Clearly flustered, the footman looked him over and then at the horse. “I… The lady of the house is still abed.”
“Which lady?”
“Pardon?”
Tristan’s hands curled into fists at his sides in impatience. He looked around the hall for some clue of where to find his wife. Surely she was here somewhere. He just needed to find her and take her away to someplace safe for now.
Most likely, it will be done with her kicking and screaming. Would she believe me if I told her she was in danger? I may have to convince her some other way.
“The Duchess,” he demanded, sounding harsher than he had meant to. But time was of the essence here. “Is she abed? Where can I find her?”
He wasn’t going to mix them up again. The memory of him doing that three months ago when he had first crossed this threshold flashed through his mind. He had confused Verity for a servant back then.
How he had made such a mistake, he didn’t understand. The way his wife held herself at all times proved not just her class but her nature.
What a blasted fool I have been.
“Her Grace…”
“Well?”
The footman jumped as the horse pulled the reins. Struggling not to lose them, he glanced over his shoulder before telling Tristan, “She is attending to a guest at the moment.”
“What?” Tristan barked. “Who?”
“He didn’t say––oh!” His horse pulled the reins again, tugging the footman off his feet for a second.
Tristan shook his head and turned away. His horse was hungry and cold; obviously, he would be seeking something that might interest him more than the front stairs of a strange house. The footman would be fine, albeit wet from the rain.
Running a hand through his hair, Tristan took off his hat and cloak to shed some of the rain. But he had time for nothing more.
It must be a tenant. It must be a guest she knows. Halbridge wouldn’t know where to find her. Would he? They don’t know each other very well.
Does she even know his name? They would if they danced together. But who introduced them? What did they say when they danced? If only I wasn’t such a fool, I could have learned?—
“I will have my revenge!”
Tristan whipped his head around so quickly that he heard a crack. Was that muffled voice Halbridge’s? He couldn’t be certain.
The doors to the parlor on his left were closed—the room where he’d first met Lady Wetherby. But no one entertained with closed doors.
Then, he heard Verity cry out. “Don’t you dare, you––”
Tristan slammed the doors open at once, shoving them with all his might at the sound of his wife’s distress. It didn’t requirebeing in the same room as her to hear the fear in her voice. He was glad he had arrived on time, relief flooding through his soul as he finally laid eyes on her after eight painful days apart.
“Verity.”
Though he could reach her in four strides, he’d have to push Halbridge out of the way. But Tristan needed a moment to see her. He heard the hitch in her breath. He saw the way her hands covered her stomach.
She looked well, he thought. Hehoped. But a little tired. Had she been able to sleep better than he had?
“Tristan. Your Grace,” she amended after a heartbeat, in a voice so small it made him want to tear the world apart until she felt brave enough to speak aloud.
Her eyes darted to Halbridge, reminding him that they were not alone. Still, Tristan’s body shook with rage as he turned to the bastard.
An uneasy silence fell over the room. Water dripped from his clothes, though he’d hardly felt the cold and wet on his journey.
Drip, drip, drip.
