Ashmere.
Cressida crumpled the note in her fist, fury and hurt warring in her chest. Urgent estate business. The same excuse he’d beenusing for two weeks, refined now to the point where he couldn’t even pretend to maintain basic courtesy.
“Your Grace?” Mrs. Agnes appeared in the doorway, her expression wary. “I’ve had Cook prepare your favorites for breakfast.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Agnes.” Cressida forced herself to smooth the note and set it aside with trembling hands. “You are excused.”
She stood there in the empty breakfast room after the housekeeper retreated, staring at the carefully laid table for two that would serve only one, and felt something fundamental shift inside her.
She’d been passive these past weeks, waiting for Theodore to come to her, accepting his pronouncement about separate lives as though she had no say in shaping their marriage.
But she was a Whitaker. And Whitakers endured—not through passive acceptance, but through determined persistence.
If Theodore wanted to avoid her, he’d have to work considerably harder. Because Cressida had just decided to stop making it easy for him.
That evening, she dressed for dinner with particular care. Not the lavender gown—that felt too much like trying—but a deep emerald silk that brought out the color of her eyes and huggedher figure in ways that were perfectly proper yet impossible to ignore.
When she descended to the dining hall at eight o’clock, she found it empty. No Theodore. No place setting. Just a tray laid for one, and another note from Mrs. Agnes explaining that His Grace had sent word he’d be dining in his study.
Cressida stared at the single place setting and made a decision.
“Molly?” She rang the bell, and her maid appeared within moments. “Please have my dinner sent to His Grace’s study. I’ll take my meal there this evening.”
Molly’s eyes widened, then a slow smile spread across her face. “Of course, Your Grace. Right away.”
Cressida made her way to Theodore’s study and knocked once before entering without waiting for permission. He looked up from the papers scattered on his desk, his expression shifting from surprise to wariness to something that looked dangerously like hunger before he mastered it.
“Cressida. What are you?—”
“Having dinner,” she said pleasantly, settling into the chair across from his desk as servants filed in with a second place setting and covered dishes. “You’ve been taking your meals in your study for two weeks. I thought it was time I joined you.”
Theodore’s jaw clenched. “That’s not necessary.”
“On the contrary, it is entirely necessary. Since you’ve made clear you won’t dine with me in the dining hall, I’ve decided to accommodate your preference for eating at your desk.” She smiled sweetly as the servants finished arranging everything and withdrew. “Now, shall we discuss estate business while we eat? Or would you prefer to maintain this stony silence while I enjoy Cook’s excellent roast?”
She watched emotions war across his face—frustration, admiration, irritation, and beneath it all, that hunger he couldn’t quite hide.
“You’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever encountered,” he huffed.
“You married a Whitaker. We endure.” Cressida lifted her wine glass in salute. “Now, eat your dinner, Duke. And prepare yourself for a great deal more of my company. Because I’m done sitting alone in that dining hall while you hide from me.”
Theodore stared at her across the desk, his papers forgotten, and she saw the exact moment his careful control began to fracture.
This was only the beginning.
And for the first time since arriving at Ashmere Castle, Cressida felt certain she would win.
Chapter Fifteen
“You look wretched.” Theodore glanced up from his whiskey to find John settling into the chair opposite, that insufferable smile already in place.
White’s was blessedly quiet at this hour—most of London’s gentlemen were already dressing for Lady Seymore’s ball.
“I look as I always do.”
“Precisely. Wretched.” John signaled for brandy. “Three weeks of marriage, and you’ve somehow managed to make yourself more miserable than when you were a bachelor. That takes genuine talent, Ashmere.”
Theodore’s jaw tightened. “Did you summon me here solely to offer commentary on my disposition?”
