Page 43

T ristan had forced his horse to gallop through the dreadfully wet weather into the countryside.

Though he had suffered many a day like this in the cavalry, his horse had not been with him to survive such an experience.

It made his steed rather irritated and unhappy, and thus more than relieved to finally reach Redcliff Manor.

This was where Verity had to be.

He’d already called on Lady Marsten, who merely recommended fresh air to solve their marital troubles.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize she was offering him a clue.

She’d winked and sent him on his way without letting him cross the threshold, oozing a playfully irritating charm that reminded him of his friends.

While he had sent Julian off to find Halbridge, Tristan had traveled through a dreary morning to reach his country seat. The house was still closed up when he had arrived, thus forcing him to come here.

I should have thought to check Redcliff Manor first. Verity would want to be where she is loved. Where she feels safe. Where she knows I would never look. But if I could find her, so could Halbridge.

“My Lord?” The door opened to reveal a young footman, his mouth gaping open.

“Here.” Tristan had pulled his horse up the steps to keep the poor creature out of the rain. He handed the reins to the footman while stepping inside. “Where is she?”

Clearly flustered, the footman looked him over and then at the horse. “I… The lady of the house is still abed.”

“Which lady?”

“Pardon?”

Tristan’s hands curled into fists at his sides in impatience. He looked around the hall for some clue of where to find his wife. Surely she was here somewhere. He just needed to find her and take her away to someplace safe for now.

Most likely, it will be done with her kicking and screaming. Would she believe me if I told her she was in danger? I may have to convince her some other way.

“The Duchess,” he demanded, sounding harsher than he had meant to. But time was of the essence here. “Is she abed? Where can I find her?”

He wasn’t going to mix them up again. The memory of him doing that three months ago when he had first crossed this threshold flashed through his mind. He had confused Verity for a servant back then.

How he had made such a mistake, he didn’t understand. The way his wife held herself at all times proved not just her class but her nature.

What a blasted fool I have been.

“Her Grace…”

“Well?”

The footman jumped as the horse pulled the reins. Struggling not to lose them, he glanced over his shoulder before telling Tristan, “She is attending to a guest at the moment.”

“What?” Tristan barked. “Who?”

“He didn’t say––oh!” His horse pulled the reins again, tugging the footman off his feet for a second.

Tristan shook his head and turned away. His horse was hungry and cold; obviously, he would be seeking something that might interest him more than the front stairs of a strange house. The footman would be fine, albeit wet from the rain.

Running a hand through his hair, Tristan took off his hat and cloak to shed some of the rain. But he had time for nothing more.

It must be a tenant. It must be a guest she knows. Halbridge wouldn’t know where to find her. Would he? They don’t know each other very well.

Does she even know his name? They would if they danced together. But who introduced them? What did they say when they danced? If only I wasn’t such a fool, I could have learned ? —

“I will have my revenge!”

Tristan whipped his head around so quickly that he heard a crack. Was that muffled voice Halbridge’s? He couldn’t be certain.

The doors to the parlor on his left were closed—the room where he’d first met Lady Wetherby. But no one entertained with closed doors.

Then, he heard Verity cry out. “Don’t you dare, you––”

Tristan slammed the doors open at once, shoving them with all his might at the sound of his wife’s distress.

It didn’t require being in the same room as her to hear the fear in her voice.

He was glad he had arrived on time, relief flooding through his soul as he finally laid eyes on her after eight painful days apart.

“Verity.”

Though he could reach her in four strides, he’d have to push Halbridge out of the way. But Tristan needed a moment to see her. He heard the hitch in her breath. He saw the way her hands covered her stomach.

She looked well, he thought. He hoped . But a little tired. Had she been able to sleep better than he had?

“Tristan. Your Grace,” she amended after a heartbeat, in a voice so small it made him want to tear the world apart until she felt brave enough to speak aloud.

Her eyes darted to Halbridge, reminding him that they were not alone. Still, Tristan’s body shook with rage as he turned to the bastard.

An uneasy silence fell over the room. Water dripped from his clothes, though he’d hardly felt the cold and wet on his journey.

