“Were they?” Cressida matched her tone with false innocence. “I hadn’t noticed you were particularly concerned with my circumstances, Miss Oakley. Unless, of course, you had some personal interest in the matter?”
Color touched Miss Oakley’s cheeks. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” Cressida tilted her head. “I seem to recall you had a certain interest in Lord Emerton. Such unfortunate timing when these things don’t work out as planned.”
Miss Oakley’s smile turned brittle. “Perhaps it’s for the best that I didn’t marry Lord Emerton. We weren’t quite suited, I think. Some matches simply aren’t meant to be, regardless of how promising they might appear.”
The implication hung between them.
Cressida opened her mouth, the accusation forming on her tongue, the words that would name Miss Oakley as the source of the leak, but Miss Oakley was already turning away with a curtsy that bordered on mockery.
“Do enjoy the evening, Your Grace.”
Then she was gone, gliding through the crowd with the satisfaction of someone who’d delivered their blow.
“That vicious—” Harriet’s grip had become almost painful.
“Don’t.” Cressida drew a breath. “She’s not worth it.”
“You know she leaked what happened to the scandal sheets.”
“Knowing and proving are different things.” Cressida watched Miss Oakley join a cluster of young ladies near the orchestra. “And even if I could prove it, what difference would it make now?”
Harriet squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry. This should be easier for you.”
“Perhaps.” Cressida managed a wan smile. “Though I’m discovering that marriage to a duke comes with certain complications I hadn’t anticipated.”
The orchestra struck the opening notes of a waltz.
“Duchess.” Theodore’s voice cut through the ambient noise with ducal authority. He stood before her, his dark eyes unreadable, his posture rigid.
“Duke.” Cressida dropped into a perfunctory curtsy.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a request.
Cressida’s spine straightened with reflexive defiance. “I believe it’s customary to ask, not command.”
His jaw tightened. “You belong to me. Of course you’re going to dance with me.”
The possessive declaration sent heat rushing through her despite her irritation. But the last thing she needed was another scandal born of refusing her husband in the middle of his aunt’s ballroom.
She placed her hand in his extended palm.
Theodore led her onto the dance floor with confidence. His hand settled on her waist. Her fingers rested on his shoulder. They began to move.
“You’re very presumptuous,” Cressida observed after several moments of tense silence.
“And you’re very intent on arguing against everything I say.”
“Perhaps if you stopped issuing orders as though I were one of your tenants?—”
“You’re my wife.” His fingers flexed against her waist. “That gives me certain rights.”
“Rights?” Her eyes flashed. “I wasn’t aware marriage came with ownership papers.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
