Clearly, he hadn’t missed her company enough to come looking for her, either.
Her father had been less sanguine. “Does Kendall even know ye be alive, Izzy? He hasn’t bothered to check on ye or even greet myself. I cannot imagine how ye managed a week alone on a scarcely-provisioned island with him.”
“He was kind and caring while on the island, Papa. We worked together tae survive.”
Hadley’s scowl more than expressed his opinion of her statement. “It pains me more than I can express tae see ye search for good in that man.”
“Thereisgood in him, Papa.”
“Ah, Izzy. Your kindness fair breaks my heart.”
Isolde had bit her tongue.
To his credit, her father had been polite to Tristan. Well, Hadley had basically ignored the duke, but knowing the anger on her behalf that roiled under her father’s polite facade, Isolde admired him for his forbearance.
A few minutes later, the laughter in the dining room died down, and the men joined the ladies in the drawing-room. Instead of crossing to claim a seat beside her, Tristan ceded the space to Hadley and stood unspeaking by the fireplace.
Isolde tried to catch Tristan’s eye, to force him to truly look at her. But when he finally did turn her way, his gaze was flat and unreadable.
And then her father touched her arm and asked a question, claiming her attention.
Isolde chewed her lip, hating this trapped feeling, torn betweenher father and her husband. Tristan was like the Kendall before their marriage, appearing utterly disinterested in her. Behaving as if she mattered not at all.
She hadn’t a clue how to thaw her husband’s icy exterior. Clearly, this cold distance between them had originated in her insistence they return to London and her family there. But instead of talking to her—reaching out—he had cut her off and withdrawn.
And now the space between them had expanded exponentially, and she hadn’t a clue how to stem it.
Deliberately, she took Tristan’s arm as they walked back to the Oban Inn. His muscles tensed under her touch, and he smelled like Kendall once more—exotic and expensive and intoxicatingly male. Isolde longed to bury her nose in his throat, loosen his neckcloth and shirt buttons, and kiss his mouth swollen.
Drat him.
Had her father not been walking beside her, she would have said as much to her husband. Anything to crack hisKendallshell and bring Tristan back.
As they neared the harbor, Tristan paused and turned to her.
“I shall leave you both here, Wife.” He pressed a dispassionate kiss to her hand. “I am sure your father will see you safely to your rooms in the inn.”
“Ye aren’t coming with me?”
“No. I wish to ascertain if the overnight accommodations aboard theSS Statesmanare suitable for a lady.”
Isolde doubted the duke had ever before uttered such a flimsy excuse.
Clearly, he knew an argument was brewing between them and wished to avoid it.
Fine.
She would let him have the night to simmer. But tomorrow, there would be a reckoning.
Pushing upward, she pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“I shall see you at breakfast, then,” she murmured, stepping back.
“Of course.” A glimpse of Tristan flashed in his eyes, there and gone again.
Worse, Isolde hated the self-satisfied look on her father’s face as he bid Tristan good evening and led her away.
27
