FOUR
4
I solde trailed Tristan into the library.
A footman followed, lighting the sconces and touching a Lucifer match to the kindling laid in the cold hearth.
She had only been in the library twice before, both times as Allie’s guest and particular friend. There had also been that day, scarcely three months past now, when she had lounged in Tristan’s chair before the fire and taunted him.
Gracious, how much could change in such a short time? Now, she and Tristan were married, making this her library, as well.
Similar to aristocratic libraries everywhere, mahogany bookshelves lined each wall and the center of the room featured a large map table. A fireplace and two armchairs sat to the right, while a pair of tall windows stood to the left.
Tristan crossed to a panel of books opposite the doorway. He tugged on a volume and the door of a small hidden cabinet swung open, revealing bottles of liquor.
Interesting. Isolde would have loved to know about that hidden bookcase before now. She could have wreaked mayhem when they were still quarreling.
Now, however . . .
Without a word, Tristan proceeded to pour himself a tumbler of what appeared to be brandy. He tossed the whole back in one gulp and, reaching for the bottle, tipped another two fingers into his glass without offering any to her.
As if she were forgotten.
Isolde nodded as the footman bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Arms folded, she sat in one of two armchairs before the fire, staring at Tristan’s back as he sipped his second glass of brandy. His lungs expanded in and out as if he had run up a hill or, more likely, was attempting to reign in his temper.
The events of the past hour would try anyone’s patience—heaven knew Isolde wanted to rage at Aubrey and Lady Lavinia, as well—but it was troubling how quickly Tristan retreated into his icy Duke of Kendall persona and remained there, even when the source of his anger was no longer in the room.
Her heart thundered, galloping hooves beneath her breastbone. How was she to manage this? How were they to manage this? Maybe she should wreak mayhem with his liquor simply to get his attention.
Don’t let him retreat from ye.
“Would ye be willing to share some brandy with myself?” she asked into the quiet.
Tristan flinched, no doubt surprised she was still there.
“Pardon?” He turned around.
His dark eyes glittered in the low light, steely and impassive. As if her presence mattered not at all.
Pure Kendall, in other words.
A month ago, that look might have given her pause. Now, she saw it as the defensive reaction it was—shielding his soft Tristan core from harm.
Och , she was having none of it.
If theirs was to continue being a true marriage, then they needed to reach for one another, even when circumstances were difficult. Or, perhaps, particularly when circumstances were difficult.
Inhaling deep for courage, Isolde stood and crossed to him. He watched her come, taking another slow sip from his tumbler, Adam’s apple bobbing.
She walked right into his space, leaving just a hair’s breadth between them. Eyes locked with his, she tilted the glass in his hand and took a healthy swallow of his drink. The brandy burned its way down her throat.
Then, pressing to tiptoe, she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him.
It was a lewd sort of kiss—debauched, hungry, and tasting of exploring hands and silken sheets. The kind of kiss a woman gave to her paramour. Or Isolde the Duchess gave to her ducal husband to bring him out of his autocratic self.
Tristan responded as she had hoped.
His free hand snaked around her waist—his other hand lifting his brandy aloft—and he pulled her hard against him. Isolde speared her fingers into his hair, nails skimming his scalp, and he grunted in approval. They kissed with wild abandon for a long moment, teeth grazing and bodies tightly pressed.
“I greatly dislike my cousin,” Tristan growled against her mouth. “I dislike his wife even more.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Isolde said, voice dry.
He nipped her bottom lip.
“They do seem rather unpleasant.”
“Ghastly, more like.”
Isolde spread her hands under Tristan’s waistcoat, a finger sliding between the buttons of his shirt to stroke his skin. He inhaled on a low hiss.
“I remember Lady Lavinia from my first two Seasons in London. She was a bit of a harridan.”
Harridan might be too kind of a word to describe Lady Lavinia. Bully was more apt, but Isolde held her peace. Her goal was to cool Tristan’s justifiable anger, not stoke it.
