“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For your honesty.”
Each of the words he’d spoken landed like a blade. Cressida felt them cutting, felt her eyes burning, but she refused to cry. She would not give him the satisfaction.
Chapter Twelve
The carriage eventually jerked to a stop.
“We’re here,” he said unnecessarily.
Through the window, Cressida could see Ashmere Castle rising against the sky, all gray stone and imposing towers.
Her new home. Her new prison.
Theodore opened the carriage door without waiting for the footman, stepping out into the courtyard with his usual controlled grace. He turned back, offering his hand to help her down, and she stared at it for a long moment before accepting.
His fingers closed around hers—warm, strong. But as soon as her feet touched the ground, he released her.
“Mrs. Agnes will show you to your rooms,” he said, already stepping back, already putting distance between them. “You should rest. It’s been a long day.”
“Theodore—”
“Duke.” His correction was gentle but firm. “We’re not alone anymore.”
Cressida looked around and saw he was right—servants had appeared out of nowhere, forming a respectful audience to their arrival. Mrs. Agnes stood waiting by the main entrance, her expression pleasantly neutral, though her eyes held the same warmth Cressida remembered from her previous stay.
“Of course.” Cressida lifted her chin, mustering every ounce of dignity she possessed. “Duke.”
She saw his jaw tighten at the formality, saw the muscle jump in his cheek.Good. Let him feel even a fraction of what she felt.
He moved closer then, so close that his breath tickled her ear. To anyone watching, it might have looked tender. Intimate. The picture of a new husband sharing a private word with his bride.
“You need to understand,” he said, his voice low and urgent, “You—” He paused, as though the words cost him. “You make me forget every lesson I’ve learned, every rule I’ve set. You tempt me to do things that only lead to destruction.”
Before she could respond, he straightened, his expression smoothing into blank courtesy.
“Welcome home, Duchess.” He sketched a brief bow, formal and distant. “Mrs. Agnes will attend to your needs.”
Then he turned and walked into the castle, disappearing through the doorway without looking back, leaving her standing alone in the courtyard with her heart racing.
“Your Grace.” Mrs. Agnes’s voice drew her attention back to the present. The housekeeper approached with genuine warmth radiating from her expression. “Welcome home. We’re all so delighted to have you return to Ashmere—as our Duchess, no less!”
Behind her, the assembled staff bobbed curtsies and bows, their faces carrying varying degrees of pleasure at her arrival. Cressida recognized several from her previous stay—the young footman who’d carried her bathwater, the maid who’d helped lace her into that scandalously tight sapphire gown.
“Thank you, Mrs. Agnes.” Cressida managed a smile despite the turmoil churning in her chest. “It’s… good to be back.”
If the housekeeper noticed her hesitation, she gave no sign. “Come, Your Grace. Let me show you to your chambers. You must be exhausted after the journey and the ceremony.”
Cressida allowed herself to be led inside, acutely aware of curious eyes following her progress through the entrance hall. The servants dispersed to their duties, though she caught whispered exchanges and poorly concealed smiles.
They thought this was a love match. A fairytale. The scandalous lady and the brooding duke, married in haste but destined for happiness.
If only they knew.
Mrs. Agnes guided her up the grand staircase, past the portraits of disapproving ancestors, down a corridor Cressida hadn’t explored during her previous visit. The housekeeper kept up a steady stream of conversation as they walked.
“We’ve prepared the Duchess’s suite for you, Your Grace. It adjoins His Grace’s chambers, naturally, with a connecting door between.” She glanced at Cressida with knowing eyes. “Though of course, the door locks from both sides, should you require privacy.”
The implication hung in the air.
