“Have not.”
“You have.”
Tristan grinned. “There seems to be some disparagement in your opinions on the subject.”
Morley waved a hand in the air. “He’s being a bloody stubborn imbecile. Of course he’s forgiven me. Look how happy I make Emily.”
“Well, I suppose that’s true enough,” Willbridge admitted with unconcealed reluctance.
It was then Emily rose, helping Imogen up as she did so. All three men rose as well.
“I’ll be taking Imogen up to her room,” Emily said to her brother.
Willbridge’s hand was immediately at his wife’s elbow, his head lowered close to hers. “Do you wish me to join you?”
“No, my love,” she murmured. “Emily will stay with me. If, Morley, you can bear to be parted from her for so long,” she teased.
“I shall endeavor to survive until her return.” The look he gave Emily, however, was full of heated promise. She returned the look, a faint blush staining her face, the scar that cut across her left cheek from her temple to the corner of her mouth standing out in relief without detracting from her loveliness.
“Are you certain?” Willbridge asked.
“Very much so. I shall be fine. Besides,” Imogen continued, her voice dropping meaningfully, “don’t you think this is the perfect time?” Her turquoise eyes slid meaningfully to Tristan. Beside her Emily nodded.
Tristan did not miss a bit of the exchange. “The perfect time for what?” he demanded. But Imogen and Emily only gave them small smiles before leaving the room.
“The perfect time for what?” Tristan repeated as they returned to their seats.
Willbridge shot Morley a meaningful look. They both appeared exceedingly uncomfortable.
“If only we could go out riding,” Willbridge grumbled.
Morley nodded. “It would make it easier, that is certain.”
“Damn Lord Sumner, going and dying after such an idiotic carriage accident. If it wasn’t frowned upon to speak ill of the dead, I’d be in the churchyard now, giving him a piece of my mind.”
Morley chuckled darkly. “I think you would have to wait in line behind your wife, old man, for no one is as incensed by the jackass flaunting his mistress for everyone to see than Imogen.”
Willbridge’s expression lightened. “That is too true. Damn me, but she’s glorious when incensed.”
Tristan looked from one to the other in mounting frustration. “Truly? Come on, out with it you two, before I knock your skulls together. And I’ve truly no wish to do it, for I happen to like your wives.”
Willbridge’s face fell again. “Very well. But know this is not coming from us.”
“It’s our wives,” Morley chimed in. “They’ve insisted we speak to you on, as they term it, a matter of immense importance.”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed as he considered them. “And what is this matter ofimmense importance?”
Willbridge cleared his throat and actually squirmed in his seat. Tristan knew with mounting apprehension it was not due to the uncomfortable furniture this time. “It seems they’ve been talking to Daphne.”
Hurt exploded in his breast. He recalled the conversation he’d had with her regarding Rosalind. As well as his belief that she would keep his revelations to herself. More fool he. “Have they?” he asked coldly.
“They have,” Morley confirmed, his black brows drawn together in worry. He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Won’t you tell us about it?”
Tristan let out a harsh breath, exploding from his seat and pacing across the plush carpet. “It’s not something I wish to discuss.”
“Perhaps we can help,” Willbridge suggested.
“There is nothing you can do,” he growled. “It is over.”
