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“Oh, please.” She didn’t even smile, her entire being concentrated on finding anything familiar in him. “But… You weren’t a marquess.”

“No, but my uncle was. I inherited before my twentieth birthday.”

She frowned in thought, then her features took on a look of horror. “You are younger than me!”

Is that all you have to say? “Well, yes.”

“Significantly younger!”

“Not that sig—”

“Oh, Lord!” She started pacing the room. “What people must be saying about me?”

“Probably that you were a cunning little vixen to snatch such a handsome marquess,” he said smugly.

“Oh, shush. My lord. You are… you’re so much younger.”

“Stop.” He walked toward her and took her by her shoulders, turning her to face him. “That does not matter. We are already married. Besides, after the scandal of our betrothal, do you truly think anything else can eclipse that?”

Lady Isabel shook her head, unable to take her eyes off his.

“Good then.” He let go of her shoulders and stepped away.

She caressed her shoulders where he’d just held her as she looked at him. “Tell me what happened?” Her voice turned gentle.

“Where?”

“Not where, when. After… I mean, I have not seen you in a decade. What happened during those ten years?”

Rhys grimaced. “I really don’t think that’s necessary to rehash.”

“Thomas—”

Rhys shook his head. “Nobody calls me that. They haven’t since the day I—since a long time ago.”

“Since what day?”

Since the day he’d walked away from her father’s estate forever. Since the day his father had died. Since the day when everything had changed. He didn’t answer.

After a moment of silence, she asked, “What do people call you?”

“Vane.”

Lady Isabel swallowed. “What about a first name?”

“If you must… I prefer Rhys.”

She cleared her throat. “I like Rhys.”

His name on her tongue made his heart jolt.

She looked at him strangely now, as if learning his features anew, and Rhys felt uncomfortable under her intent gaze.

“It is late,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should go to bed.”

Without waiting for her answer, he walked into his bedroom. He needed a change of clothes. And perhaps a change of heart as well.

* * *