“There isnae a sheriff in all of Angus who will demand I return Isolde tae your care, Kendall.” Menace laced every one of Hadley’s syllables. “If ye want my daughter, ye will need tae raise an army and storm Muirford House. And even then, ye will drag her most unwillingly from her family, just as ye did two weeks ago in London!”
Tristan clenched his hands into fists.
“Enough!” Isolde hurtled to her feet, hands spread wide, as if she would separate the men.
Hadley and Tristan rose as well.
Her father’s chest heaved, his nostrils flared . . . a bull prepared to charge.
Tristan, however, had turned to ice—white-lipped, chilly, unreachable.
“Despite your lowering opinion of me, Hadley,” Tristan clipped, “Iwillnever force my wife to do anything or abide anywhere she does not wish. If Isolde desires to return with you to Muirford House and stay for the rest of her natural life, I will not stop her. Her choices will always remain her own.”
Tristan rounded the table for the window, but not before he spared the briefest flicker of a glance for herself.
And in that look, Isolde saw it all.
Resignation. Surrender.
He would not fight for her.
He would not fight for them. For their marriage.
The one time she wished him to be the commanding Duke of Kendall, spewing decisions and making arrogant demands . . .
Tristan didn’t.
He was abdicating the field, as it were.
Her stomach sank to the soles of her feet.
Without saying another word, Tristan faced the windowpanes, shoulders stiff and unyielding.
Isolde turned back to her father, hating the gleam of triumph she saw in his eyes.
“Glad that’s decided then,” Hadley said, holding out a hand. “Come, Izzy. We have packing tae do.”
She hesitated, too stunned by the change in Tristan to think clearly.
With a gentle hand under her elbow, Hadley urged her toward the door.
Isolde spared one last look for her husband before following her father out of the room.
The stark image of Tristan framed against the window burned behind her eyes as she climbed the stairs, her father a few paces behind.
Where had the husband who loved her gone? The one who had trembled with adoration and kissed her with such holy reverence?
Why would Tristan say nothing—donothing—to keep her?
Why would he not fight—
The truth lit her mind in a crackling bolt of illumination.
Och.
She was such aneejit.
Tristanexpectedher to leave him.
