He answered her questions and occasionally commented on what she said, but he offered nothing more. No questions or anecdotes of his own.
What was he thinking? Part of Verity wished she could shake some sense into him just so she might understand him.
Dessert was served, but there was a sour taste on her tongue that wouldn’t quite go away.
“How strange it must be,” she said carefully, “returning to London with a new wife. I cannot imagine this is what you intended.”
He looked down at the fruit tart. “No, I suppose not.”
“Then why?”
“Why what, Duchess?”
She swallowed while setting down her cutlery. “Tristan, you could have refused. The rumors would have faded eventually, and you could have returned to Scotland. So why did you marry me, after all?”
Impressed as she was for keeping her calm while asking this question, Verity wondered if it would be enough.
Her heart thudded as he stopped moving. He set down his knife. He stared at the table for a long minute before slowly lifting his head to meet her eyes. His hair was drying quickly and had curled slightly over his forehead. Though she adored the boyish look it gave him, it hardly seemed right for a moment like this.
“To protect your name, dear wife.”
What a simple answer it was. So simple and so clear and so final. He didn’t hesitate or apologize. He gave her nothing else but those words.
Such empty words they were, for she didn’t know what to do with them.
Verity held his gaze as she took a sip of her wine. That indifference she despised so much was making another appearance, after all. Had her question caused it?
Her appetite was gone, and she felt the room grow too warm and stuffy to stay there for another minute. She hastened to her feet.
“Please do excuse me,” she said, just as he rose from his chair, and then fled the room as a numbness spread through her.
Was this really what I wanted, after all?
CHAPTER 19
Ashaky breath escaped Tristan the moment Verity left the room. He nodded to the two footmen and the violinists, requesting they depart.
Finally, he was left alone.
He slumped in his seat, losing his composure bit by bit. What a fool he was. He could still feel the tension radiating from the chair Verity had vacated only minutes ago.
The tension was everywhere. It was a heavy heat that climbed up his arms and tickled his scalp. He ran his fingers through his hair to ease the tightness but was unable to be free ofher.
Man and wife. Bound together. That’s what we are. Isn’t that what she wished for? What did she want me to say?
Exhaling, Tristan struggled to keep his heart beating steadily. He thought he’d pulled himself together upon his return to thehouse. The rain had been a godsend for him, though he knew his countrymen cursed it.
All had been well until he had seen her.
“Wife,” he had said.
The only word he could think of after seeing Verity gowned like a goddess. Draped in a beautiful emerald-green gown.
The cut was in the height of fashion, he assumed, made just for her. He should have known how magnificent she would look in something grander than country florals.
Looking down at his emerald ring, he asked, “Did she do that on purpose?”
Candlelight glinted off the stone in way of an answer.
