Abruptly, Tristan released her altogether, spinning around to pace around the brazier. The fire glinted off his face—harsh and angry, brow furrowed, lips pursed together.
“James, you fool,” he muttered to himself. “My wretched cousin cannot keep his mouth shut, it seems.”
“Did he insult you?” Madeline ventured, twisting her fingers together. “I should not have told you.”
“No, I am glad you did. James is… He requires attention, I think. It was an insult, a graver one than you could ever understand.”
“Well, explain it to me.”
“No.”
She flinched at the single, brusque word. Staring at him, Madeline waited for Tristan’s face to soften. She waited for an apology, an explanation,anything.
Nothing came. He just continued pacing, shaking his head, and muttering under his breath.
“Are you going to tell me what he meant?” Madeline asked at last.
Tristan shook his head tightly. “It is not my story to tell.”
She deflated. “That is also what James said.”
“Yes, he likes to create mystery. He should not have said this to you.”
“You are frightening me a little, Tristan.”
At last, he stopped in his pacing and stared at her.
“I am sorry,” he said at last. “I did not mean to upset you. But you must not ask me about this again, Madeline.”
She held out her arms to the side. “More secrets, then? Did we not finally agree to trust each other?”
“Yes, but this is different.”
“If you could only tell me…”
“No.”
“Again withno,” she snapped, beginning to get a little angry. “You disappoint me again and again, Tristan.”
He bit his lip, looking away. “Would you believe me if I told you that this is not personal at all?”
“I would try to believe it. You are confusing me again, Tristan. It tires me out.”
He nodded, almost unhappily. “I understand. But we all have secrets, Madeline. As I said, this one is not wholly mine to share.”
She let out a long, ragged breath. “Very well.”
He glanced back at her and held out his hand. The heat of the moment had gone, but so had the desire. Madeline took his hand, even so.
“We should go inside,” he said softly. “It’s cold out here, Duchess.”
CHAPTER 27
THE FOLLOWING MORNING
Tristan stared down at the note he had received with breakfast, his fingers laced together and propped under his chin.
Juliana’s handwriting, always bold and pointed, swirled across a piece of paper in front of him.
