That night, the library was dark except for the fire and a handful of lamps. Dorian found Tristan exactly where he expected him to be, occupying one of the armchairs as though he had never once worried about whether he belonged somewhere.
Tristan glanced up. “There you are.”
“You are still awake.”
“So are you.”
Dorian poured himself a drink, and neither spoke for a moment. The fire crackled softly as the house settled around them.
Eventually, Tristan leaned forward in his chair. “The Duchess of Ashbourne likes you.”
Dorian sighed. “Why is that the first thing you have chosen to say to me?”
“Because it surprised me.”
“You truly think so highly of me.”
Dorian settled into the chair opposite him. His thoughts drifted briefly upstairs to Anne and the smile she had given him when he arrived.
“You are doing it again,” Tristan commented.
Dorian frowned. “Doing what?”
“Thinking about her.”
Dorian took a sip of his drink. “You have become obsessed with this subject.”
“No,” Tristan replied. “I have become fascinated by the fact that you still refuse to admit what is standing directly in front of you.”
Dorian did not answer.
Tristan studied him for a moment, then his expression lost some of its usual humor. “I have known you for fifteen years. I watched half the women in London try to capture your attention, and you looked at all of them.”
Dorian rolled his eyes. “Thank you for that glowing character reference.”
“I am making a point.”
“You always are.”
Tristan ignored him. “Do you know what the difference is this time? I have never seen you look at anyone the way you look at Anne.”
Neither man spoke for a moment. Then, Dorian looked down into his glass.
“What way is that?”
“Like losing her would matter.”
Dorian fell silent.
The silence that followed stretched longer than expected. Ordinarily, Dorian would have laughed, deflected, changed the subject, or made some cutting remark designed to keep everyone at a comfortable distance from anything genuine. Instead, he kept staring into his glass, the amber liquid catching the firelight as he slowly turned it between his fingers.
Tristan studied him carefully. “You know, the fact that you didn’t immediately argue with me is deeply concerning.”
A faint smile appeared and disappeared just as quickly. “I am aware.”
Tristan leaned back in his chair. “What are you afraid of? You could have a good life with her. Instead, you are brooding in the library at such a late hour. There has to be a good reason for that, or else you are a madman.”
Dorian let out a slow breath. For several moments, he seemed to consider deflecting again. Then, unexpectedly, he set the glass down.
