By the time she entered the breakfast room, every trace of vulnerability had been carefully hidden.
Dorian was already there, sitting near the long windows overlooking the eastern grounds. A cup of coffee sat untouched near one hand, while a paper rested in the other.
He looked as though he had only recently dressed, his dark hair still slightly mussed in a way society somehow found charming when attached to a man like him.
Anne found she resented that, because even after everything she had spent the morning reminding herself of, she still noticed things she ought not to.
He looked up the moment she entered, and warmth crossed his face immediately.
“Good morning,” he greeted, setting aside the paper. “You are later than usual. I was beginning to think you had abandoned me to break my fast alone.”
Anne took her seat opposite him, setting her gloves on the table beside her before answering, “Good morning, Duke.”
His smile disappeared. It was subtle, but still she noticed. There was a brief pause before he leaned back in his chair, studying her with more focus than amusement.
“Duke,” he repeated. “That feels alarmingly formal for this hour.”
Anne reached for the teapot as though nothing at all had changed. “It is your title.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Though you generally reserve it for occasions when you are displeased with me.”
“I was unaware you monitored my habits so closely.”
“I monitor everything involving you closely,” he replied without hesitation. “I would never claim the contrary.”
The words landed harder than they should have, for he sounded as though he meant them.
Anne kept her attention focused on pouring tea. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It is, occasionally,” he admitted. “Particularly when my wife arrives at breakfast behaving as though I have committed some terrible offense I am not aware of.”
“I assure you,” Anne said evenly, “nothing is wrong.”
Dorian was quiet for a moment. She could feel him watching her, trying to determine whether she meant it.
Ordinarily, she would have already corrected what he had said, and he would have smiled in that infuriatingly easy way that somehow made annoyance difficult to maintain. Today, she kept her attention firmly on her tea.
“You slept poorly,” he noted after a while. “I can tell.”
“I did.”
“You usually tell me why. Is today different for some reason?”
“Perhaps I did not think it necessary.”
His brows lifted faintly. “Well,” he said, attempting lightness, “this is already concerning. You have become mysterious overnight.”
“I was not aware that mystery was concerning.”
“From you?” he drawled. “Extremely. You generally prefer disapproval to nothing at all.”
Anne lifted her gaze briefly. “You say that as though I spend my days criticizing you.”
“You do,” he replied easily. “Though I have become rather fond of it.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around her teacup before she set it down. The ease in his voice irritated her suddenly. He was speaking to her as though the previous evening had not happened at all.
“You truly are upset,” he said, quieter now.
