Tell her.
And yet the words still would not come.
Damnation, he was such a coward.
Once Isolde’s breathing evened out, he slipped from underneath the counterpane, pulling on trousers and his silk banyan.
The house was quiet, but he noted light streaming from under the library door.
Pushing it open, Tristan found Sir Rafe and Hadley sitting before the fire, tumblers of whisky in their hands.
“Duke.” Sir Rafe stood when he saw Tristan in the doorway. “Join us.”
Hadley snorted, pushing to his feet. “Have ye told her, Kendall?”
“Andrew.” Rafe’s tone held reproach.
“Not yet.” Tristan took in a slow breath. “Trying to convince myself I’m not a coward.”
“Och, at least you’re being honest for once.” Hadley drained the remainder of his whisky, setting the glass down on a sideboard.
“Despite your opinion of me, Hadley,” Tristan said, “I am attempting to grow into a better man. One who is worthy of your daughter.”
“That remains tae be seen.” Hadley turned for the door. “’Night, Rafe. Good luck keeping this one company.” He jerked his thumb in Tristan’s direction before leaving the room and closing the door.
“Have a seat.” Rafe motioned toward the chair Hadley had just vacated. “Whisky?”
“Yes.”
Tristan sat.
Rafe handed him two fingers of Scotch before retaking his seat.
“Care tae talk, Kendall?” his brother asked.
Tristan winced. “I hate hearing our father’s name on your lips.” He paused and then added, “Please, call me Tristan.”
Rafe blinked, as if the concession surprised him. The tentative peace offering of it.
“Tristan,” he murmured. “I should be honored.”
The quiet hush of night and the soreness of Tristan’s own heart sent his words tumbling like spillikins.
“Honored?” he repeated, shaking his head and sipping his whisky. “Were our father not a blight upon human existence, you would be Kendall right now. And I . . .” He held his glass up to the firelight, the amber liquid recalling the color of Isolde’s hair. “. . . I would not exist.”
Rafe remained silent for seven seconds.
Tristan counted them.
“I have never once regretted my decision tae invalidate my parent’s marriage,” his brother finally said. “It liberated my mother from our father’s grasp and gave me immediate freedom, as well. I would make the same decision a thousand times over. I never wished to be Kendall.”
Tristan met Rafe’s gaze, reading the truth there.
“A dukedom is a privilege,” Rafe continued, “but I also recognize its weight. By all accounts, ye be a fair and capable manager of it. Ye are a credit tae our heritage.”
The unexpected praise nearly stole Tristan’s breath.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
