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“I scarcely chatted with her,” Silvester said, stunned. “I was talking to Giles about banking regulations. Stella, you have to believe me. I don’t give a damn about Yasmin being back. It was nice to see her, that’s all. I like her smile—”

He instantly realized he’d made another mistake.

“She has a lovely smile,” Stella said evenly. “Truly lovely. We’d better stop talking now, don’t you think? It’s hard enough making my way in this marriage without enumerating Lady Yasmin’s best qualities.”

The carriage drew to a stop before Silvester could marshal words. What were the right words? Being around Stella seemed to strip away his sophisticated rhetoric, leaving him in a jumble of words punctuated by “mine,” which was entirely unhelpful.

Silvester pushed open the door and, once on the ground, turned to give Stella a hand. She flicked a glance at him and ignored his hand, missed the step and plunged down with a faint scream. Silvester caught her just before she hit the pavement.

“Thank you,” she said with frigid emphasis.

He put her back on her feet and followed as Stella greeted their new butler, handing him her reticule and assuring him that it had been a most pleasant evening.

Pleasant?

Silvester felt as if he’d been flayed. She walked directly into their bedchamber, but the dowager jerked open a door farther down the corridor and glared at him.

He obeyed her silent command and walked toward her, bowing. “Mother.”

“You fool.”

She slammed the door in his face.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Stella put her spectacles to the side before she scooped up Specs and sat down on the edge of the bed, burying her face in warm fur. Her cat broke into a purr like the rumble of a tiny locomotive. At least one person loved her best.

Though perhaps a cat didn’t count as a person. She really had to stop being so sorry for herself. She was a duchess in love with her husband. That should be enough.

Silvester walked through the door, his face wiped of all expression. Without speaking, he leaned over to pull off his boots.

“I would like to sleep alone tonight,” Stella said, knowing her eyes were glossy with tears that she couldn’t allow to fall. Her throat ached with sorrow.

Her husband dropped one boot on the floor. She knew he was about to launch into an argument meant to convince her that he had done nothing wrong. Silvester hated criticism.

“I am not punishing you,” she said, clearing her throat. “Tomorrow, I promise that I shall be entirely back to normal. We have no need to speak about this evening ever again.”

“I am not in love with Yasmin,” Silvester said. “I never was.” He dropped his second boot.

“That’s marvelous,” Stella said, not believing him for a moment. “That will make it easier for both of us as the years pass, I’m sure. Please, Silvester. I’d like to be alone.”

He walked across the room and threw open the sash, staring out into the dark trees, all that was visible of Hyde Park at this hour. “I don’t want to sleep apart from you. May I say again that I never loved that woman?”

Stella looked down at her cat, wondering how Silvester could utter those words, when the evidence was so clearly against him. She took a deep breath. “I’m tired. Please, please can we just—”

“I need to—” He turned to face her and started again. “I need to explain.”

Raw panic clawed at Stella’s throat. She didn’t want to hear his explanation.

“I want you to understand.”

“I do understand,” Stella said quickly.

Silvester had that stubborn look that suggested he would refuse to give up.

Fine. She had offered him a civilized silence, and he had rejected it. “I understand that my husband adores another woman. I also understand that he is an honorable man, who will not betray me. Do you think that fact makes me feel better?”

“I just said—”