“My love, ye promised that ye would let me handle this.” She pulled him back into her arms. “If I’m seen as unable to manage my own problems, they will only multiply. I need to stand on my own two feet.”
No!
All of Tristan rebelled at the thought.
Get a hobby, Allie said.Direct your focus.
But all he wanted was this—Isolde in his arms and their life together. Not this unfulfilling half-life where she fought off sniping harpy attacks, and Tristan watched helplessly from the sidelines.
He hated this . . . this feeling of impotency.
He was a duke, for heaven’s sake! Dukes were not made for inaction.
At least, this duke wasn’t.
“You cannot tell me of such nefarious behavior and expect that I won’tdosomething about it, Isolde.”
Perhaps Tristan would invite Aubrey to go a round or two at a boxing gym. Bloodying the man for sport would be delightful. Or, perhaps just as satisfying, reduce Aubrey’s allowance simply out of spite.
She ran her fingers through Tristan’s hair, nails scraping deliciously across his scalp and pebbling gooseflesh on his shoulders.
“I tell you because I see us as one unified soul,” she whispered. “I tell you to feel your arms around me, to know of your comfort and care. You can’t fix what has happened, but you can love me in its aftermath.”
Tristan grunted, hating the perceptive truth in her words.
Closing his eyes, he went back to nuzzling her throat. Skimming his nose up her neck, Tristan breathed in the delicious scent of her skin—lemons and a hint of soap.
“I confess I am already endlessly tired of our separate lives,” he murmured.
“Me, too.”
“It is cruel that we cannot meet these challenges together, side by side.”
“Aye! We should start a new fashion—husbands attending morning calls alongside their wives, or wives traipsing with their husbands through Tattersalls.”
He smiled. “I would adore that. As is, I cannot wait to dance with you at our ball. To show all of London this glorious siren I have claimed as my own.”
Isolde stiffened in his arms.
Not quite the reaction he expected. Tristan pulled back, a question in his eyes.
She bit her lip.
“Isolde?” he prompted. “Are you not anticipating the same? I intend to spend the entire evening at your side.”
“I am eager for that, too, love.”
Silence.
“But . . . ?” he prompted.
Her gaze darted to the side.
“Isolde?”
“Icannotdance,” she said in a rush.
“Pardon?”
