Page 11 of Caught By the Ruthless Duke
“Don’t I?” Cressida leaned forward, matching his intensity. “I understand that rakes rarely reform. That they promise fidelity while keeping mistresses. That they?—”
“Miss Barnes is the third daughter of a lowly baron,” the Duke interrupted, his voice hardening. “Now, she’s a marchioness. She has security, a title, and wealth. What more could she possibly want?”
“And I’ve told you this before: Harriet deserves love!” The word burst out of Cressida with more force than she’d intended. “And respect! And a partnership based on more than social advancement and financial convenience!”
“Fairy tales,” he gritted out. “The world doesn’t work that way, Lady Cressida. Marriage is a contract. A merger of families and fortunes.”
Cressida rolled her eyes at the boorish words. “How romantic,” she drawled sarcastically.
“Romance is a luxury for those who can afford it.” He reached for the wine decanter, refilling both their glasses with movements that spoke of rigidly controlled tension. “Your friend has made an advantageous match. She’ll want for nothing.”
“Except happiness.” Cressida took a sip of wine, welcoming the warmth that spread through her chest. “Except genuine affection. Except the knowledge that her husband chose her for who she is rather than what she could provide.”
“And you know this with certainty?” The Duke’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. “You’ve spoken with her? Confirmed her misery?”
“I…” Cressida faltered. “No, but?—”
“Then you’re making assumptions.” He leaned closer. “Just as you’ve assumed I’m some villain for preventing your theatrical rescue attempt.”
“I never said you were a villain.”
“Are you casting doubt upon my memory? Or should I be worried about yours?” His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered there for a heartbeat too long. “You’ve called me arrogant, a brute, a kidnapper. What else should I add to the list?”
Cressida’s cheeks heated, but she refused to look away first. “I apologize for that, but you must understand my frustration. You would have done the same, had it been your friend.”
His hands clenched. “You’re mistaken if you think you understand me, Lady Cressida. What I do with my friends, or anyone else, is none of your concern.”
His voice had dropped, low and dangerous, a register that sent shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with fear.
“You keep saying that,” she whispered. “But here we are. Alone in your castle. Me in a dress that barely fits, you looking at me like—” She caught herself, heat flooding her face.
“Like what?” He stood up from his chair.
Cressida’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Like…”
She faltered. She’d heard about desire, about lust, about what men and women did when they were overcome by those.
But even during her time out in society, she’d never experienced anything more than a dance, than a polite bow. Gloves and fans and courteous formalities, nothing thatbreathed.
The Duke of Ashmere was much more intense, as though he belonged to an entirely different world.
A very tempting world.
“Like what, My Lady?” he asked, standing above her, then lowering himself closer to her face. So close she could feel his breath on her cheeks.
She opened her mouth to continue. The intensity of his gaze, the proximity of his body to hers—they all made her freeze in place, waiting to see what he would do with a strange, excitable curiosity.
“So quiet now… I wonder what else I could do to tame that sharp tongue of yours,” he murmured.
A shiver skittered down Cressida’s spine, her heart beating so hard she was certain it’d punch right through her chest and her damned tight dress.
His eyes drifted towards her lips, and she bit her lower lip, too aware of his gaze.
The Duke looked back up into her eyes, then he stood straight, the air between them now suddenly cold. Then, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.
“We’ll speak again in the morning.”
The door closed behind him with a decisive click, leaving Cressida alone in the vast dining hall with her racing heart and the uncomfortable realization of how much he had affected her with only his eyes.
