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Rising to his feet, he quietly refilled his glass before bringing the bottle to Tristan. But Tristan ignored it as Julian retook his seat.

“You’ve carried too much for too long, you madman. Friends are supposed to share their secrets and pain.”

Tristan shook his head. “You have your own secrets.”

“Not important ones,” Julian teased. Then, he gave a quick shake of his head. “I could have been here for you.”

“You have been. More than anyone else,” Tristan admitted.

“Very well, if you say that is enough. But what now, Tristan? Will you simply let her go? Will you never explain everything?”

He sighed. “How could I? I cannot dispute old papers. I don’t even know where they came from. But it was Cassandra’s handwriting. She may have never detailed her crimes, but she made certain to list all of mine. I am no saint.”

Tsking, Julian proclaimed, “That would hardly be enjoyable. No, perhaps you cannot do anything about those papers. But what if she wrote more details? Do you still have her journals? That’s where you said the papers might have come from.”

“Perhaps. But I had the staff remove everything. I think some of it went back to what is left of her family—anything that didn’t hold value to my title or name,” Tristan said.

He couldn’t think of much in general that might have been on that list.

“So those papers came out of nowhere?” Julian frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. Was the Duchess holding onto them until the perfect moment?”

Tristan closed his eyes. His head ached. He was still covered in sweat and dirt. All he wanted was to lie down and stop thinking. But his mind snagged on his friend’s questions.

She would have been angry to read those papers. She wouldn’t have waited, reading them over and over. No, she would have had to just find them.

Opening his eyes, he straightened up. “A package came that evening. It must have included the papers.”

That only confused Julian further. He shook his head. “A package? That’s preposterous. Who would send you a package containing some of Cassandra’s papers?”

Tristan rose to his feet. There was something there, he could sense it in the back of his mind. A ghostly whisper and a pointed jab. A harsh glare meant just for him.

He furrowed his brow, pinched his nose, and started to pace as he tried to recall the connection.

Someone sent it to her, not to me. She wouldn’t open my correspondence. She refused to open anything that was sent to us both unless she was in my presence.

No, it was sent to her just that evening. She wouldn’t have understood much of it, would she? That was done to hurt me more than her.

He couldn’t think of anyone who might wish to hurt Verity, for she was obviously well-liked by the ladies. Some of the men were trouble, he supposed.

Then, he froze in his tracks.

Ice splintered through his body, burrowing into his heart. Tristan turned around slowly to stare at his friend as he fought the fear clawing up his throat.

Julian took a step forward, his brow creased. “What is it?”

“I hadn’t thought…” Tristan shook his head. It hurt to breathe. To think. “It was on purpose. He wants to destroy me. He even said…”

There’s only one man in the world who hates me enough to hurt anyone in my life.

A sunny day just a few years back came to mind.

Cassandra’s funeral had been quite busy.

Women were too frail for such affairs, but several men in the ton attended to pay their respects.

Many had adored her. Tristan hardly knew any of them and didn’t care.

He wanted to be done with it all and leave the woman behind.

But her cousin had come over. A tall, slightly older bitter man with a sharp smile at everyone except Tristan.

When he approached, he leveled Tristan with a scowl. “It is your fault. My beloved cousin would still be alive if you had done better by her.”

It wasn’t the first time Tristan had heard those words from him.

“It was a natural death. Your request for an inquisition died before it reached the courts,” he had pointed out. “Everyone knows she fell ill. Cassandra’s loss pains us all. I ensured the best possible care throughout her sickness.”

“Don’t say that.” Her cousin nearly shook with rage, his hands balled into fists. “You never deserved her.”

All Tristan could do was nod. He turned, ready to leave Lord Halbridge behind.

They had never moved in the same circles, and he saw even less reason now to keep company with the man.

Halbridge had a reputation for being power-hungry and vindictive over the smallest slight.

Perhaps such harsh character was in their blood.

Before he could go, Halbridge had grabbed his elbow.

“This is your fault, and someday I shall prove it. You deserve nothing. I don’t care that you are a duke.

I will make sure that you rue every wrong you did Cassandra.

You’ll learn. If you ever find another woman, I will destroy her just as you destroyed my cousin. ”

Tristan had left and cared not a wit for those words. He was a duke, after all. He could not be touched. And why would he marry again, let alone entertain another lady? Cassandra had made him swear off women in every way.

How did I forget this when we married? After we married?

Tristan shook his head, his eyes wide. “Now. We must find her now. She’s in danger.”

“Danger?” His friend started to relax. “What on earth does that mean? In danger of what? Never coming back to you?”

Tristan grabbed the man’s arm and dragged him out of the room. He would need to wash up, but it would be the quickest bath of his life. Horses would have to be saddled in the meantime. He plotted out their actions while telling Julian about the dangerous Halbridge.

“Would he really harm her?” Julian asked, still not entirely convinced.

“Does it matter?” Tristan growled. “The threat is here. It’s obvious. He must have been the one to deliver the letters. I have to find her at once!”

“Do you even know where she is?”

His steps faltered on the stairs. “No. But I will scour the churches and rookery and countryside until I do. We’ll start with places she frequents; I already have a list in my head. Have the horses saddled so we can leave at once.”

Before he could say another word, Julian stopped him on the stairs. His friend eyed him curiously. “Tristan, I must ask you this. Do you love Verity?”

Tristan felt his throat tighten.

“All I do is hurt her,” he said in a rough voice. “That is all I have done. How could I love her?”

Julian frowned. “People in love can hurt each other. Trust me.”

“I don’t know Verity well enough to love her.

I have regrets, Julian. I have been harsher and more silent with her than I ever was with you and our friends.

Everything I did around her was wrong. But I care for her.

I care how she adores skipping and gardening, how often she writes to her aunt, how she loves attending balls—though I cannot fathom the reason why, and for some reason, she kept trying to talk my ear off about the silliest things that… ”

The thudding of his heart made him waver. He grabbed the railing tightly as the realization seeped through him like a warm cup of tea.

“I don’t know what love is,” Verity had told him once.

“But I imagine it’s warm and comfortable.

That it listens and hears another’s heart.

We all make mistakes, but it’s the effort that comes after that really makes a difference.

I’ve always thought of it like a quiet wind that comforts the soul. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

No, it’s not lovely. It is torture. What if I have made too many mistakes?

“I do.” Tristan swallowed hard as the truth crashed into him. “I do love her. And I cannot see her harmed, Julian. We must find her.”