Chapter 7 #2
Miss Oakley’s eyes glittered. “Well, Lady Cressida has always been rather intellectual for a woman. How fortunate Lord Emerton seems willing to overlook such peculiarities. Though I do wonder if your time in the countryside might have tempered your unusual tendencies. I cannot imagine how Lord Emerton will tolerate your bluestocking ways, otherwise.”
Cressida opened her mouth to respond when her mother’s hand clamped down on her shoulder.
“Cressida was just saying she needed refreshment.”
“Yes. Lemonade sounds wonderful.” She fled, but two familiar figures intercepted her path: Lady Seymore and Lady Norwell, both wearing studied innocence.
“Lady Cressida! Your grandmother and I were reminiscing about the opera.”
They bickered with practiced ease while Cressida stood caught between them.
“Oh,” Lady Seymore said suddenly, “weren’t you heading toward the refreshments table? You mentioned wanting lemonade. Don’t let us keep you.”
As Cressida moved away, their barely suppressed giggles followed like conspirators.
The refreshments table came into view. Standing beside it, dark eyes fixed on her with devastating intensity, was Theodore.
Their gazes locked once again, and the ballroom receded.
He nodded—a single, curt acknowledgment. And it annoyed her beyond all reason.
“Your Grace.” She reached for a glass of lemonade with trembling hands.
“Lady Cressida.” His voice carried that rough edge she remembered. “I trust you’ve been well.”
“Perfectly well.” The lie tasted bitter.
“I was surprised to hear of your engagement.”
Jaw flexing once, Cressida managed a tight smile. “As was I, Your Grace.”
He frowned. “It was arranged without your knowledge?”
Cressida shot him a look. Before she could even open her mouth, a voice rang out.
“Cressida!” Her mother’s voice shattered the moment. “There you are. Lord Emerton has been looking for you.”
Lady Bardwell swept toward them with Emerton in tow, faltering upon seeing Theodore. His reputation preceded him, and her curtsey carried nervous hesitation.
“Your Grace. What a pleasure.”
Theodore inclined his head with minimal courtesy.
“I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter’s fiancé. Lord Emerton, may I present the Duke of Ashmere.”
Emerton bowed with patronizing correctness. “Your Grace. It is a pleasure.” He gave a smarmy smile that made her skin crawl.
Oh, dear heavens.
Clearly, Theodore did not enjoy the other man’s presence any more than she did.
“Naturally.” His voice could have frozen wine.
“We were just announcing Lady Cressida’s engagement,” Lady Bardwell continued uncomfortably. “Such a fortuitous match—”
Theodore’s lip curled in something akin to a sneer before he forced civility. “Congratulations.”
The word landed like a curse wrapped in silk.
Lady Bardwell paled. “Yes. Well, we really should get going.”
Cressida allowed herself to be led away, but not before catching one final glimpse of Theodore watching her with an expression that stole her breath—hunger and frustration and something that looked dangerously like jealousy.
“You seem remarkably interested in the refreshments table, nephew.”
Theodore didn’t turn at his aunt’s voice, his gaze fixed across the ballroom where Cressida stood beside that insufferable peacock Emerton.
The Earl was gesturing with animated enthusiasm, no doubt expounding on some tedious topic of personal magnificence, and Cressida—damn her—was smiling.
Politely, certainly, but smiling nonetheless.
“I’m not interested in anything,” Theodore replied, his jaw tight.
“Of course not.” Lady Seymore moved to stand beside him, following his gaze with unconcealed amusement. “You’re merely glowering at Lady Cressida and her fiancé with the intensity of a man plotting murder. Perfectly normal behavior for a ballroom.”
“I’m not glowering.”
“You’re positively radiating hostility, darling. It’s rather magnificent to observe.” His aunt tapped her fan against her palm. “Though I confess, I’m fascinated by your interest in the Bardwell girl. You’ve never shown particular attention to young ladies before.”
Theodore forced his attention away from Cressida—from the way her pink gown pulled tight across curves he remembered with shameful clarity, from the animated gestures she made while speaking, from the flush on her cheeks that he knew wasn’t caused by that vapid fool beside her.
“There’s no interest. She was a guest at Ashmere during the storm. Nothing more.”
“A guest.” Lady Seymore’s tone suggested she didn’t believe a word. “How very charitable of you. And now she’s engaged to Lord Emerton, of all people. A man whose conversation consists entirely of discussing his own magnificence and the cost of his possessions.”
Across the room, Emerton captured Cressida’s hand and brought it to his lips with theatrical gallantry.
Theodore’s fingers clenched around his glass hard enough that the crystal threatened to shatter.
“He’s wealthy,” he managed. “Well-connected. Everything a lady could want.”
“Everything except substance.” His aunt studied him with unnerving perception. “Tell me, what happened during those two days at Ashmere? And don’t insult my intelligence with protestations of propriety. I know you, Theodore. I know that look.”
“Nothing happened that concerns you.”
“Didn’t it?” She paused delicately. “Lady Norwell mentioned something interesting earlier. About her granddaughter attempting to reach the Whitebrook wedding but being delayed by the weather. How very coincidental that you also left that wedding early, citing urgent estate matters.”
Theodore’s silence was answer enough.
Lady Seymore’s expression softened slightly. “You stopped her from disrupting the ceremony, didn’t you? And then sheltered her during the storm. How very gallant. And complicated.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was something enough to have you watching her like a hawk seeking prey while she discusses wedding plans with another man.” His aunt’s voice dropped.
“Theodore, when was the last time you cared about anything beyond duty and estate management? When did you last allow yourself to want something—someone—for yourself?”
“Wanting leads to destruction.” The words emerged flat, final. “You know what my uncle’s desires cost this family.”
“Your uncle was a selfish fool who pursued a married woman.” Lady Seymore’s tone sharpened. “That’s hardly comparable to developing genuine feelings for an unmarried lady who happens to challenge your every assumption about proper behavior.”
Theodore finally looked at her. “She’s engaged to another man.”
“To a man her parents chose without her consent while she was essentially imprisoned at her aunt’s estate.” Lady Seymore raised an eyebrow. “Did you know that? The engagement was arranged without her knowledge. She discovered it through a scandal sheet.”
Icy anger settled in Theodore’s chest. “I am aware.”
“I see. So, you know that Cressida is trapped in an engagement to a man who bores her to tears while a man who might bring her to life is standing across the ballroom pretending not to care.”
Theodore’s gaze returned to Cressida despite himself. She’d extracted herself from Emerton’s grip, her expression carrying that familiar mix of frustration and determination he’d come to recognize during their battles at Ashmere.
“What would you have me do?” he asked quietly.
His aunt’s smile turned decidedly wicked. “Whatever you must, darling. Before it’s too late.”