“Goodness, I am sorry!” Silas said, his laughter fading to a chuckle. “You must think me terribly rude, Duchess, but I haveneverheard Darnley apologize to anyone before. It took me quite by surprise, and I am afraid I laugh when I am astonished.”
Teresa laughed awkwardly, tucking one of the locks of hair behind her ear. “I should think that would be very startling if you were to receive bad news,” she said, her lips softening into a smile. “Someone might think you were half mad.”
Silas burst out laughing again, glancing at Cyrus as he gestured to the new Duchess. “I had no idea she was funny, Darnley. You did not tell me, you rascal!”
“I suspect itwouldbe very difficult for him to tell you anything about me,” Teresa interjected, flashing a colder look at Cyrus. “He does not know me very well.”
Holding her gaze, Cyrus wanted to tell her that it was for her benefit, that she would eventually be grateful for his distance, but that was not a conversation he wished to have with Silas there. Nor was it one he was ready to have with Teresa, not after the incident in the library. If she had fallen, he had no doubt that she would have been terribly hurt, yet holding her in his arms had overwhelmed him, bringing them closer than he had ever desired to be.
I cannot be there at every moment. I shall drive myself to madness if I begin to care.
A gasp escaped Silas’ throat, and he pounded a fist on the desk. “Well, we must remedy that at once. Come, why not join us for a drink. It appears that I have intruded on something, so it is only fair that I should invite you to intrude on us in return.” He leaned closer to Cyrus, whispering out of the corner of his mouth. “You did not say you were supposed to be elsewhere.”
“I think not,” Cyrus replied, ignoring the last remark. “It would not be appropriate.”
Teresa smiled slyly. “You have many notions of what is ‘appropriate,’ but you have given me no specifics.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Perhaps, that could be discussed while I join you for a drink.”
“Exemplary!” Silas cheered, vacating his chair. “Please, sit here. Be comfortable. What, pray tell, is your beverage of choice?”
Teresa hesitated. “I… do not have one.”
“Excellent, then I shall choose for you.” Silas went off to the liquor table, busying himself with carafes and glasses.
Meanwhile, Cyrus stared at his wife. “I really do not think this is suitable. If you return to the dining room, I will be with you soon.”
“Apologies, I do not believe we have been introduced,” Teresa said to Silas, turning away from Cyrus and his disapproval. “I remember seeing you at the wedding, but I do not know you.”
Silas glanced back over his shoulder, deftly pouring a considerable measure of something without looking. “There I go, being rude again.” He grinned. “I am Silas Rowland, the Duke of Merrowfield.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” Teresa replied.
“None of that,” Silas insisted. “We are all Dukes and Duchesses here. Let us be comfortable. Please, refer to me as Rowland or Silas—everyone does. And I shall refer to you however you like.”
Teresa’s face flushed with pink, awakening something in the pit of Cyrus’ stomach: a deep, burning feeling, as if he had downed a glass of brandy in one go. Yet, he had taken his last sip of his drink at least five minutes ago.
“Youwillbe formal with my wife,” he interjected sharply, glowering at Silas.
“Teresa or ‘Duchess’ will suffice,” Teresa replied regardless, her tone oddly shy, her expression coy, her beautiful eyes peering at Silas from beneath her long lashes.
Witnessing her softness had an increasingly peculiar effect on Cyrus, his skin tingling as if he were too close to a fire, and beneath his skin, the sensation of something creeping along, beetling through his veins. It made it uncomfortable to sit in his chair, though no adjustment helped the feeling.
“I think ‘Duchess’ would maintain some semblance of propriety,” he grumbled, willing her to turn that gentle gaze on him instead. She washiswife, after all.
Silas chuckled. “Tell me what you think ofthis, Duchess.”
He brought over the hearty measure, dark amber liquid swirling in a crystal glass, leaving a residue around the inside the told of its potency. But he did not set the drink on the table, as Cyrus had expected; rather, Silas went ahead and put the glass directly in Teresa’s hand, their fingertips accidentally brushing.
I ought to send him from this room at once!Cyrus’ eye twitched, his grip on his own glass threatening to shatter it.
“There is a tray, Silas,” he snarled. “Use it.”
To add insult to injury, Teresa thanked Silas with a friendly smile, and brought the glass to her lips. She sniffed the liquor, pulled a face, and sipped.
Never in his life had Cyrus thought he would be envious of a glass, but seeing her lips pressed to the crystal, he could not help thinking about the night he first met her. How certain he was that shewouldhave kissed him if they had not been interrupted.
I would have come to my senses in time,he told himself, unable to tear his eyes away.I would have stopped her; I am sure of it.
“Oh!” Teresa cried, her face contorting in a mask of disgust, eyes scrunched and nose wrinkled as though she had sucked a lemon, her throat bobbing as she struggled to swallow the drink. “Oh… that is… that is vile! What did you pour for me? Poison?”
