Her gaze snapped to his. “What?”
“The emerald. Your family’s staff told me it was your favorite. Your grandmother’s painting.” He looked away, unable to hold her stare.
“You…” she trailed off.
When he risked a glance back, he found her staring at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher.
“You asked them about that?”
“Yes. Because I want to know everything about you.” The admission escaped before he could stop it. “Every word. Every detail.” He forced himself to meet her eyes again. “Which is precisely why I must keep my distance. Because knowing you is dangerous.”
The carriage began to slow, the sounds of London society filtering through the windows—music and laughter and therattle of dozens of other carriages converging on his aunt’s house. Through the glass, Theodore could see light blazing from every window, the entrance already crowded with guests.
They’d arrived.
The footman opened the door. Theodore stepped out and turned, offering his hand. Cressida placed her gloved fingers in his, trembling slightly as she descended.
Light spilled from the ballroom entrance across the street. Music drifted through the evening air. Every person who mattered was inside those walls, waiting to observe and judge and whisper about the Duke of Ashmere and his scandalous wife.
Theodore felt Cressida hesitate beside him.
“Keep your head high,” he murmured. “You’re the Duchess of Ashmere. Half these people couldn’t dream of matching your rank.”
She glanced up at him, surprise flickering across her features. Then her spine straightened, and her shoulders squared.
Theodore felt something shift in his chest at the transformation. A spark of pride that was almost feral, a recognition that this woman matched him as no other could.
They entered together.
The ballroom fell silent as a tomb. Every head turned. Every conversation ceased. The orchestra played on, but the assembled guests stood frozen, their collective attention fixed on the doorway with the intensity of predators scenting blood.
Lady Seymore materialized from the crowd like an avenging angel in purple silk. “Theodore! Cressida! How wonderful!” Her voice carried across the sudden hush with deliberate cheerfulness. “Darling boy, you look almost civilized. And Cressida, emerald is absolutely your color. Magnificent choice.”
“Thank you for inviting us, Lady Seymore,” Cressida said, her voice steady despite the scrutiny.
“Inviting you? Nonsense. You’re family.” Lady Seymore beamed at them both, before her expression turned sly. “Now, when might I expect news of a great-nephew or niece? Surely, you’re not planning to rattle about in that enormous castle with just the two of you indefinitely.”
“Auntie.” Theodore’s voice came out flat and cold. “The matter is not open for discussion.”
Lady Seymore’s smile didn’t waver, but something shifted in her eyes. “Oh, don’t be stuffy, darling. I’m simply expressing natural interest.”
“Then express it elsewhere.” Theodore felt Cressida flinch beside him and hated himself anew. “Now, if you’ll excuse us?—”
“Actually,” Cressida interjected, her tone light but her grip on his arm firm, “I believe I see Lady Whitebrook across the room. Would you excuse me, Duke? I’d very much like to speak with her.”
Theodore stared at her. She was asking permission, when weeks ago, she’d have simply walked away without bothering. The shift unnerved him more than he cared to admit.
“You’re free to do as you please,” he said.
Her smile turned sharp. “I’ll remember you said that.”
Then she was gone, gliding through the crowd toward Harriet with her head held high and her emerald silk gown catching the light, leaving him standing with his aunt in the middle of a ballroom full of people pretending not to stare.
He had a sinking feeling he would soon regret his words.
Chapter Sixteen
“Good job, Ashmere.” John clapped him on the shoulder with insufferable cheerfulness. “Your wife looks positively radiant this evening.”
