She recalled their light conversation on her wedding day and decided he must be harmless. At least to her, if he truly was a good friend to her husband. Wherever he might be.
“He’s off in the smoking room if you wish to find him after our dance.”
Verity hesitated before shrugging, joining him to take her position amongst the dancers.
Quick music and light feet distracted her. She moved gracefully, as did her partner. Every now and then, he would make the most amusing face or point out something silly happening nearby. Someone missing their steps, someone else trying to steal a kiss, and so on. The man was absurdly observant and witty.
By the time they finished the set, Verity could hardly breathe for all their laughter.
He gestured again to the dance floor, but she shook her head. “I could not, Duke. Or else I will fall in a dead faint.”
“A new dance, I believe. You’ll be the most fashionable lady in London,” he teased.
She shook her head with a grin. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What is the fun in being anything else?” he argued, steering her around a large group. “You’re lovely enough to do as you desire. And since you only missed three dance steps?—”
“Two,” she corrected. “The third was your fault.”
And yet his wicked grin never faltered. “I believe you owe it to all of us to begin a new trend. A new fashion! Come now, London will grow dull and gray tomorrow if we do not have our entertainment.”
Tsking, Verity wiped her brow before moving to a quieter corner. He followed, and she blurted out, “You are the most amusing man I have ever met, I must admit. If only my husband could be as lighthearted or as exciting as you are.”
“Oh, come now. Tristan is a solid fellow. He has brains for days if you let him talk. We can’t all talk the loudest or be the most obnoxious. Your husband is a very good man,” he said seriously.
Shame crept onto her cheeks as she nodded, quickly correcting herself. “I’m very sorry, Your Grace, I shouldn’t have said that. You are correct. Tristan is a good man, and I do respect him. I only… Well, I respect him.”
Ashcombe sobered up as well. Tilting his head, he studied her with a wry smile. It also felt a little sad, though it did nothing to ease her nerves.
What if he went to Tristan and told him what she had said? She didn’t want her husband to be upset with her.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Ashcome said finally. His brow creased as he gave her a serious look. Something told her he wasn’t this frank often. “He needs people in his corner. Good people. He’s been alone for too long.”
She felt like he was trying to tell her something, but what it was, she didn’t know.
Verity nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Of course, her boldness was bound to get her into trouble. The drink and the dancing had loosened her tongue in a manner she couldn’t trust.
“Yes, certainly,” she mumbled sheepishly. “I entirely agree. I should… I should go see to him now. If you’ll excuse me.”
She escaped the ballroom, twisting free of the conversation. The unease in her stomach grew thick with every step. The hot air didn’t help either. She pulled out her fan once again and tried to cool herself, but it wasn’t until she reached a near-empty hall that she found the temperature more tolerable.
It didn’t take her long to find the smoking room. There was a small sign on the door that confirmed the intended use, and there were three men speaking low in the hall beside the door.
Verity slowed down when she heard Tristan’s voice. He was one of those men, and when he said her name, she froze.
“Whatever you have to say about the Duchess will be said to me. Lady Northcott is my wife, which makes her father mine,” he was saying in a low, dark voice. It was more than stern, nearly harsh. She’d never heard him speak like that before.
A shiver ran down her spine.
“Do not ever speak ill of the Marquess again. I will not have it.”
Her heart pounded as she stared at him in wonder, hardly believing that someone would protect her like this.
Tristan would protect her honor, but they’d hardly discussed her father. As her breath caught, she feared she had misunderstood her husband all along.
CHAPTER 21
Tristan glared at the Baron until the older gentleman blustered his way through an apology.
