Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
“Good job, Ashmere.” John clapped him on the shoulder with insufferable cheerfulness. “Your wife looks positively radiant this evening.”
Theodore’s glare could have frozen brandy. “Don’t.”
His friend’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m merely observing that the Duchess appears content. Surely that pleases you?”
“What would please me,” Theodore said through clenched teeth, “is if you’d concern yourself with your own wife and leave mine alone.”
John laughed. “Ah, but my wife is currently occupied with your Duchess, which leaves me free to torment you. Tell me, does watching her smile at other gentlemen always make you look as though you’d like to commit murder?”
Theodore’s response was a low growl that sent his friend retreating with raised hands and undiminished amusement.
He knew John wouldn’t stay gone for long, and that he’d have to find something to do.
Otherwise, he would spend the entire evening stalking Cressida around the damned ballroom until his eyes fell out.
He promptly turned and headed straight for a wine tray.
“Ah, where are you going, my good man?” John called after him.
Theodore fought the urge to request a duel right then and there, if only to shut the man up.
“Surely, you’re not running away from my stellar company, are you?”
Theodore huffed, “And what if I am?”
At those words, John chuckled, hurrying to catch up. “Now, don’t be like that, Ashmere. Alright, I will refrain from teasing you for the time being.”
Theodore rolled his eyes. “And I suppose I should get on my knees and thank you?”
John chortled. “You ungrateful scoundrel.”
Theodore couldn’t stop the smile from curving his mouth. This was better. At least, John’s presence was doing its job of distracting him from going after the one woman in this hall whose eyes made him want to throw all caution to the wind.
He was already so close to doing that, and with the scandal surrounding their marriage, he didn’t think it was very appropriate to put her in such a predicament again.
Then you should whisk her away from here. Why should other men get to look upon her? Especially in that dress?
Damn it. Even his best attempts at keeping her at arm’s length did nothing to assuage the possessiveness burning in his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t have gifted her that dress just yet.
Damnation!
“I need a drink,” he muttered to himself.
“The gown suits you beautifully, Your Grace.” Lady Pemberton’s smile held calculation beneath its warmth.
Cressida managed to return the warmth despite the whispers rippling through the ballroom. Heads turned when she passed. Fans snapped open. Conversations halted mid-sentence only to resume in hushed tones.
She tried to ignore it all. Tried to focus on Harriet’s steady presence beside her, on the music and the candlelight and anything except the weight of society’s judgment pressing against her skin.
“Cressida.” The voice cut through the air like sweetened poison.
Miss Oakley approached with measured steps, her pale blue gown pristine, her expression arranged in what someone less observant might have mistaken for friendliness.
Harriet’s hand tightened on Cressida’s arm.
“Miss Oakley.” Cressida refused to retreat.
“I simply had to offer my congratulations.” Miss Oakley’s smile remained fixed. “A duchess! And after all that dreadful business with the scandal. You must be so relieved.”
The barb landed precisely where intended.
Cressida felt heat creep up her neck, but kept her voice level. “I’m certain you’re as happy for me as I would be for you in similar circumstances.”
Miss Oakley’s eyes glittered. “Of course. Though I must admit, the circumstances were rather unusual, weren’t they? To go from one engagement to marriage with the Duke of Ashmere in a matter of days…”
“Were they?” Cressida matched her tone with false innocence. “I hadn’t noticed you were particularly concerned with my circumstances, Miss Oakley. Unless, of course, you had some personal interest in the matter?”
Color touched Miss Oakley’s cheeks. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” Cressida tilted her head. “I seem to recall you had a certain interest in Lord Emerton. Such unfortunate timing when these things don’t work out as planned.”
Miss Oakley’s smile turned brittle. “Perhaps it’s for the best that I didn’t marry Lord Emerton. We weren’t quite suited, I think. Some matches simply aren’t meant to be, regardless of how promising they might appear.”
The implication hung between them.
Cressida opened her mouth, the accusation forming on her tongue, the words that would name Miss Oakley as the source of the leak, but Miss Oakley was already turning away with a curtsy that bordered on mockery.
“Do enjoy the evening, Your Grace.”
Then she was gone, gliding through the crowd with the satisfaction of someone who’d delivered their blow.
“That vicious—” Harriet’s grip had become almost painful.
“Don’t.” Cressida drew a breath. “She’s not worth it.”
“You know she leaked what happened to the scandal sheets.”
“Knowing and proving are different things.” Cressida watched Miss Oakley join a cluster of young ladies near the orchestra. “And even if I could prove it, what difference would it make now?”
Harriet squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry. This should be easier for you.”
“Perhaps.” Cressida managed a wan smile. “Though I’m discovering that marriage to a duke comes with certain complications I hadn’t anticipated.”
The orchestra struck the opening notes of a waltz.
“Duchess.” Theodore’s voice cut through the ambient noise with ducal authority. He stood before her, his dark eyes unreadable, his posture rigid.
“Duke.” Cressida dropped into a perfunctory curtsy.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a request.
Cressida’s spine straightened with reflexive defiance. “I believe it’s customary to ask, not command.”
His jaw tightened. “You belong to me. Of course you’re going to dance with me.”
The possessive declaration sent heat rushing through her despite her irritation. But the last thing she needed was another scandal born of refusing her husband in the middle of his aunt’s ballroom.
She placed her hand in his extended palm.
Theodore led her onto the dance floor with confidence. His hand settled on her waist. Her fingers rested on his shoulder. They began to move.
“You’re very presumptuous,” Cressida observed after several moments of tense silence.
