Page 24 of Caught With the Scarred Duke
“Iam asking now. What is it you want from me?”
She met his eyes, her thoughts swirling, flitting from the mundane to the extreme in terms of how she might answer. But what could she reply that he would not reject: a daily stroll in the gardens; at least an hour in the evening with him to talk about their day; one evening when he would agree to share her bedchamber; a weekly ride through the grounds; a further explanation of why he was the way he was, with no details left out?
“Dinner,” she blurted out. “From now on, you will dine with me in the evening.Thatis what I want.”
His frown deepened, and she felt certain that even that had been too much to ask, that he was preparing a rejection of her request. In truth, she wondered if he would have been better off getting a cat and naming it ‘Duchess,’ for all he seemed to actually want a duchess in his castle.
Leaving him to ready his refusal, Teresa moved toward the nearest bookcase, running her fingertips along the cracked spines. It reminded her that she had not yet read her letters from home, too occupied with turning the library into a sanctuary for herself where shecouldread her chapters and her letters in peace and serenity, without suffering the coughing and streaming eyes from all the dust.
She jolted as Cyrus’ hand closed gently over her wrist, turning her around to face him.
“I consent,” he said. “Dinner. From now on. With the proviso that you have someone help you in matters like this.”
Teresa could not believe her ears, a giddy smile curving her lips. “I agree to your terms.”
Her smile spread wider, a little flame of hope igniting in her chest—for what, she was not sure, but it felt like the beginning of a new chapter. A less lonely chapter, certainly.
To her surprise, one corner of Cyrus’ mouth quirked into a small smile of his own, but before she could react to it, before she had a chance to marvel at it, he was gone, striding away from her and out of the library door without so much as a, “I shall see you at six o’clock.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Any sign of him?” Teresa asked, readjusting the forks and knives and spoons, hopelessly attempting to keep her hands and mind busy.
Belinda, who had just entered with fresh candles to replace the ones that had already melted halfway down, shook her head in apology. “None, Your Grace. I sent Mr. Kingsley to fetch him, but he hasn’t returned yet.”
“No matter,” Teresa said too brightly. “I am certain he will arrive soon.”
Mr. Kingsley was Cyrus’ valet, and the only man who had a good idea of where Teresa’s husband was at any given time, but he was also governed by the rules of being a trusted manservant: he did not tell Teresa where her husband was, probably assuming that if Cyrus wanted to be found, he would tell his wife himself.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Belinda said, her smile tight.
It was already seven o’clock in the evening, and Cyrus had sent word that he would partake in dinner at six. Teresa had been waiting an hour, with no message about the delay, and no indication that he meant to keep his promise to her.
To make matters worse, she had foolishly dressed in her nicest gown, and had her lady’s maid fashion her hair into a new style: a looser bun studded with wildflowers, wavy pieces of hair framing her face, finished off with a pretty slide adorned with a jeweled butterfly, that had been a gift from Isolde.
By the time the clock on the mantelpiece read half-past-seven, Teresa was entirely out of generosity, that prickly sensation of feeling silly transforming into a pulsing rush of embarrassment that became a seething tide of white-hot anger.Hewas the one who had asked her what she wanted, andhewas the one who had agreed, and now he thought he could leave her at the dining table in a beautiful dress, feeling like an utter fool? Well, she would show him.
“Excuse me, Belinda,” she said icily. “It seems Mr. Kingsley must have gotten lost. I think I shall fetch my husband myself.”
The housekeeper bowed her head, notquiteable to hide the pleased smile on her face. “Certainly, Your Grace. Do you know the way to his study?”
“Would you be so kind as to escort me?” Teresa asked, holding out her arm to the housekeeper.
Belinda took it, leading her out of the dining room. “With pleasure, Your Grace.”
Fifteen minutes later, the housekeeper brought Teresa to a halt outside the door to the mysterious study where her husband seemed to spend most of his time.
Teresa had not even entered yet, and already her temper was rising to scorching heights, for through the door, she could hear the sound of masculine laughter. While she had been waiting for her husband, he had been having a grand old time here, no doubt amused by the idea of his wife sitting alone in the dining room. Perhaps, he had a wager upon how long she would actually wait.
Without bothering to knock, she turned the handle and stormed inside… pulling to an abrupt halt as she saw that Cyrus was not alone. Nor was he the one laughing.
Cyrus stared at his wife, astonished by her beauty. Even with the scowl upon her face, she was extraordinary, attired as if she were attending a royal ball, her hair—the color of dark honey—gleaming in the low light, the loose locks around her face making his fingertips long to touch, to see if they were as silky as they looked.
“It is half-past-seven,” she said crisply, her scowl softening as she glanced at Cyrus’ companion, like she did not want to be rude in front of a guest.
“I apologize, Teresa,” Cyrus said without hesitation, looking down at his fob watch to be sure. He had not realized it was so late. “I had a visitor, as you can see. I will join you in a minute.”
Opposite him, Silas erupted into laughter, gaining a sharp look from Cyrus, who could not see what was so amusing.
