He kissed the grin off her face, as if helpless to stop himself.
“Your smiles, Duchess,” he whispered. “If you only understood what they do to me.”
“This smile?” Isolde smiled, wide and bright. “Now you are being ridiculous—”
He devoured that one as well.
“If ye continue tae kiss me like this, Husband, we shall never finish this conversation.”
“I’m listening,” he murmured, pressing his lips one last time to the corner of her mouth before lifting his head.
“As I’ve said, I need tae trust this change in yourself. That once we find ourselves back in Society, ye don’t revert tae Kendall, at least with regards tae myself. That ye won’t retreat and close yourself off again.”
“Yes. That is my vow. For now, I desperately need . . . I need you to teach me how to love you.”
“That I can do, Husband.”
He nodded. “But where do I start?”
“Well, for myself, when I love someone, I feel accepted precisely as I am. As if I can behave as my truest self without fear of judgment or mockery.”
“As I am with Allie?”
“Precisely. But in order to have that trust and acceptance, we both must share everything that we are with one another—our thoughts, our wants . . . our past and desires for our future. No hiding. No shying away from difficult topics.”
He nodded.
“To that end,” she continued, “I’m going to ask ye difficult questions about yourself. Your relationship with your father and mine. Your hostility toward Rafe. And in return, ye will ask me questions about myself, and I will answer them.”
He sighed. “How did you become so wise on this topic?”
“I was raised in love, Tristan.” She kissed his cheek. “Now, ye must be famished. I have a loaf of bread cooling and some lentils for our luncheon. And then I suggest a stroll along the beach tae see if your ship is on the horizon.”
Tristan clutched Isolde’shand in his as they strolled across the sand.
Waves lapped the beach and the cheery sun turned the water a deep aquamarine, the color of robin eggs in Spring.
But no ship dotted the horizon, even when they climbed to the top of the small rise and surveyed the isle in all directions.
And yet . . . Tristan did not mourn its absence.
TheSS Statesmanwould return for them eventually. Given the ferocity of the storm, the ship’s gears had likely needed adjusting and perhaps some repairs.
Similarly, the gears of his pocket-watch had finally dried, but Tristan hadn’t bothered to wind it. To what purpose? Time was meaningless here.
After a lifetime of having eyes upon him at all times—his father, servants, hangers-on—it was oddly freeing to simply exist on a tiny island at the ends of the earth.
“Ye be rather silent there, Husband,” Isolde said at his side.
He glanced at her. The wind had tugged long strands of her hair loose, sending them spinning behind her like a comet’s tail. Fitting, he supposed, to compare her with a heaven-sent star.
“Merely enjoying the serenity of this moment. If you expect me to become a voluble sort of chap, you will be severely disappointed.”
“Nae, I ken that ye will never be abletherer.”
He tightened his grip on her hand.
How he wanted this. All of this. Her. Them.