“And you’re very intent on arguing against everything I say.”
“Perhaps if you stopped issuing orders as though I were one of your tenants—”
“You’re my wife.” His fingers flexed against her waist. “That gives me certain rights.”
“Rights?” Her eyes flashed. “I wasn’t aware marriage came with ownership papers.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” They turned together, the movement bringing them closer than propriety allowed. “You commanded me onto this floor. You told me I belong to you. What precisely did you mean, if not ownership?”
Theodore’s grip tightened on her. “I meant that watching other men look at you makes me want to commit violence. That seeing you smile at half a dozen young buffoons earlier made my vision narrow. That every time you walk into a room wearing that damned dress—”
“The dress you chose,” she interrupted.
“Yes.” His voice dropped. “The dress I chose because I remembered you mentioning emerald was your favorite. Because I can’t seem to forget a single word that leaves your mouth, no matter how hard I try.”
Cressida stumbled. Theodore’s arm tightened, keeping her upright.
“You’re infuriating,” he said.
“And you’re impossible.” Her pulse raced beneath his touch. “One moment, you avoid me as though I carry plague; the next, you’re dragging me onto dance floors and making declarations about ownership.”
“I wasn’t declaring ownership.”
“What would you call it?”
His jaw clenched. “Protection.”
“I don’t need your protection from a waltz.”
“Don’t you?” His gaze dropped to her mouth before jerking back up. “Half the men in this ballroom are wondering how I trapped you into marriage. The other half are wondering if the scandal sheets were accurate about what happened at Ashmere.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “And dancing with you is supposed to convince them otherwise?”
“Dancing with me demonstrates that you’re mine.” The possessive growl in his voice made her breath catch. “That no other man has any claim to you whatsoever.”
“Except you don’t want me,” Cressida heard herself say. “You made that abundantly clear.”
Theodore’s eyes blazed. “You think I don’t want you?”
“You’ve spent weeks avoiding me.”
“Because wanting you is dangerous.” His hand slid fractionally higher on her waist. “Because every time I’m near you, I lose the control I’ve spent seventeen years perfecting. Because you make me feel things I swore I’d never—”
The music swelled toward its conclusion. Around them, other couples completed their final turns with graceful ease.
The final notes faded.
Theodore released her with visible effort, stepping back. “Thank you for the dance.”
Then he turned and walked away, leaving her standing on the edge of the dance floor with her heart racing and unfinished confessions burning between them.
“Cressida, darling!” Lady Bardwell descended with the subtlety of a cavalry charge, her husband trailing behind. Both appeared to have reached the smug phase of parental achievement.
“Mama. Papa.” Cressida curtsied with automatic courtesy.
“Where is the Duke?” Her mother scanned the ballroom. “I simply must express our gratitude for his generosity.”
“His Grace is occupied at present.”
“Of course, of course. Important men, always so busy.” Lady Bardwell adjusted her reticule. “Though you might mention to him when convenient that your father has recently invested in a rather promising venture with Lord Hawthorne.”
Lord Bardwell nodded sagely. “Indeed. The opportunities in shipping are quite remarkable. I was just telling Hawthorne that the Duke might find it of interest—”
Neither asked how she was managing. Neither inquired about her adjustment to married life. They simply discussed their own concerns as though she were merely a convenient conduit to ducal favor.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Cressida said when her father paused for breath, “I see my brother across the room.”
She fled before they could protest.
Peter stood near the refreshments table with another young man, both dressed in the self-conscious elegance of Cambridge gentlemen recently acquired enough town polish to feel superior.
“Cressida!” His face brightened. “There you are. Allow me to introduce Lord Prampton. We were at Trinity together. Prampton, this is my sister, the Duchess of Ashmere.”
Lord Prampton bowed with easy confidence. “Your Grace. Peter has spoken of you often.”
“Nothing too damaging, I hope.”
“On the contrary.” Prampton’s eyes held friendly warmth. “He’s been singing your praises. Though he failed to mention your quick wit.”
“That’s because witnessing it usually comes at his expense,” Cressida observed.
Peter clutched at his chest with theatrical anguish. “You wound me, Sister. Here I am, introducing you to one of my dearest friends, and you immediately make me the object of mockery.”
“Someone must keep your ego in check,” Cressida retorted. “Otherwise, Cambridge would have inflated it beyond all recognition.”
“He already is insufferable,” Prampton said cheerfully. “Last week, he spent an entire evening explaining the superiority of Cambridge rowing techniques to a table full of Oxford men.”
“I was educating them,” Peter protested.
“You were being pompous.”
“There’s a difference?”
Cressida laughed, genuine, unguarded laughter that felt like breathing after being underwater.
Across the ballroom, Theodore’s attention snapped to the sound.
He’d extricated himself from Bartley’s interminable railway discussion to find his wife laughing. With another man. A young, handsome man who was looking at her with entirely too much appreciation.
Theodore’s hands clenched at his sides. Rational thought evaporated beneath sudden possessive fury.
The orchestra began tuning for the next set. Theodore watched, jaw clenched, as the stranger offered his hand to Cressida.
He was moving before a conscious decision formed.
His strides across the ballroom carried the focused intensity of a predator. Guests scattered from his path. Conversations died mid-sentence. He reached them just as Cressida was about to accept the man’s hand.
His fingers closed around her wrist. “My dance, I believe.”
“Duke—” Cressida’s eyes widened. “Lord Prampton was just—”
Theodore didn’t look at the other man. He pulled Cressida toward the dance floor with enough force that she had to scramble to keep pace.