“It’s a very long story,” Cressida managed, the weight of the ring on her finger suddenly unbearable. “My parents arranged it while I was away. I only discovered it upon my return.”
Harriet’s eyes widened with understanding and sympathy. “Oh, Cressida, I’m so?—”
“Lady Cressida.” Emerton’s voice cut through their conversation like a blade through silk. He appeared at her elbow with the presumptuous familiarity of ownership, his smile calculated to charm. “I believe the first dance is mine.”
It wasn’t a request.
Cressida’s spine stiffened as she turned to face her betrothed. He was handsome enough, she supposed, fair-haired and well-dressed, but something in his eyes reminded her of a merchant appraising inventory. She felt nothing when he took her hand. No flutter or quickening pulse.
Nothing like what she’d felt when Theodore had?—
“Of course, My Lord,” she heard herself say, the words tasting like ash.
Theodore watched Emerton guide Cressida onto the dance floor with a possessiveness that made his jaw clench. The Earl’s hand settled on her waist with presumptuous familiarity, and something dark and primal coiled in Theodore’s chest.
She was breathtaking. Her gown—a deep emerald that made her auburn hair gleam like copper in candlelight—fitted her curveswith devastating precision. Every turn revealed the graceful line of her neck, the elegant slope of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts above the bodice that made his mouth go dry.
“My, my.” Lady Seymore materialized at his elbow, her voice rich with amusement. “If looks could kill, poor Emerton would be bleeding out on the ballroom floor.”
Theodore didn’t acknowledge her, his gaze fixed on the dancers.
“Theodore, darling, you’re being rather obvious?—”
“I would rather not speak of this, Auntie.” The words emerged colder than he’d intended.
The music swelled to its conclusion. Theodore moved before thought could intervene, crossing the room with singular purpose. Emerton was leading Cressida off the dance floor, his hand lingering on her elbow in a manner that made Theodore’s vision narrow.
“Lady Cressida.” He appeared before them, ignoring Emerton entirely. “May I have the next dance?”
Her eyes widened, color flooding her cheeks. “Your Grace, I?—”
“The next dance,” he repeated, extending his hand with ducal authority that brooked no refusal.
Emerton sputtered something about prior claims, but Cressida had already placed her fingers in Theodore’s palm, and the contact sent heat racing up his arm.
He led her onto the dance floor as the orchestra struck the opening notes of a waltz.
“You’re very presumptuous, Your Grace,” she murmured as his hand settled on her waist. The curve beneath his palm made concentration difficult.
“And you’re very engaged to the wrong man, Lady Cressida.” The retort escaped before he could stop it.
Chapter Nine
“Idid not have the luxury of choice.” Her eyes flashed.
He guided her through the turn with more force than necessary, pulling her closer than propriety allowed. “Tell me, how does it feel knowing that your friend is blissfully happy with the rake you traveled across the country to save her from?”
Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. “It feels rather like discovering I was worried over nothing. Which is preferable, I should think, to discovering I was worried with cause.”
“You’re admitting you were wrong, then?”
“I’m admitting Harriet is happy. There’s a difference.” She matched his steps flawlessly, as though they’d danced together a hundred times. “Though I notice you’re very quick to claim vindication, when it was sheer luck, not wisdom, that made the match successful.”
“Luck?” His hand tightened on her waist. “I know my friend’s character?—”
“You know he was a notorious rake who drank himself insensible and required physical removal from gaming hells.” Her voice remained pleasant despite the cutting words. “Hardly the foundation for marital bliss, yet here we are. Perhaps the credit belongs to Harriet rather than your matchmaking genius.”
They moved together in perfect rhythm, the waltz bringing them close enough that he could smell lavender, could feel the tension she refused to betray.
