He dropped his arm from the mantel with the thought of going to her, before stopping himself. Her long hair began to curl about her waist. Still damp. He looked her over to check for any signs of shivering. All this time, neither of them said a word.
A quiet breath escaped Verity, making him wonder if she had been holding it in. She wavered on her next step until she startedwalking forward again. Not toward him, but toward the nearby chaise, where she gathered her garments neatly like they were fragile things and sat on the edge.
Still, she said nothing. She didn’t even ask him why he had intruded on her space, on one of the few rooms in the house he knew she treasured.
Maybe it was because she said nothing that he finally opened his mouth.
“I had a brother. Oliver.” He met her gaze for a fraction of a second before turning away, unable to bear it. “Cassandra loved him. She always had. I never… She was never mine. Not in heart, not in promise, only in the eyes of the law. He died in an accident. I came home from the war, and she came to me.”
Tristan would never forget that evening. He’d only just returned, still healing from minor injuries and jarred from the realization that he was truly alone. He had never felt so lost or confused.
Then, in walked the most dazzling woman like she owned the house. Everyone knew her. He had met her once, even danced with her a time or two. But she had changed. They all had. Time changed people. And he hadn’t realized it until it was too late, blinded by grief.
“Cassandra knew…” Tristan worked his jaw for a minute. Then, he rubbed it as though it ached. “Oliver was in some trouble he refused to share with me. Only her. I couldn’t let the ton hear ofit, and she knew it. I married her to protect him. Well, what was left of him—his name.”
Women weren’t meant to attend funerals, as they were too delicate. Or so Society decreed. It was madness. Tristan had attended the procession in silence until everyone left him at the grave site, where he wept until his friends pulled him up and took him home.
If he recalled correctly, Cassandra had spent the day drinking with unsavory company. But he had been drowning in grief, and he had tried to convince himself it was her way of grieving as well. That things would change when they married.
Bitterness weighed him down. His shoulders drooped. He wanted Verity to say something. Except she didn’t interrupt. She simply listened.
“It was a bargain,” he said thickly. He tried to hold the emotion at bay. “That’s what she called it. We would both be protecting Oliver together. A blasted bargain that she made sure I will never forget.”
Releasing all the breath in his lungs, he boxed the pain away yet again. He tried to find the words to explain to Verity the damage that had been done, the eroding belief in marriage, and the never-ending suspicions that plagued him. He turned around to face her, to explain himself.
But she stood there in the firelight, and he couldn’t speak.
The expression on her face arrested him. She wasn’t shocked. Perhaps she had expected such a story. She didn’t seem to pity him either. There was a gentle crease in her brow and a soft pouting to her lips.
She tilted her head slightly, and he realized what she was saying. That she understood.
He thought he could very well stop breathing. Instead, he felt warmth flood through him. He could blame it on the crackling fire, but new strength rushed through him now. Courage. The look in her eyes encouraged him to take a step toward her.
Though she blinked, she stayed put. She didn’t so much as budge.
His wife let him slowly close the distance between them. Soon, he could feel her breath fan the opening of his shirt, no longer hidden by his cravat.
“Am I like her?” Verity whispered, her eyes slowly sweeping over his face like a caress. His heart thudded so loudly he had to read her lips. “Is that what you think?”
He watched her lick her lips before lifting a hand to gently brush away a strand of hair that clung to her cheek. It went neatly behind her ear. A small, perfect ear that he had never noticed before.
Then, his gaze returned to her compassionate eyes, and he soaked in the moment. The fire was no longer behind him but inside him.
He lifted his hand back to brush his fingertips across her cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered and cast shadows on her skin. He swallowed hard.
“I think,” Tristan murmured, “you are worlds different from anyone I could have ever imagined.”
Her eyelashes fluttered neatly against her cheek once again. He thought of flowers swaying in the breeze on a spring morning.
Everything about her seemed to draw him in.
Unable to fight the pull, Tristan closed the distance between them. Verity leaned in too, and their lips met in a surprising heartbeat.
It was a tentative kiss. A slow kiss. He silently asked her permission, cupping her cheek in his hand.
Verity melted against him. She tilted her face up to his. He felt her hand press against his chest, sliding up to fist in his shirt as though to steady herself.
Unable to resist the lure, Tristan deepened the kiss.