Drip, drip, drip.

Halbridge really was here. How he had found Verity and arrived before him didn’t matter. Whatever he might have said and done, Tristan would fix it. He would tear the man to shreds if he must. The mere thought of a threat against Verity was enough for him to desire nothing but violence.

“You.” Halbridge spat at his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my home.”

“It is not.”

Tristan stepped forward. “Where she goes, I go. She is my home. Whether we are together or apart, she is still with me, and I am still with her. Do you understand me?”

“What, that you set her aside for Cassandra?”

“Cassandra is gone,” Tristan corrected the madman sharply.

Verity sucked in a sharp breath, just as Halbridge swung his fist at Tristan, eager to cause harm. But Tristan jumped back quickly, the blow barely grazing him. He didn’t even feel it as he shoved the man away.

Except Halbridge was determined. He cursed loudly and swung again. Thankful for the wrestling and boxing he had enjoyed with his friends at university and during his years in the army, Tristan dodged him once again.

“Tristan!” Verity cried out when Halbridge suddenly kicked him hard in the leg, nearly throwing him off balance.

It was a brief tussle before Tristan had Halbridge pinned against the mantelpiece. They breathed hard, glaring at each other. Fury surged through Tristan like nothing he had ever known. He grappled with his emotions more than with the man, trying to keep his senses.

“I warned you,” Halbridge hissed, spittle flying from his mouth. “You took her from me.”

“She died of her own foolish mistakes,” Tristan corrected him.

He spoke low and tight, never raising his voice.

“She cared little for her health. She always took the wrong risks. You knew this once. I know you did. A mere cold can turn into something worse. If I had known in time that Cassandra was ill, I would have ensured she received proper medical care. But she told no one. Not you and not me. The fault does not lie with either of us, Halbridge. And it certainly does not lie with my innocent wife.”

Halbridge dared to shift his gaze to Verity. Tristan pressed his forearm harder against the man’s windpipe. His grip on him was firm, easy to maintain. He relaxed his shoulders and focused on the man he had once called his cousin.

“You are not welcome here, do you understand me?”

“I don’t––”

Tristan flexed his arm, nearly choking him. “Do you understand?”

A growl of frustration escaped. After fidgeting and wheezing for a minute, however, Halbridge went limp. He huffed and glared, but at last, he nodded.

“Let me make myself clear, in case you’re hard of hearing, Halbridge,” Tristan hissed.

The hardest part was restraining himself.

But he forced himself to stay put, to keep talking.

“You are not welcome in this house or this county. While I may not have the power to force you out of London, I can make sure that you never step into a ballroom ever again.”

“You can’t!”

“I can do anything, Halbridge. You blamed me for your cousin’s death long enough.

I suggest you go on a very long trip to reconsider your conspiracies.

Never again will you talk to us, greet us, or send us correspondence.

In fifty years, I do not care if you have had a change of heart. Because I won’t.

“The next time you see me, I want you to turn around and walk out. The next time you even think you glimpse my wife, I want you to turn around and walk in the opposite direction. Because if you ever come near her again, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

A weak wheeze escaped Halbridge’s lips. His eyes bulged, and Tristan pulled back his arm just a little.

“Fine!” Halbridge wheezed.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes! Now, let go of me!”

“I will. But first, you will beg for my wife’s forgiveness, give her a proper bow, and leave us for good.”

Halbridge gagged before Tristan stepped back. He glared the man down, watching as the menace wavered on his feet for a good minute.

Eventually, though, he was able to pull himself together enough to straighten up. Then, he turned to Verity. He kept a safe distance, glancing warily at Tristan every few seconds. While his bow was hardly satisfactory, no one stopped him from hastily taking his leave.

It wasn’t as though anyone was watching him. Tristan had turned his gaze to Verity to find her already looking at him.

A chill permeated the air.

He exhaled quietly, forcing himself to unclench his fists.

What was she thinking?

He couldn’t bring himself to ask. The silence was too tightly wound; he feared breaking it. Once he did, she would surely make him leave. She had come so far to avoid him. And he would go if she asked, knowing he would never see her again after all the hurt he had caused her.