Page 110 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

Her heart was beating terribly hard, the silence painful. She pressed her palms against her skirts. “I did not agree to be alone inside a marriage.”

“Tamsin.” His voice was so rough she nearly stopped.

But the floodgates had opened. “I do not need every moment of your time. Nor do I expect you to tell me every thought you have or abandon your work because I want your attention. But I cannot be your wife only when things are going well enough for you to let me near you.”

His eyes closed briefly.

“You let me care about Micklegate when you thought you might save it. You spoke to me about it. You showed me your letters. You told me what you hoped to accomplish.” Her throat tightened. “Then when you lost, you decided that part belonged only to you⁠—”

“I did not want to burden you with my disappointment.” There was no defensiveness in the words. If anything, Roman sounded tired.

Tamsin stared. As he looked back at her, she saw at once he believed it would have burdened her. That softened something.

It did not change what needed saying, though. “You do not get to make that choice for me. I know what it is to have other people deciding what I ought to carry,” she said, tone softer. “I would rather you not make that decision for me.”

“I thought—” Her husband stopped.

After all her talking, she was at last certain she had said what needed saying. Tamsin nodded for him to continue, forcing her hands to stay open and flat upon her lap.

Roman looked toward the fire. “You have spent your entire life responsible for other people’s difficulties. I knew there was nothing you could do about the vote, there was nothing anyone could do. I could not see the purpose in sharing it with you merely because I was disappointed. Because I lost.”

“The purpose would have been to share in that disappointment. You are my husband.”

His gaze came back to hers. Tamsin’s breath caught; she had not planned those words.

“I could not fix it,” she said slowly. “I know that—I did not want to fix it. I wanted to know you were hurting. I wanted you to spend time with me during the day, to share my evenings, to come to bed, to trust me enough to be unhappy beside me rather than alone.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Roman’s voice was hoarse as he said, “I am sorry.”

Tamsin believed him. It still was not enough, but great ground had been covered. She rose.

Roman mirrored her immediately. “Tamsin.”

Her pulse fluttered. “I am not asking you to reform yourself overnight.”

His lips pressed together. How often Roman must have heard a difficulty as a request for a solution!

“I doubt it is as simple as that.” She examined him, and despite everything, despite the ache growing inside her for weeks, she loved the concern in his face. “But I needed you to know I am not content.”

He swallowed. “I understand…but I am not certain what you want from me.”

And she was not sure she could make that decision for him. “I want more from my marriage than this. I need more from you.”

Roman looked at her for a long time. Then he nodded.

Not the brisk nod with which he received information he intended to act upon immediately. Not the decisive movement that meant a problem had been understood and a course selected. Just a slow acknowledgement that he had heard her.

“I understand.”

But did he?

Tamsin did not think so. Not completely. But perhaps, for tonight, listening to her was enough. She turned toward the door.

There was a soft footstep on the carpet as he said, “My lady?”

Her hand stopped on the handle.

Behind her, Roman’s voice was soft. “I did miss you.”