be haunted by his past.

“It’s not that simple,” he gritted out.

“Of course it is! We are one now. You married me. You gave me your name. And you’ve given me nothing after that. Not a glance and not a thought. How can you claim a stranger, Tristan?”

But you’re not a stranger. I do know you, Verity.

I listened. I know you prefer your tea and your favorite strolls out in the countryside.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite memories of your aunt.

You said so much when you brought me supper.

How you enjoy strawberries for dessert, your childhood dreams of exploring the world.

You haven’t been a stranger for a long time.

A lump formed in his throat as he gazed up at her, feeling worlds apart from her. He tried to find the words for the emotions warring inside him.

“I never wanted to claim you,” he said roughly while closing the distance between them.

He didn’t see why she kept moving away. All he needed was time to find the right words. And yet as he put his feet on the step below hers, meeting her head-on, he could smell her perfume. He felt her warm breath on his cheek, and the heady feeling had him holding tightly to the banister.

“Only I cannot recall how to stop wanting you.”

Verity let out a shaky breath. His gaze fell to her lips as she mumbled, “I don’t understand you.”

He wasn’t certain there was a person in all the universe who understood him right then. Not even himself.

His confidence wavered as he felt the world fading into the background. Everything about her distracted him, and he couldn’t think when she was this close to him.

“You undo me,” he murmured. His free hand rose of its own accord, slowly feeling the silk of her dress. “And I hate it.”

“You don’t have to fight it,” Verity whispered.

Her words were so soft that he pictured angel wings. A halo over her head. Perhaps someone as good as her could save what was left of him.

“Stop pretending you feel nothing.”

Moving his hand to her cheek, Tristan wasn’t very surprised to discover that she was as soft as he had imagined.

She didn’t move, silently reassuring him as she began to lean in. His heart pounded with an excitement he could barely comprehend. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, feeling her eyelashes flutter and her breath hitch.

This may be a mistake.

And yet he leaned in, yearning to know just how her lips felt. How warm they were, how sweet. Perhaps she would taste like summer strawberries or sweet champagne.

“We all make mistakes. Sometimes, they are still the right thing to do,” she responded, and he realized he had voiced his thought.

Their noses brushed gently, their lips so near. He didn’t think he could breathe. He didn’t know if she was breathing. They were so close, and all he could think about was connecting them in this moment once and for all.

But then Verity lifted her chin, and the moonlight shifted in her eyes.

Tristan couldn’t explain it, but at that moment, he found his thoughts and sanity. He inhaled deeply—a mistake, for he consumed her—and stepped back abruptly as if he had been burned.

“I can’t.”

“Tristan,” she started, a note of desperation in her voice.

He couldn’t turn around. He ducked his head and rushed past her. “Good night, Verity.”

He left her alone on the stairs, putting distance between them once again.

His heart pounded as he considered what had nearly transpired. How she had pulled him in with ease, how dearly he had wanted to kiss her and whisper his secrets, and how he could never let that happen.

Perhaps the distance would not be happy or satisfying, but it would keep them safe.