“What about?—”
“I’m going to ask you for a favor, wife.” He tilted his head in her direction, but she supposed his eyes focused on her nose. “Do not ask about her. I won’t speak of any of it.”
So he does care about something. Or someone.
Blinking, Verity studied him for a long moment.
She wished he would explain himself. At least talk a little more about his first wife. Just to satisfy her curiosity until another topic came to mind. And yet already he turned away from her as if they had not even spoken.
Strangers in arms. She wasn’t certain she liked this.
Her curiosity grew further. There was no comfort in his words, no reassurance. Verity was used to asking questions and following the threads of belief and suspicions to find answers. Sometimes she didn’t like what she found, and sometimes she did.
Either way, it didn’t matter. Not now. She wasn’t about to coax any information out of her husband if that was the way he managed his conversations.
She shifted an inch away from him to put some space between them. It took a second before she freed her arm from his. That movement was enough for him to turn his head toward her, but then he caught himself and stopped like he didn’t wish to be caught.
Too late. But what is it, dear husband? What is on your mind? We are naught but strangers. Will we never know a thing about each other?
This marriage was only in name. On paper. She didn’t need anything from him, not really. She could spend the rest of her days alone if that was how she saw fit. They did not need to talk after this evening.
Still, her curiosity lingered. It threatened to consume her as the evening wore on. Listening to the music did little to help. Instead, it excited her. She felt the thrumming in her veins and began to recall the steps of the intricate dance everyone was enjoying that evening.
“Do you ever dance, Your Grace?” she asked.
Tristan didn’t mind her addressing him by his title in public. Most likely, it was his preference.
The realization made her tempted to do otherwise. But she fought the childish urge as he slowly turned his head to face her.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Dance,” she repeated, a note of impatience in her voice. “Surely you know the steps.”
There was a long pause as he stared at her without really seeing her. Her impatience grew.
Just as she was tempted to walk away in the middle of their conversation, he said, “I do not dance.”
She pursed her lips for a second until she remembered they were in public. A glance around the room proved they had something of an audience. So she put on a smile and told him, “You have made that obvious. However, I would like to socialize and dance. Do you intend to be a puppet on my arm, or would you like to amuse yourself elsewhere?”
With a short nod, he took a step back. “I’ll fetch you when I’m ready to leave.”
“Not too soon, I pray,” she said with a meaningful look.
Tristan grunted just loud enough for her to hear and turned around, offering a short bow before leaving her alone.
Not alone, but free.
CHAPTER 11
“No horse can race that fast, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I swear it on my life!”
“He’s only jesting. Barty, do be honest, old fellow.”
“No, no, I’ve seen the creature. Half-mad and genuinely fast. I’ve been to Tattersall’s twice now just to see the horse. I wouldn’t have believed it otherwise!”
On and on the men talked about nothing serious or halfway interesting. No matter the time of day, they could waste every minute without using their brains. It was embarrassing. It was terribly annoying. And more than anything, it was painful.
