Christopher
By the time the courier finished reading the morning's reports, Christopher Cross had already learned what he needed to know.
He dismissed the man with a curt nod and turned the page of his correspondence, though he wasn't truly reading.
The ink blurred; all he saw was the single line that mattered:
The Grand Duke of Suffox met Lady Serena Maxwell at Regent's Park, mid-afternoon.
He set the page down carefully, fingers steady though his pulse was not.
So that was how it began again — not with scandal, not yet, but with proximity.
He'd expected it; in fact, he'd provoked it when he taunted Charlton in the Ministry days earlier. Still, the knowledge landed unpleasantly, a weight just below his ribs.
He told himself he felt irritation, not jealousy.
But irritation didn't make his throat tighten, nor his imagination reach unbidden for the image of Serena beneath another man's gaze.
