He had often wondered what it might be like to have a sibling, to have had someone to share his childhood with. A twinge of unexpected sadness flickered in his chest, imagining what that life might have looked like.
“Go on, or you shall offend my dear Belinda and the cook,” Teresa insisted, chuckling softly. “The food is excellent here; you shall not be disappointed.”
With some reluctance, Isolde, Beatrice, and Prudence filed out of the Tea House, glancing back over their shoulders as if they thought Cyrus might attack at any moment. That twinge in his chest became a sharper prickle, for there was nothing in this world that could ever compel him to cause Teresa harm. If that were not the truth, he would have allowed her into his bedchamber on the night that she knocked, and he would not have spent a moment away from her side.
They see distance, not knowing it is forhersafety…
“Yes?” Teresa said brusquely, once her sisters and friend were mostly out of sight. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about?”
He moved closer, in awe of how beautiful she looked in the golden afternoon sunlight. “We are attending a ball at my friend Anthony’s residence a few days from now,” he said. “I took the liberty of ordering a gown for you.”
She blinked up at him in surprise. “A ball? But… I thought you hated such things? Why would you agree to—” She averted her gaze, as if she had forgotten that she was supposed to be cross with him. “Very well, but you should not have gone to the trouble of ordering me a gown; I have plenty, and I do not like to be wasteful.”
“You are a duchess now,” he replied, softening his voice. “You must have a gown that is suitable for a duchess, considering this will be our first outing as man and wife.”
She shrugged. “You should have waited. My sisters could have advised you.”
“Perhaps,” he said, expelling a strained breath, his hands longing to take hold of hers, his fingertips itching to touch her face, to brush his thumb across the rosy apple of her cheek. To kiss her, maybe. “I am sorry for causing you upset at dinner.”
Her head whipped around. “Pardon?”
“It was not my intention to anger you or distress you,” he said, his mind racing to try and find the right words. “I confess, I do not know why you were so furious, but I am sorry, nonetheless. I know I was the cause, whether I understand or not.”
The sunlight caught Teresa’s beautiful eyes, a whirlwind of feeling passing across her face in quick succession: anger, confusion, frustration, and something like sadness, which softened into a heavy sigh. She shook her head slowly, and a lock of dark honey hair freed itself from a pretty, silver slide.
Before he could stop himself, he caught the lock of hair loosely around his fingertips, tucking it back up into the teeth of the slide. Her hair was just as soft and silky as he had known it would be, and though he knew he should withdraw his touch at once, he could not help but skim his fingertips down her temple,her cheek, brushing back another lock, curving it around the shell of her ear.
Distracted, it took him a second to realize that she was staring up at him, wide-eyed, her chest not moving, as if she had stopped breathing altogether. He realized that he, too, was holding a breath in his lungs, like exhaling it might shatter the moment.
“I was… angry because you… insulted me,” she whispered, as though she had breathed out the words, not meaning to speak them out loud. “You… questioned my loyalty, though I have given you no reason to. I married you, understanding what that means. Your Grace, I am…”
Say it… say it, and I will not be able to stay away from you.The air crackled around them, invisible sparks flying across the small gap between them, tingling his skin until it burned like a fever.Say that you are mine.
“I am…” she tried again, breathless, taking a half step toward him.
Her head tilted up, her hand lifting as if she meant to grasp him by the lapels, as she had done on the night they met.
“You are—?” he prompted thickly, his gaze flitting to her lips.
You are dooming her,a voice whispered in his head.
“Cyrus, I am?—”
He pulled back, the sparks sputtering out, the crackle of the air feeling at once like something dangerous, not magical. “I apologize for insulting you and your integrity,” he said in a rush, his throat dry. “I understand now. Please, excuse me.”
He took one last, agonizing look at her lips, plump and tempting and slightly parted, and left before he had a chance to throw caution to the wind, refusing to let his selfish impulse doom her to a fate she did not deserve.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Are you certain this becomes me?” Teresa asked, staring at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that.
It was a warm evening, not yet sunset, the light outside the chamber window like molten gold. The heavenly glow caught the elaborate beading that adorned her gown, making it seem to glitter as she moved, and though it was not what she would have chosen for herself, she could not deny its beauty. An exquisite creation of gold and cream, painstakingly sewn and embroidered and embellished; more expensive than anything she had ever worn in her life.
Why did he choose this for me? It is… too much.
No one had replied to her question, prompting her to turn toward the three sets of wide eyes that stared at her. Isolde hastily brushed a tear from her cheek, Beatrice wore a grin so wide that it veered toward madness, while Prudence gawped.
“What does that mean?” Teresa asked, panic rising up her throat. “Is it terrible? Should I choose something else?”
