As ever, he remained a silent observer to a wellspring of love and happiness. Never a partaker.
He hadn’t a clue how to inspire such reciprocal emotions in others. It was like another Chubb lock, this one leading to an iron safe labeledLove and Acceptance. And once again, he didn’t hold the correct key.
He was a thousand ways a fool.
Creating a truer relationship between himself and Isolde would not overshadow her deeper affections for her family.
He would always come second in her heart.
Isolde had informed him of this on their wedding day, had she not?
Ye will never be my first choice. I will always choose my family over yourself.
She had been honest with him from the beginning.
He had simply hoped that he might change her mind. That he could earn a measure of that loyalty and love for himself.
That someday, she might choose him instead.
Pain and longing ached in his chest, sending jittery energy down his limbs. He wanted to rage. To chop wood or fence orsomethinguntil he dropped from exhaustion.
This was why, he realized. Why he employed aKendallself at all.
He donned the mighty Duke of Kendall as a shield, protecting the soft Tristan parts of him.
But he had loosened that shell and invited Isolde inside.
He had confessed he loved her.
Placed his small, wounded, barely-formed heart in her hands.
But her palms were already overflowing with others’ hearts whom she loved. Others who commanded more of her attention, more of her care.
And now—
Now, he didn’t know how to stop hurting.
Isolde hadn’t betrayed him. Of course, Tristan celebrated the happiness she felt at seeing Hadley again.
It was merely a stinging reminder of where he stood in his wife’s affections. Where he would likely always stand. Hadley and her family would always come first.
And moreover, Hadley’s sharp glance had said the rest of the story—the earl would ensure Isolde always preferred himself.
Tristan should have consummated their marriage when he had the chance. What a fool he had been to insist on waiting.
If he had made Isolde his wife in truth, there might be a babe growing within her belly right now.
His child. Their child.
Anything to tether her more firmly to himself.
He flinched away from the ugly thought. To so use the life of an innocent child.
Tristan swallowed and looked away from the inn door.
He disliked the emotional claws clinging to his shoulders—jealousy, self-pity, irritability—spectral demons ravenous for his soul.
Unfortunately, recognizing their existence didn’t magically exorcise them.
