Tristan had been telling himself that Brandon had been right for three days.
The awkwardness that had settled over Baxter Hall was even worse than the first days of their marriage. They had not spoken since that night. He had heard her leave early in the mornings and return late, and he had let her, because he did not yet know what he would say if he found her in a room and she looked at him the way she had that night.
He had told himself that this was for the best. That he had been right to say what he said. That a man in his position could not afford to want things that were not freely given.
But by the third evening, he was no longer certain of anything except that he could not sit across a dining table from her in silence and pretend that none of it had happened. That there had not been something growing between them.
He was not going back to the beginning.
‘I want you to want me.’
Cathy could not stop thinking about her husband’s words.
The trouble was that shedidwant him.
She had simply been too frightened to admit it.
But to tell her that she would beg? The anger his words had provoked sustained her enough for her to work furiously on her ledgers every single day.
Three days later, though, alone at her desk with ink on her fingers and figures that refused to cooperate, she was beginning to understand that the most infuriating thing about that particular promise was not that he had made it, but that he might be right.
“What you are working on must be so engrossing for you not to move from your seat for so many hours,” a voice commented from the doorway, “and not eat your midday meal.”
She did not have to look up to know who it was. Three days of carefully avoiding each other, and now here he was, standing in her doorway as if he had simply decided that was enough of that.
She looked up anyway.
He was leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching her with an expression she could not immediately read. Not angry. That was something, at least. The last time they had been in the same room, she had walked through an open door with her chin up and her eyes burning, and she had beencertain they would never speak again.
She became aware, without meaning to, of how she must look. Her hair had long since given up any pretense of order. There was ink on her fingers, and if the slight coolness on her chin meant anything, her chin as well. The tray on the corner of the desk was untouched.
“It has to be done. The quarterly accounts are not balancing properly,” Cathy said, not able to hide the dismay in her voice. “If I do not deal with the discrepancy now, I will have a terrible time at the end of the year. The books should remain tidy, as well.”
Cathy did not expect Tristan to approach. He seemed to hate her after the failed seduction in his bedchambers. She stiffened, expecting an argument with the most confusing man she had ever met, but it never came. What changed?
To her surprise, Tristan sat next to her, adjusting the chair so he could see her work clearly. He was so close that his shoulder brushed against her sleeve. The touch was brief, but it made a shiver run down her spine.
“Do not tell me you have been working on these ledgers all that time, Cathy,” he murmured.
He was calling her Cathy again. Was he no longer angry? Somehow, she wondered if this was more dangerous than him being consumed by fury.
“It does not concern you, Your Grace,” she said, frustrated at seeing the ink blotting on one page. He was distracting her, making her heart beat faster.
“It does not concern me?” Tristan asked, leaning in further, his eyes scanning the numbers on her ledger. Everything was meticulously organized and neat, except for the blot of ink. “This is my estate. You are my wife. Of course, it concerns me. This should not be your responsibility.”
“I am quite capable of handling some accounts. A few discrepancies should not be a problem. I know what I am doing.”
“I know you are capable,” he replied, his eyes searching hers. She almost wavered at the intensity. “Show me what you are doing. Perhaps I can help. We are a married couple, after all.”
Cathy hesitated. The night she tried to do her duty as a wife, he had been offended. She was also trying to do what was expected of married couples. She had almost expected mockery, but there was no sign of it on his face. He looked genuinely interested in what she was doing.
She sighed, but acquiesced. She slid the book toward him, setting the ledger effectively between them.
“We were suffering a deficit because of...” she trailed off, not really wanting to reveal how much her father’s departure had cost her family. “Well, things were difficult, but I have invested all the remaining money from Grandmama and have received some quick returns. I have also invested some of the allowance money you gave me. I hear that the outlook is good.”
Cathy saw the expression on Tristan’s face transform from deep concentration to something akin to awe.
“That is… extraordinary,” he murmured. For the first time, she saw genuine admiration from him for anything more than her appearance. “How long have you been doing this on your own?”