She and Tristan would be gone soon enough, and the Lady Lavinias of this world could go hang for all she cared.
Tristan growled again and dipped his head to kiss the place below Isolde’s right ear where a circle of freckles resided. A fairy ring of freckles , he had whispered to her a few weeks ago in their marital bed. Proof that you are indeed an enchantress. She had rewarded him handsomely for the compliment.
Now, she tilted her chin to permit better access.
“Damn my cousin for taking over our bedchambers.” Tristan trailed his lips down the side of her throat. His hand skimmed up her spine and lifted her chest into his. “I could flog him for that alone. We could be half undressed by now and enjoying a late supper in the quiet of our own bed.”
Isolde knew Tristan well enough to understand his words were not the true reason for his anger. Or rather, not the whole of it. Given his violent, tyrannical father, her husband deeply valued his privacy. Aubrey, by trespassing on Tristan’s most intimate space, had violated that privacy at a primal level.
“We will see it sorted, my love.” She stroked the gray hair at his temple. “All will be well.”
Bit by bit, he relaxed under her hands. His kisses quieted, and his head lifted. Pressing his lips to her forehead, Tristan held her for a long moment.
“I still intend for us to leave London the day after tomorrow.” His voice was Tristan’s once more, soft and yielding. “I will speak with Ledger at length in the morning and undo whatever havoc Cousin Aubrey has caused. We will attend Penn-Leith’s reading at Buckingham Palace and promptly leave for Hawthorn the next morning.”
“I approve of your plan.” Isolde stepped back. “Now, will ye share some of the excellent Glenturret whisky I see there?” She tilted her chin, indicating the bottles peaking out from their hiding place in the bookcase.
A noise sounded from the entry hall.
Isolde recognized Allie’s voice, and a moment later, Allie and Ethan swept into the library.
“Whatever is going on? First, no carriage waiting at the wharf, and then we arrive to discover the house in uproar. I’m famished, exhausted beyond reason, and ready to topple into bed. The baby, as well.” Allie pressed a hand to her abdomen. Tristan and Isolde were some of the few people who knew that Allie was in a family way. “Instead of finding those comforts waiting, I discover staff scurrying back and forth. I think Fredericks actually stammered just now. For a ducal butler, that is practically apoplectic.”
Allie sank wearily into one of the armchairs before the fire, a hand cradling the soft swell of her stomach. Ethan leaned against the arm of the chair.
“Perhaps Frederick’s reaction was in response to myself.” Ethan ran a hand down his waistcoat. “He has always been something of a fanatic of my works, and I do have that effect on some.”
Allie shot him a bemused look.
Tristan gave a faint snort. “You are flattering yourself again, Penn-Leith. It appears Cousin Aubrey and Lady Lavinia took the reports of my demise to heart. They have commandeered not only my townhouse but my private apartments, as well.” Tristan handed a tumbler of whisky to Isolde. “Hence the uproar, as I demanded my abode be set to rights.”
“The ferret is here?” Allie’s eyes flew wide. “I don’t know if I should laugh at the audacity or shudder in revulsion.”
“Both?” Tristan suggested.
“Ferret?” Isolde asked on a giggle.
“It’s what my twin calls Lady Lavinia,” Tristan murmured.
“How horrid of you, Allie.” Isolde tried to stem a cackling laugh but met with only middling success.
Allie tossed her head, looking every bit as disdainful and Italian as her brother. “If Lady Lavinia does not wish to be compared to un furetto , then she shouldn’t cultivate sneaky, underhanded behavior so studiously. The woman is absolutely horrid.” She pointed a finger at her brother. “Please tell me you cast them both out on their ears, dead of night or no.”
“So blood-thirsty, Wife.” Ethan slid to sitting on the arm of Allie’s chair in order to press a kiss to the top of her head.
Sighing, Tristan crossed to sit opposite his sister. “Unfortunately, no. I had a momentary surge of rationality and gave them until tomorrow morning.”
