“The storm has passed.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I should return to London.”
Theodore nodded once, not trusting his voice.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace.”
The formality stung more than it should have.
He opened his mouth to respond when a voice filled the room with characteristic drama.
“Theodore, darling, when the servants said you’d returned from the wedding early, I simply had to—Oh!” Lady Seymore stopped short, her sharp gaze immediately landing on Cressida. “My, my. And who might this be?”
Damn.
“Aunt Julia.” Theodore stood with rather more haste than dignity. “This is Lady Cressida Whitaker. I encountered her on the road during the storm. She required shelter.”
“How very dramatic.”
Cressida narrowed her eyes at him, clearly noting his omission of certain details, before she curtsied. “Lady Seymore, I am honored to meet you. His Grace was very kind to provide me with refuge.”
“Oh, kindness.” His aunt’s smile turned knowing. “Yes, my nephew is positively overflowing with kindness, aren’t you, Theodore?”
“Lady Cressida was just preparing to depart,” Theodore said firmly.
“What a shame.” Lady Seymore was studying Cressida with unconcealed interest. “Though I do believe we’ve met before, have we not? The Fairmont wedding, three years ago?”
To Theodore’s surprise, Cressida’s expression brightened. “Yes! You were discussing Italian art with the Duchess. I so enjoyed listening.”
“Were you? I don’t recall seeing you?—”
“I was sitting behind a rather substantial arrangement of lilies.” A small, genuine smile touched Cressida’s lips. “But your observations on Caravaggio were brilliant.”
His aunt actually preened. “Well, how delightful to find someone who appreciates proper culture. Theodore, you didn’t mention your guest was educated.”
“Aunt—” he started, already becoming exhausted by the turn the conversation was taking.
“I do hope those awful roads didn’t distress you too greatly, Lady Cressida. And staying here with only my nephew for company… how perfectly dreadful that must have been.”
Theodore watched with growing alarm as the two women fell into easy conversation, discussing art and literature and apparently bonding over what his aunt termed his “unfortunate tendency toward brooding solitude.”
“Really, Theodore keeps himself locked away like some Gothic villain. Lady Cressida, you must tell me, did he subject you to tours of portrait galleries and lectures on duty?”
Cressida’s eyes met Theodore’s briefly, something complicated flickering in their depths. “His Grace was a perfect gentleman.”
The slight emphasis on ‘gentleman’ made him clear his throat, a certain warmth threatening to torch its way through his chest.
How inconvenient.
“How disappointing,” Lady Seymore murmured, though her expression suggested she’d caught far more than she was letting on.
“Auntie, Lady Cressida mentioned she needs to return to London?—”
“Of course, of course.” Lady Seymore waved one elegant hand. “Though I do hope we’ll see more of you, my dear. It’s so rare to find young ladies who can carry on a proper conversation.”
After Cressida had been escorted out by a footman, Theodore turned to find his aunt watching him with undisguised speculation.
“What?” he demanded.
“What, indeed.” Lady Seymore’s smile was absolutely wicked. “The road, Theodore? Really?”
