Dinner at Ashmere alone was nothing new to Theodore. Dinner in company on a stormy evening had, he was discovering, a particular quality to it—something between a siege and a chess match, with excellent wine.
He was already seated when she arrived, his eyes lifting from the letter in his hand only briefly before he set it aside. He stood, manners intact, and waited until she was seated before resuming his own seat.
The footman poured wine. The soup arrived. Three full minutes passed in which neither of them said a word, and the rain outside said rather a lot.
“Well,” she said pleasantly. “This is not at all strained.”
He said nothing and simply reached for his wine. But Cressida only waited with every appearance of contentment. For a womanwith so many opinions, she had apparently decided to keep them to herself until he shared one for her to argue against.
He would oblige her. This silence grew too much for him.
“Your dedication to your friend is admirable, Lady Cressida.” Theodore cut into his beef with more precision than necessary. “Though I would venture to say it borders on reckless.”
Across the table, his current obsession set down her wine glass with a controlled click that nonetheless conveyed volumes. “I suppose you would prefer I sit idle while watching people I care about make terrible mistakes?”
The candles between them flickered, casting shadows that made her eyes appear more vivid, more dangerous. Theodore found himself watching the way firelight played across her collarbone, exposed by that damned dress that Mrs. Agnes had somehow procured again.
“I prefer,” he said carefully, “that people consider consequences before charging headlong into disaster.”
“How very dull that must make your life, Your Grace.” Cressida took a deliberate bite of her meal. “Always calculating, never feeling.”
The barb struck deeper than she could know.
“Feelings,” Theodore replied, his voice hardening, “are what lead men to ruin.”
“And what leads them to happiness?” She leaned forward slightly, candlelight making her auburn hair gleam like burnished copper. “Or is that not something dukes concern themselves with?”
“Happiness is a luxury.” The words came out more bitter than he’d intended. “Sometimes people must make difficult choices for the greater good.”
“The greater good.” Cressida’s laugh held no humor. “How convenient that that phrase always seems to mean sacrificing what one wants for what society deems acceptable.”
“Society exists for a reason?—”
“Society exists to keep people like you in power and people like me in our place.” Her cheeks had flushed, passion animating her features in a way that made his pulse quicken despite himself. “You speak of duty and sacrifice as though they’re virtues, but truly, Your Grace, you sound like a man who doesn’t care about anything—anyone—at all.”
The accusation slapped him across the jaw with the force of her conviction.
Theodore’s grip tightened on his fork. “You know nothing of what I care about.” He knew he ran the risk of sounding like asailor’s parrot, especially with the way he continued to sound so defensive, but he could not help himself.
“Then enlighten me.” She spread her hands. “Because from where I’m sitting, you seem determined to keep yourself locked away in this castle, surrounded by portraits and books and?—”
“Sometimes,” he interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous register, “the choices one must make for the sake of duty leave one hollow. Would you prefer I inflict that hollowness upon others?”
Silence fell between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the continued assault of rain against the windows. Cressida’s expression had shifted, curiosity replacing anger.
“What happened to you?” she asked softly.
Theodore did not like the way her tone wormed its way through his ribcage to entwine itself around his heart. “Nothing that concerns you.”
She shook her head. “I wonder… Does anyone actually know you, Your Grace? Or do you keep everyone at arm’s length with your duty and your burdens?”
“You understand nothing of burdens.” The words emerged harsher than he’d intended.
Cressida stood abruptly, her chair scraping across stone. “Don’t I? I’ve spent two years scrubbing floors for an aunt who despises me because my parents found me too inconvenient to keep. I’ve watched every friend marry while I became society’s cautionary tale. I’ve had my choices stripped away until running across the countryside to stop a wedding seemed like the only path I had left.” Her voice had risen, trembling with emotion. “So please, Your Grace, lecture me again about burdens you think I couldn’t possibly understand.”
She turned toward the door, and Theodore found himself moving before thought could intervene. His hand caught her wrist, spinning her back to face him.
“Let go of me.”