“Pity.”
Ethan chuckled and, lifting his wife’s chin with two fingers, bent to press a soft kiss to her lips.
“Not particularly,” Tristan said. “I merely remembered at the last moment that Lady Lavinia’s mother, the Duchess of Andover, is a Lady of the Bedchamber to Queen Victoria. It seemed bad form to toss a lady with familial connections to the Queen’s inner circle into the street the day before meeting with Her Majesty.”
The door snicked open and Fredericks entered, followed by three footmen bearing linens, cutlery, dishes, and an assortment of cold meats, bread, and cheese. The welcome sight set Isolde’s stomach to rumbling.
“A repast, Your Grace. I apologize that it is not warm.” Fredericks bowed, motioning for the footmen to set up dinner on a small games table in one corner. “But may I say once more, on behalf of all the staff, how relieved and delighted we are that Your Grace and the duchess have returned to us healthy and hale.”
“Your words are appreciated, Fredericks. Will you please inform Mr. Ledger that I will wish to speak with him first thing in the morning?”
Fredericks paused, eyes darting to the side. He stood in silence.
“Fredericks?” Tristan prompted.
The butler straightened his spine. “I must confess, Your Grace, I am uncertain as to Mr. Ledger’s whereabouts.”
Tristan frowned. “What do you mean?”
Isolde froze. Aye. What did that mean?
“Mr. Gilbert and Lady Lavinia arrived right as Mr. Ledger returned from his visit with Your Grace in Oban,” Fredericks said. “It is my understanding that your cousin and his wife did not believe the news of your survival. Mr. Ledger continued to work for another two weeks or so after returning, completing the tasks Your Grace had assigned him. However, Mr. Gilbert became more agitated the longer Ledger continued to act on your behalf. He accused Ledger of spreading falsehoods and attempting to defraud the duchy.”
“How in heaven’s name was Ledger defrauding the dukedom by asserting my survival and tending to tasks given him? The man has nothing to do with the duchy’s purse or financial accounting.”
“I had wondered the same, Your Grace,” Fredericks said, his dry tone indicating his low opinion of Cousin Aubrey’s intellectual abilities.
Allie snorted, folding her arms. “So what became of Ledger then?”
“He was dismissed immediately. Lady Lavinia said he needed to be made an example of.”
Tristan’s brows drew down into a thundercloud. “She. Said. What?” He enunciated each word with biting fury.
Isolde placed a hand on his arm.
I’m here , she wanted him to understand. We will conquer this together.
Tristan’s muscles relaxed under her palm, though his eyebrows remained narrowed.
“I was rather alarmed, as well, Your Grace,” Fredericks said. “Mr. Gilbert sacked Mr. Ledger immediately without a recommendation.”
Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose. Isolde thought she heard him mutter, “Bloody cretin,” but she wasn’t sure.
“Disgraceful,” Tristan said. “Why was I not notified immediately of all of this?”
Fredericks floundered. “As staff, we were uncertain as to your location, Your Grace. And Mr. Gilbert approves all post, so . . .” The butler drifted off.
“And Ledger? Why didn’t he send word?”
“I cannot say, Your Grace.”
Isolde slipped her palm down Tristan’s arm, lacing her fingers with his. He gripped her hand with reassuring warmth.
“Find Ledger. He can’t have gone too far,” Tristan ordered. “Assure him that his dismissal was not warranted and that he will be reinstated immediately. Hopefully, the man will provide us all with answers.”
“I shall see it done at once, Your Grace.” Fredericks bowed and motioned the footmen to leave. “We shall have your rooms readied within the hour.”
“Excellent. That will be all, Fredericks.”
“Your Grace.” Fredericks bowed and closed the door behind himself.
Silence hummed in the wake of the butler’s departure.
Isolde looked from Ethan and Allie to her husband.
“Come,” she said. “Let us eat and get some rest. I daresay this will all seem more manageable come morning.”