His horse snorted and tossed its head. Wilhelm reached forward to grab the reins, letting the familiar motion distract him. Snow crunched beneath the hooves, the sound soothing and grounding, but none of it cleared the tension brewing inside his mind.
Henry nudged his mount closer. “Is the concern truly that she is difficult, or is it something else entirely?”
Wilhelm did not answer.
Henry’s smile sharpened. “Is she beautiful?”
Wilhelm almost choked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with anything,” Henry said cheerfully. “If you find the new governess attractive, suddenly your agitation makes sense.”
“I do not find her attractive,” Wilhelm answered too quickly.
Henry arched a brow. “You said that fast.”
“Because it’s true.”
The corners of Henry’s lips lifted slightly. “So you have not noticed whether she is pretty?”
Wilhelm’s jaw locked. “No.”
“Ah,” Henry sighed with satisfaction. “There it is.”
“Nothing isthere,” Wilhelm said tightly. “Your assumptions are absurd.”
Henry only laughed again, the sound echoing across the quiet hills. “Will, I have known you since we were boys. You are a terrible liar.”
Wilhelm’s mouth opened, then closed again. His horse shifted beneath him, picking its way carefully around a patch of ice.
Henry leaned forward slightly in the saddle and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you are concerned that this Miss Watton might distract you from your duties, then simply say so.”
“I am not concerned.”
“You are,” Henry said gently. “I can see it.”
Wilhelm stared out over the valley, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The wind brushed past, carrying the scent of distant chimneys and pine, but it did nothing to cool the image that had taken hold of him. His thoughts strayed where he did not wish them to go.
The soft oval of her face, warm and expressive, framed by hair that never seemed to stay where it was meant to. To her mouth, generous and mobile, made for smiles she tried to restrain and words she spoke with careful intelligence. To her eyes, steady and observant, yet capable of such gentleness that it troubled him more than any boldness might have.
And then, inevitably, to her body. To the fullness of her figure beneath wool and linen, to the generous curve of her hips, the softness of her waist, the subtle sway of her when she moved. There was warmth there, a sense of abundance rather than excess, of something meant to be touched and held.
He felt the weight of Henry’s expectant silence pressing on him, demanding honesty he did not wish to give.
At last, he exhaled, the breath visible in the cold air.
“She is… beautiful,” he said quietly.
Henry’s grin bloomed triumphantly.
“But it is irrelevant,” Wilhelm added quickly.
“Is it?” Henry asked mildly.
“I hired her to teach my daughter,” Wilhelm snapped. “Not to distract or unsettle me. Not to…” He swallowed the rest.
Henry’s brows lifted. “Not to what?”
Wilhelm’s chest tightened. He thought of her hair and the way it had brushed his hand when he steadied her, softer than he had imagined, as though it would slip easily between his fingers if he dared try. The thought lingered, unbidden, stirring a want he had no intention of indulging.
