Chapter 20
“Smile,” Henry murmured under his breath, elbowing Wilhelm lightly as they paused at the edge of the ballroom. “Your governess has just entered with your daughter.”
Wilhelm’s head snapped up before he could stop himself.
Henry caught the movement and smirked, the expression sharp with satisfaction. “There it is,” he added quietly. “That look.”
Wilhelm did not bother to reply. His attention had already been claimed, seized with a force so immediate, because the moment he saw them cross the threshold, the world contracted to a single significant point.
Madeline moved beside Tessa with practiced gracefulness, her hand resting lightly at the child’s back, her posture calm enough to pass for ease if one did not know how to look closely.
The gown he had chosen for her followed the lines of her body with restrained elegance, clinging just enough to make his heart beat faster.
For a split second he forgot the room, the music, the watching eyes, and the carefully constructed role he was meant to play.
The silk lay smooth and close across her chest, drawn in just enough to make him aware of its softness, of the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.
Below it, the fabric fell away in long, unbroken lines that seemed to float rather than cling, leaving his attention caught where the gown held fast instead.
He was aware of the restraint of it before he understood why it unsettled him, of how little was revealed and how much was suggested.
There was nothing gaudy about the dress, nothing intended to provoke.
And yet it did, all the same, because it was her beneath the silk, her warmth and her quiet composure made suddenly, impossibly visible.
Everything narrowed to her.
Wilhelm drew a slow breath through his nose. The familiar discipline of control settled over him like armor, though it did nothing to quiet the heat coiling in his blood.
“I am smiling,” he said finally.
Henry snorted but Wilhelm ignored him, because Madeline had shifted her weight slightly.
Her fingers tightened around Tessa’s hand, and he saw the tension she carried beneath her composed exterior.
Her smile came and went too quickly. Her gaze darted now and then toward the entrance, toward the faces moving through the crowd, as though she were bracing herself for something she feared might appear at any moment.
Anxiety, sharp and unmistakable.
He had not known this part of her fear, but he recognized it for what it was: vigilance born of history, of wounds that did not heal simply because time had passed.
He felt a surge of something fierce and proprietary in his chest, a need to step between her and whatever ghost she was expecting to find in the room.
“Will,” Henry said quietly, following his line of sight at last. “Ah.”
Wilhelm’s hands curled briefly at his sides. “Do not,” he warned.
Henry’s mouth curved, amused and perceptive. “You look as though you might devour her where she stands.”
Wilhelm shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Lower your voice.”
Henry only chuckled. “You bought her the dress?”
“That was necessity,” Wilhelm said curtly, though the memory of her standing in that shop, revealed and blushing beneath his gaze, sent another dark rush of desire through him. “She attends as Tessa’s companion. She will not be made to feel out of place.”
“And yet you cannot stop staring,” Henry observed. “Fascinating.”
Wilhelm straightened his shoulders as a footman announced the arrival of another cluster of guests, all silk and jewels and eager glances, and forced his attention outward, toward the role he was meant to play tonight. Duke of Kirkford. Eligible widower. Host.
He turned just in time to receive Lady Harcourt and her daughter, the former all bright smiles and practiced poise.
“Your Grace,” Lady Harcourt said, dipping into a curtsy that showed just enough of her décolletage to be deliberate. “What a magnificent evening. Kirkford House has never looked more splendid.”
“Lady Harcourt,” Wilhelm replied smoothly. “You are very welcome.”
Henry leaned in, grinning. “Have you met Miss—”
Wilhelm’s attention flickered back immediately to Madeline, who had stiffened as another group of ladies drifted closer to them, their laughter light, their interest unmistakable.
One of them glanced pointedly at Madeline, then away again, dismissively and Wilhelm saw the instant shift in her posture as she did what she had likely learned to do long ago.
She faded by stepping half a pace back, her presence narrowing so that Tessa remained in full view while she herself became little more than a shadow at the child’s shoulder.
“Your Grace,” Lady Harcourt prompted.
“Yes,” he said, forcing his gaze back to the woman before him. “Forgive me.”
