“We should discuss Her Majesty’s summons.”
“Come here.” His eyes danced with hunger.
“Nae.” She knew this tactic of his and had no intention of finding herself toppled into his bathwater, dressing gown and all. If he kissed her, she would lose herself to his touch and forget everything else.
“Isolde.”
“Tristan.”
They stared at one another for two heartbeats.
“The fact that ye are avoiding the topic tells me all I need to know,” she said. “Ye be worried.”
“Of course, I’m worried. I would much rather sail back to our island and shut ourselves away from the world. Let Polite Society go hang for all I care.”
“Canna is hardlyourisland, my love. It belongs to Clan MacLean.” Though even as she said the words, Isolde experienced a stab of longing. Itdidfeel like their island. A refuge from pressure and expectation.
“Clan MacLean should sell it to me.”
“Now, ye are being ridiculous.”
“Hardly. Come here,” he repeated, this time using his stern Kendall voice. The one he knew turned her kneecaps to jelly, the wretch. “You are too far away, and I miss kissing my wife.”
Shaking her head, Isolde sashayed slowly into the room, carefully keeping her body out of reach of his long arms. “I’m not sure ye are to be trusted, Husband. Ye aim to distract me.”
“With a kiss?” His expression was pure innocence. “A kiss shouldn’t be distracting unless you wish it to be.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I am happy to oblige.”
Isolde tilted her head in skepticism.
“Or you could be particularly wifely and scrub my back,” he continued.
She studied his obnoxiously benign face.
“Promise to behave.” She pointed a finger at him, a grin tugging her lips. “And I will.”
A smile touched his eyes, but not his mouth. He pressed a palm to his bare chest. “Upon my word as a gentleman.”
Moving in a wide arc to avoid his grabbing hands—Isolde still wasn’t sure she trusted him, word of a gentleman or no—she fetched a sponge from beside the wash basin and a bar of the housekeeper’s renowned lavender soap. Kneeling behind Tristan, she pushed on his spine, urging him to lean forward. He peered at her over his shoulder, dark eyes hooded and glittering. His expression said he knew she was avoiding him and like a giant black panther, he was content to wait for the right moment to pounce.
Dipping the sponge into the warm bath water, Isolde lathered it with soap and began to draw sudsy loops on his back.
“Let me guess what is concerning ye.” She drew the sponge in a bubbly line down the arch of his spine. “Ye beworritthat ye will return to your former autocratic ways once back in familiar London. Become Kendall entirely with only a small portion of Tristan remaining.”
It washerbiggest concern, truth be told. That her beloved husband would find himself in London, surrounded by memories of his old ways, and would retreat deep within—protecting his soft Tristan self behind the steely armor of the Duke of Kendall.
“Perhaps a little.” He arched his back, muscles pulling between his shoulder blades. “I feel the key to avoiding that will be determining how to spend my days . . . what my purpose will be. As Kendall, I was obsessed with power and that necessitated a certain ruthlessness. That is no longer my focus, but my liferequires a purpose. Some work to do. How do you think I should occupy my time?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? “I am sure my father would have suggestions.”
Tristan’s shoulders bunched. Isolde knew he was not a proponent of gentlemen directly managing their own business affairs, as her father did.
“I shall ponder it,” he said, neutrally. By which, Isolde understood he wouldnotbe discussing the matter with Hadley. “Regardless of what I choose, I have faith that my formidable wife will lecture me should I slip into old habits.”
“True. I have never shied away from that.” She squeezed the water from the sponge, letting it drip down his spine. “So if it is not yourself . . . then perhapsIam the source of your concern?”
He said nothing, but those same muscles contracted, tensing with her words.
“Ah, so itismyself that worries ye,” she continued. “Ye be nervous about my ability to navigate Polite Society in London.”
