Page 26 of Caught By the Ruthless Duke
“Perfectly well.” The lie tasted bitter.
“I was surprised to hear of your engagement.”
Jaw flexing once, Cressida managed a tight smile. “As was I, Your Grace.”
He frowned. “It was arranged without your knowledge?”
Cressida shot him a look. Before she could even open her mouth, a voice rang out.
“Cressida!” Her mother’s voice shattered the moment. “There you are. Lord Emerton has been looking for you.”
Lady Bardwell swept toward them with Emerton in tow, faltering upon seeing Theodore. His reputation preceded him, and her curtsey carried nervous hesitation.
“Your Grace. What a pleasure.”
Theodore inclined his head with minimal courtesy.
“I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter’s fiancé. Lord Emerton, may I present the Duke of Ashmere.”
Emerton bowed with patronizing correctness. “Your Grace. It is a pleasure.” He gave a smarmy smile that made her skin crawl.
Oh, dear heavens.
Clearly, Theodore did not enjoy the other man’s presence any more than she did.
“Naturally.” His voice could have frozen wine.
“We were just announcing Lady Cressida’s engagement,” Lady Bardwell continued uncomfortably. “Such a fortuitous match?—”
Theodore’s lip curled in something akin to a sneer before he forced civility. “Congratulations.”
The word landed like a curse wrapped in silk.
Lady Bardwell paled. “Yes. Well, we really should get going.”
Cressida allowed herself to be led away, but not before catching one final glimpse of Theodore watching her with an expression that stole her breath—hunger and frustration and something that looked dangerously like jealousy.
“You seem remarkably interested in the refreshments table, nephew.”
Theodore didn’t turn at his aunt’s voice, his gaze fixed across the ballroom where Cressida stood beside that insufferable peacock Emerton. The Earl was gesturing with animated enthusiasm, no doubt expounding on some tedious topic of personal magnificence, and Cressida—damn her—was smiling. Politely, certainly, but smiling nonetheless.
“I’m not interested in anything,” Theodore replied, his jaw tight.
“Of course not.” Lady Seymore moved to stand beside him, following his gaze with unconcealed amusement. “You’re merely glowering at Lady Cressida and her fiancé with the intensity of a man plotting murder. Perfectly normal behavior for a ballroom.”
“I’m not glowering.”
“You’re positively radiating hostility, darling. It’s rather magnificent to observe.” His aunt tapped her fan against herpalm. “Though I confess, I’m fascinated by your interest in the Bardwell girl. You’ve never shown particular attention to young ladies before.”
Theodore forced his attention away from Cressida—from the way her pink gown pulled tight across curves he remembered with shameful clarity, from the animated gestures she made while speaking, from the flush on her cheeks that he knew wasn’t caused by that vapid fool beside her.
“There’s no interest. She was a guest at Ashmere during the storm. Nothing more.”
“A guest.” Lady Seymore’s tone suggested she didn’t believe a word. “How very charitable of you. And now she’s engaged to Lord Emerton, of all people. A man whose conversation consists entirely of discussing his own magnificence and the cost of his possessions.”
Across the room, Emerton captured Cressida’s hand and brought it to his lips with theatrical gallantry.
Theodore’s fingers clenched around his glass hard enough that the crystal threatened to shatter.