He endured the exchange with practiced politeness, noting the right things as he always did: the lady’s accomplishments, her manners, the way her mother hovered just close enough to steer the conversation, entirely suitable.
And yet his body remained in revolt, every instinct pulling him back toward the woman across the room whose anxiety he could almost feel like a current in the air.
At last, the crowd thinned enough that he saw Henry peel away, his attention drawn elsewhere, and Wilhelm seized the opportunity. He crossed the ballroom with long, purposeful strides, aware of more than one pair of eyes following him, until he reached Madeline and Tessa.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked Tessa, pitching his voice to her level.
Tessa looked up at him, eyes bright but uncertain. “It’s very loud.”
“It can be,” he agreed. His gaze lifted, just briefly, to Madeline’s face. “Are you well?”
Her smile came easily enough, but it did not reach her eyes. “Perfectly, Your Grace.”
He did not believe her for a moment.
Henry appeared at his shoulder, a picture of easy charm. “Miss Watton,” he said warmly, offering a bow that was just exaggerated enough to be playful. “You look enchanting tonight. I fear you’ll have the entire room in a state.”
Madeline laughed softly, color blooming in her cheeks, and Wilhelm felt a sharp, irrational spike of jealousy lance through him at the sound.
“You are very kind,” she said.
Henry leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “If Kirkford does not dance with you this evening, I may have to steal you away myself.”
Wilhelm’s jaw locked. He shot Henry a warning look that went entirely ignored. Before he could interject, a familiar wave of attention swept toward him as several ladies converged at once, fans fluttering, smiles bright with intent.
“Your Grace,” one of them purred. “Might we speak with you?”
Wilhelm glanced at Madeline. He saw the way she had already begun to withdraw, her hand firm on Tessa’s shoulder, her eyes scanning the room rather than him, and guilt flickered through him
“I shall return,” he said quietly to Tessa, who nodded reluctantly.
He turned back to the ladies and offered his arm with practiced ease. “Shall we?”
The reel swept him forward and away again, hands clasped briefly and released as the figures turned. The woman opposite him smiled when she was meant to smile, met his eye when the pattern required it, and vanished again as the line reformed.
And yet each separation sharpened his awareness of where Madeline was not. He found himself marking the space at the edge of the floor without intending to, aware of her stillness even as he moved, of the fact that she alone remained unmoved by the music.
When the figures brought him back around, he caught her again in his periphery, unchanged, observant, too composed for the noise and motion surrounding her.
It unsettled him more than closeness ever had. And then Tessa’s voice cut through the music. “No.”
Wilhelm’s head snapped up.
She stood at the edge of the floor, arms crossed, her mouth set in a stubborn pout. “I want to dance too.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the nearby guests, indulgent and curious, and Wilhelm felt a flush of frustration and fondness colliding inside him.
Henry, bless him, swooped in at once. “Then allow me,” he said, bowing deeply before Tessa and offering his arm. “I would be honored.”
Tessa’s expression transformed instantly. “Really?”
“Truly.”
She took his arm with delight, glancing back at Madeline, who smiled.
Wilhelm watched them step onto the floor together, watched Tessa laugh as Henry guided her through the steps, and felt the weight of what he was doing settle heavily in his chest.
He turned back to his partner, the dance resuming, but his gaze drifted, inexorably, to the corner of the room where Madeline now stood alone.
Her hands were clasped. Her posture was composed and distant, every inch the governess, every line of her body radiating a longing she did not allow herself to show.
Guilt gnawed at him. Desire burned beneath it. And beneath that, something far darker stirred, something that whispered he was making a terrible mistake even as he forced himself to continue.
This was duty, he told himself grimly, as the music carried him farther away from her. And yet every step felt like a betrayal.
The room glittered with candlelight and silk, with the low hum of voices layered over the music, laughter rising and falling like a practiced refrain.
Madeline’s gaze tracked Tessa instinctively, following the bright flicker of her movement, the way Henry exaggerated his steps just enough to make her laugh, the way Wilhelm—across the room now, partnered with another lady—kept glancing back at her.