“Was it a mistake, I wonder,” he mused somberly as he studied the lighter skin on the finger where her wedding band used to reside, “to invite you to London?”
“I wanted to come.”
His lips twisted. “You do not answer the question.”
She pressed her lips tight. “That is because, if there was a mistake, it was mine to make. You did not force me to come, Tristan.”
He ignored her. For he was, once again, too far along in his self-hatred to pay any attention to any platitudes she might offer. “You were happier at Manderly, even with that husband you did not want.”
“I do not know if you can call it happiness when I was so numb I hardly felt a thing.”
He squeezed her fingers once more before releasing them and stepping back. “What will you do?”
She shrugged, looking suddenly weary. “I hardly know. But I do know that I am the one who has to make the decision. As much as I hate to admit it, I am a grown woman, Tristan, and must act like one.”
He gave her a small, sad smile before moving for the door.
“You are going out again.”
Once more, it was not a question. And again, he felt compelled to answer it regardless. “Yes. But I will be back later. You will tell me your decision the moment it is made?”
“Of course, darling,” came her soft reply.
With a nod he let himself out into the hall.I will not look to her door, he told himself as he strode to his bedchamber. Even so, his eyes slid along the wall until he found her room. At his door he stopped, remembering how she had looked when he had seen her that night, before she wound up in his arms. If Grace did as he suspected and returned to Scotland, would she take Rosalind with her? The idea tore into him, stealing his very breath. He hurried into his room, closing the door with as much finality as he closed the gate on his heart.
