Making his way back to the house, Tristan found his hands covered in filth even under his fingernails. His face was warm, and his body was drenched in sweat. He could hardly believe his state. A bath would be needed before he presented himself to anyone.
“What the devil is going on?”
He jerked his head up. “Julian? It’s early for you to be awake.”
His friend waved a missive in the air before slipping it into his pocket. “Your servants think you’ve gone mad.”
“Blast it. Who told you?”
“I will not give up my secrets, nor will they. Don’t you dare let go of a single soul. Instead, you’re going to tell me exactly… well.” Julian stopped in front of him and wrinkled his nose. “What have you done? Rolled around in the dirt?”
Tristan shot him a look. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You don’t always smell this bad.”
“I smell like the garden,” he said defensively, only to earn a snort from Julian. “It cannot be so dreadful. We were not among the manure.”
Still, his friend stepped back. “I don’t care. Fine. Have your servants draw you a bath, and in the meantime, you can tell me what the devil is going on. You look filthy and exhausted and awful. Are you even alive?”
Tristan glared at him. “You said you were leaving town.”
“Did I? My cousin needed me in town a little longer. This visit isn’t about me. Go on, do tell. Is it the Duchess?”
Huffing, Tristan stalked down the hall. He motioned for a footman to draw him a bath and then entered his study, sensing Julian behind him. After moving to the sideboard, he poured two glasses of brandy and offered one to his friend. Though he held the other, he didn’t drink.
“She left,” he said in what he thought was a remarkably even tone.
Julian paused and then drained his glass. He cursed low under his breath. “I’m sorry to hear that. Another wife. But you don’t seem the better for it this time. You said little about Cassandra,” he pointed out, to Tristan’s mild surprise. “Except I could see the furrow in your brow fade when she was out of the way. It’s not the same here.”
“It… is not,” Tristan grudgingly agreed.
Another huff. “We shouldn’t even be comparing them. It’s a devilish thing to do. Women are not like bottles of brandy you can compare and trade and track their value. They’re remarkable and pretty things with fires built into them.” Julian leaned back with a groan. “Noisy, too, but it’s because they have twice the brains we do.”
“Twice? Really?” Tristan asked dryly.
“For all the talking they do, yes. You don’t spend enough time with them. My cousin is absolutely devious. She’s only had a short Season but has already received three proposals. Uncle is in an uproar that she rejected them all, claiming she knows just what she is doing. Women are controlling beasts.”
As Julian rambled, Tristan nodded along and stared into his brandy. He supposed his friend had a few points. Women were incredible things. They were daring and bold and dangerous.
But not all of them.
A loud bang made him jump.
Julian set down the brandy and leaned forward. “I won’t be distracted any longer. Here I am, talking without you saying a word. Speak up, Tristan. You cannot hide from me any longer.”
“I’m not hiding?—”
“Are you afraid of me or yourself?”
Tristan scoffed. “I have nothing to be afraid of!”
“Then be honest!” Julian raised his voice, to Tristan’s surprise, giving him a hard look. “Tell me everything.”
“Everything?” Tristan rose from his seat. He rubbed his hands together, filthy as they were. “There is nothing to say.”
“Liar.”
“You don’t get to call me that,” he snapped.
