“You’re walking quickly,” she countered.
He glanced down at their feet, wondering if that was true. He tried to slow down before glancing at her. A small smirk curved her lips.
Too late, it had been a trick.
“That’s precisely what I thought. Did the two of you have an agreement?”
“It’s none of your business.”
He turned away from her to signal to the footmen at the door. One of them was already bringing over their affairs, and the other guided their carriage to the front steps.
Tristan hoped that was enough to pacify his wife. It should have been, since she didn’t strike him as much of a meddler. But they were hardly seated and on the move before she looked him right in the eye and asked, “Should I not have danced with him? Will that look ill of me?”
“I don’t care who you dance with.”
Verity rolled her eyes. “Except for Halbridge, apparently.”
“Stop saying his name, would you?”
“Then tell me whatever is the matter between the two of you! I don’t need the details or an entire novel. Just give me something to better understand him. Or you. Something, Tristan. Please.”
His voice came out harsh between clenched teeth. “No. No more. Not now, not ever. It’s none of your concern.”
Though her pretty plump lips parted like she wished to respond, Verity closed her mouth a moment later without saying a word. She stared at him for another minute.
He sat there, stiff and immobile, refusing to look back at her. But eventually, he watched as she crossed her arms in a huff and leaned back, offering only her profile to him.
It was one of the most uncomfortable carriage rides in his entire life.
Tristan stewed in silence, trying to focus on his thoughts as he defended his actions. He had never raised his voice. He had let Cassandra walk all over him as he turned his back on her. Again and again, he kept trying to do that with Verity, telling himself it didn’t matter. Thatshedidn’t matter. That she could do anything she liked so long as he wasn’t around.
Except here he was, having attended a ball just for her.
They arrived at the townhouse before he had decided on his next move. But Verity made it for him.
The moment the carriage rolled to a stop, she rose from her seat and climbed out without any assistance. She stomped past their driver and up toward the front door, ignoring even their footman as she stepped into the house.
Tristan gritted his teeth and followed after her. “Verity.”
It didn’t make sense how he was the one who kept angering her, hurting her. He wasn’t used to playing the villain, and he didn’t particularly care for it. Not with her.
Maybe he had to tell her something. But what?
He followed behind her, their footsteps echoing in the hall and up the stairs.
She walked on, and he noticed the way her hands curled into fists, tense roses wrapped in gloves. He wondered why she cared. Why she kept trying to learn more about him. Why it mattered to her.
“Verity.” It came out sharper than he had intended, but it stopped her.
Slowly, she turned around on the step above him, her frame silhouetted by the moonlight filtering through the large window beside her. It cast half her face in shadow. She was silver-blue and partial shadow, but he could sense the storm inside her.
“No,” she said in a clipped tone that gave him pause. “You cannot do this. You do not get to play the jealous husband if you will not act as a real husband.”
He nearly tripped.
Tristan stared at her. His jaw tightened as he met her gaze, neither of them looking away. Any man would surely be jealous of the one who danced with her. But then he reminded himself that it was more than that.
“You believe I was jealous?” he asked.
