Page 10 of Caught By the Ruthless Duke
She’d tried to protest, to ask for something else, but Mrs. Agnes had assured her it was this or remain wrapped in a dressing gown. And Cressida, whatever her other faults, refused to appear at dinner in her nightclothes.
Even if this was barely better.
“The dining hall is just through here, My Lady.” Mrs. Agnes’s eyes sparkled with what might have been amusement.
Cressida stepped through the doorway and immediately felt the Duke’s gaze land on her with almost physical force. He stood at the far end of an absurdly long table, one hand resting on the back of a chair, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
His dark eyes slowly traveled from her face down the length of her body, lingering on the places where fabric strained against flesh. When his gaze returned to hers, heat flickered in those depths before his expression shuttered once more.
“Lady Cressida.” His voice was carefully neutral.
“Your Grace.” She moved toward him with as much dignity as she could muster, her heart pounding at the base of her throat, hyperaware of how the dress restricted her movement.
He pulled out a chair, not at the opposite end of the table as she’d half-expected, but close to his own seat.
So he has some manners, at least.
Cressida sat, and he settled into the chair beside her rather than across from her. The proximity sent a flutter through her stomach that she firmly ignored.
A footman appeared with wine, then disappeared like a ghost. The silence that followed felt oppressive, broken only by the continued assault of rain against the windows and the occasional crack of thunder.
She couldn’t bear it.
“Thank you,” she said finally, the words tumbling out. “For not leaving me out in the storm.”
Despite all the trouble I gave you.
She didn’t say that part out loud, but she knew he heard it all the same.
The Duke’s head snapped toward her, his expression darkening. “I wouldn’t abandon a woman to the elements. Not even–” He cut himself off.
“I don’t know you,” she replied honestly. “So I cannot assume what you’re capable of.”
His jaw clenched. “Precisely, Lady Cressida. You don’t know me.” He leaned forward, and suddenly the space between them felt charged. The golden flecks in his eyes burned somehow brighter.
Their eyes locked. Cressida’s breath caught at the intensity she found there—not anger, though that simmered beneath the surface, but something else entirely. Something that made her skin feel too tight and her pulse quicken.
Want. Hewantedher.
She could see it in the slight dilation of his pupils, the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze kept dropping to her mouth before jerking back up.
And if she was being truly honest?—
No. Stop it.
“Why did you do it?” The question came out softer than she’d intended. “Why were you so adamant about letting Harriet’s wedding proceed?”
The Duke reached for his wine, taking a long sip before answering. “I’ve already told you. Miss Barnes is a respectable lady. It’s only right she should marry well.”
Something about the careful phrasing made Cressida’s spine straighten. A memory surfaced; gossip she’d overheard during her last Season in London, whispered behind fans at some tedious ball.
She tilted her head, studying him. “Tell me, Your Grace, what makes Lord Whitebrook such a respectable match? Is it thedrinking? Or perhaps the gambling? I seem to recall hearing about an incident where you had to physically remove him from an establishment because he couldn’t stand on his own.”
A muscle ticked in the Duke’s jaw. “What I do with my friends is none of your concern.”
“Then you understand why my dearest friend’s future is very much my concern.” Heat crept into her voice despite her attempt at composure. “I don’t want her married to a man who will humiliate her, who will break his vows the moment temptation presents itself.”
Now, the Duke was scowling. “You speak of things you don’t understand.”
