“Because some thoughts aren’t yours to access.” He faced her again, jaw set. “Some parts of my past have nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing to do with me? Theodore, we’re husband and wife. We’re supposed to?—”
“We’re supposed to what?” His eyes were black with rage. “Share everything? Bare our souls? Is that what you expected from this marriage?”
“I expected honesty.” Her voice broke on the word. “I expected that after everything we’ve shared these past weeks—after I’vegiven you everything—you might begin to trust me with the things that hurt you.”
“I never asked for your trust.” He bit off each word. “I never asked for your understanding or your prying curiosity or your determination to fix whateveryoudecide is broken.”
“Then what did you ask for?” She was shaking now, hurt and fury warring in her chest. “What exactly am I to you, Theodore? Your wife? Your Duchess? Or just a convenient body in your bed when the loneliness becomes too much?”
The silence stretched between them, awful and complete.
Theodore’s expression had gone cold, closed off in that way she recognized from their earliest days together. The duke who trusted no one, who kept everyone at arm’s length, who would rather be alone than risk being vulnerable.
“This is my family.” He gestured to the portrait without looking at it. “Mine. The tragedy that destroyed us, the shame we carry—it’s mine to bear, not yours.”
“I’m your wife.”
“You’re a contract I signed to satisfy my aunt’s meddling and your father’s greed.” The words came out flat, deliberate. “That’s what you are. That’s all you’ve ever been.”
The air left her lungs.
Cressida stared at him, at the man she’d woken beside that morning, who’d traced idle patterns on her back while discussing which tenants needed winter supplies. Who’d kissed her forehead before leaving for the stables, casual and warm, as though such gestures had become habit. Who’d made love to her two nights ago with a tenderness that had left her breathless, whispering her name like a prayer against her skin.
A contract.
“I see.” She was surprised by how steady her voice came out. “Thank you for the clarification, Duke. I appreciate you making your position clear.”
“Cressida—”
“No.” She held up one hand. “You’ve said enough. More than enough, in fact.”
She moved past him, heading for the door.
He caught her wrist. “Where are you going?”
“To pack.” She pulled free with more force than necessary. “I’m returning to London. To my parents’ house.”
“You can’t just?—”
“Can’t I?” She turned in the doorway, fury and grief burning through her restraint. “You’ve just said I’m nothing to you but a contract. Surely the contract doesn’t require my physical presence when you’ve already fulfilled your marital duties. I’ll be available should you need an heir, Duke. Simply send word, and I’ll present myself for the task.”
“Stop.” His face had gone gray. “You’re being?—”
“Honest?” The word tasted bitter on her tongue. “Yes, I suppose I am. It’s a trait I learned from you, though clearly I’ve misunderstood its value.”
Theodore took a step toward her, something desperate flickering across his expression. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Yes, you did.” Cressida’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “That’s what makes it so much worse. You meant every word.”
She left him standing there.
Her legs carried her through familiar corridors on instinct alone—past the breakfast room where they’d shared honey and toast that morning, past the library where he’d read to her two nights ago, past the conservatory where he’d taught her the names of his mother’s roses.
Each room held memories now. His hand on the small of her back as they walked to dinner. His rare smile when she’d madean absurd joke about estate management. The way he’d looked at her across the drawing room last week, with an expression that had made her think perhaps he was learning to love her. That he saw her—the opinionated, bookish,unsuitablespinster—and chose her regardless.
She’d been such a fool.
