Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The carriage lurched forward, wheels crunching over gravel, and Cressida found herself alone with Theodore—her husband—in a confined space that seemed to shrink with each passing moment.
He sat across from her, his dark eyes fixed on the window, one hand resting on the seat in a pose that appeared relaxed but carried a tension she could feel in the air between them. His jaw was set in that familiar hard line she’d come to recognize as his default expression.
The silence pressed against her chest, heavy and suffocating. She should say something. Thank him, perhaps. He’d married her when he could have simply let scandal run its course, let society destroy her reputation while he walked away unscathed.
“Duke.” Her voice sounded smaller than she’d intended. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I wanted to thank you for—”
“Don’t.” The word was flat. Final.
Cressida blinked. “Excuse me?”
“There’s no need for false gratitude.” Theodore still didn’t look at her. “Whatever arrangement this is, it has been… efficiently secured.” At last, his gaze shifted to her. “Who do you think could have done it?”
“Done what?”
“The scandal sheet,” he said evenly. “The timing. The information. It did not appear out of nothing.”
Cressida stared at him. “I don’t know.”
“That’s the point.” His eyes held hers. “Think.”
Her hands tightened in her lap. “I’ve been out of London for two years. I’ve been in the countryside, barely in contact with anyone beyond my aunt and a handful of local families. I don’t have enemies in society. I don’t even have a presence in society anymore.”
A pause. The carriage rattled softly beneath them.
Theodore watched her for a long moment, as though weighing the truth of her words against something already forming in his mind.
“And yet,” he said, quieter, “someone thought it worth printing.”
“I can’t help you,” she said tightly. “I don’t know.”
“I didn’t ask for certainty,” he replied. “I asked for possibilities.”
Cressida exhaled through her nose, her frustration mounting. “Then I have none. If someone did this, it wasn’t aimed at me. I’ve been irrelevant for two years.”
That word seemed to catch his attention. Irrelevant.
His jaw tightened slightly.
“Good,” he said.
Cressida frowned. “Good?”
“If you are irrelevant, then you are not the target.”
Silence settled again, heavier this time, but different in shape. Less accusation. More calculation.
Theodore leaned back slightly, his gaze sharpening as it turned inward.
“I will look into it,” he said.
Cressida studied him cautiously. “Why?”
His eyes returned to her. “Because target or not, someone made a move that affected you,” he said simply. “And I intend to find out why. Whoever thought they could interfere in matters that concern me will learn otherwise.”
His eyes searched her face with an intensity that made her skin tingle. His thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist. Whether consciously or not, she couldn’t tell. Then, his gaze dropped to her mouth.
The air between them turned electric. Cressida couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare at him and wait for whatever came next.
Theodore leaned closer. So close she could feel his breath against her lips. Then he released her wrist and sat back abruptly, putting the full width of the carriage between them.
Cressida collapsed against her seat, her heart racing, her wrist burning where he’d held it. She pressed her hands against her flushed cheeks, trying to understand what had just happened—what had almost happened.
The silence that followed felt different, heavier and weighted with things neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge.
He cleared his throat. “You must understand…” He paused. “That our marriage was only out of necessity.”
She nodded.
“I did it to salvage both our reputations,” he continued. “To prevent complete ruin. But that is where my obligation ends.”
“I see.” Her voice sounded distant, like it was coming from underwater.
“We’ll live in the same castle, yes. You’ll have your rooms, I’ll have mine. You’ll fulfill the social duties required of a duchess. But our lives will be separate. That is a necessity.”
A necessity? When he’d kissed her like—
“I seem to recall a distinct lack of separation the last time I was beneath your roof.”
“As do I. And it cannot happen again. Is that understood?”
Cressida’s hands clenched in her lap. “Perfectly.”
“Good.”
The word fell between them like a stone.
Minutes passed. The countryside rolled by outside the windows—green fields, distant cottages, the occasional flock of sheep. Cressida watched it all with unseeing eyes, her mind churning.
This was her punishment for a crime she didn’t commit. A marriage without partnership. A life sentence of proximity without connection.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For your honesty.”
Each of the words he’d spoken landed like a blade. Cressida felt them cutting, felt her eyes burning, but she refused to cry. She would not give him the satisfaction.