Page 99 of Caught By the Ruthless Duke
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Cressida looked up from the book she wasn’t reading to find Harriet in the doorway, bonnet askew and slightly breathless as though she’d run up the stairs.
Before Cressida could respond, Harriet crossed the room and pulled her into a fierce embrace that spoke more eloquently than words ever could.
For a moment, Cressida simply stood there, rigid with the effort of maintaining her composure. Then something in her chest cracked, and she sagged against her friend’s shoulder.
“There now,” Harriet murmured, stroking her back in soothing circles. “I’ve got you.”
They stood like that for several heartbeats, Harriet’s steady warmth anchoring her to something beyond the misery that had consumed her these past days.
Eventually, Harriet pulled back, keeping her hands on Cressida’s shoulders while she studied her face with the frank assessment of someone who had known her since they were girls trading books and scandalous opinions.
“When did you last eat properly?”
“This morning. Breakfast.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Harriet guided her to the bed and settled beside her with the air of someone who had no intention of leaving. “And when did you last sleep?”
“I sleep.”
“Cressida.”
“I close my eyes and lie very still for several hours. Surely that counts.”
Harriet’s expression softened with concern. “Oh, my dear friend. You look absolutely wretched.”
“How kind of you to notice.” Cressida’s attempt at lightness fell flat, her voice catching on the words.
“I would have come sooner, but your mother sent word that you were indisposed and not receiving visitors.” Harriet squeezed her hand. “John told me he saw Theodore at the club yesterday. That’s when I knew something had happened.”
The mention ofhisname made Cressida’s chest constrict. She looked away, focusing on the worn spine of the philosophy book she’d abandoned.
“I’m fine,” she managed.
“You’re not.” Harriet’s thumb traced gentle circles on her knuckles. “And you don’t have to pretend otherwise with me. Whatever’s happened, you’re not facing it alone.”
The kindness in her voice, the absolute certainty of her friendship, threatened to undo what little composure Cressida had managed to salvage.
She drew a shaky breath. “I’ve made such a mess of things.”
“Then tell me about it.” Harriet shifted closer, her shoulder warm against Cressida’s. “Start from the beginning.”
For a moment, Cressida considered deflecting. She’d perfected that skill over the years, the art of appearing forthcoming while revealing nothing substantial. But Harriet’s patient gaze held no judgment, only the steadfast concern of someone who would wait however long necessary.
“I found a portrait,” Cressida heard herself say. “In a gallery at Ashmere. It was of his uncle, Charles. I didn’t know who it was at first, only that something about it felt significant.”
“And the Duke discovered you?”
“He was furious.” The memory made her chest ache. “Not just angry, Harriet. Devastated. I’d never seen him like that before, so entirely stripped of his usual control.”
Harriet’s hand tightened around hers, encouraging her to continue.
“I told him it was natural to be curious about my husband’s family. That they were my family now, too.” Cressida’s voice wavered. “And he said that washisfamily. Only his. That I wasn’t family, just a contract he’d signed.”
“Oh, Cressida.”
“The worst part is how he said it. Not in anger, but with this terrible certainty, as though he’d been waiting for me to understand that all along.” She pressed her palm flat against the counterpane. “I thought we were building something. These past weeks at Ashmere, the way he’d begun to soften, to let me in…”
