When the door closed at last, the room felt larger, emptier, and far too quiet.
The Duke did not sit. Madeline remained standing as well, hands clasped at her waist, forcing her posture into steadiness even as unease pressed against her ribs. She had been disciplined in how to endure scrutiny. Her mother had made it an art.
He moved slowly, circling the table as though he did not quite know what to do with himself, then stopped near the sideboard where the firelight caught the sharp planes of his face. His features were controlled, but his eyes were too intense.
“You avoided my question,” he said quietly.
Madeline swallowed. “I did not think it required an answer.”
“It does,” he replied.
She lifted her chin. “Why?”
His jaw tightened faintly. “Because you are in my home,” he said. “And you are responsible for my child.”
“And you believe my lack of appetite threatens her?” Madeline asked, before she could stop herself.
His gaze narrowed, as though he did not appreciate being challenged, and yet something flickered in his eyes too, something that looked almost like reluctant admiration.
“I believe,” he said carefully, “that you are not well.”
Madeline forced a small laugh. “I am perfectly well.”
“You are pale,” he said. “And you eat as though dining at my table is a punishment.”
Her throat tightened. She tried to step around it. “That is not true.”
’The Duke’s voice sharpened slightly. “Miss Watton.”
The way he said her name made something shift in her, made her spine go too straight, made her breath catch as though he had reached out and touched her.
She hated that.
“I assure you,” she said, choosing each word carefully, “that I am not ill, Your Grace.”
Wilhelm studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then a thought flashed on his face.
“I asked Cook to prepare venison tonight,” he said at last, more evenly. “It has always been my favorite.”
Madeline looked up, caught off guard by the turn.
“I thought,” he continued, his voice quieter now, “that if you were to dine with us, it ought to be something worth sitting for.”
Heat touched her cheeks, though this time it was not embarrassment. “That was… thoughtful of you.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Is it not to your taste?”
She hesitated, then allowed herself a small, honest smile. “I am afraid I’ve never cared much for venison.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, faintly. “Then that is my error, not yours.” He glanced toward the sideboard. “If there is something else you would prefer, you need only say so.”
Madeline exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. “It is enough to be asked,” she said softly. “There is no need for more.”
He took a step closer.
Madeline held her ground, though her body was suddenly too aware of the distance between them, of the memory of his mouth on hers, of the strength in his arms when he had pulled her close in his study and then let her go like she was something dangerous.
His voice lowered. “I will not have the woman caring for my daughter wither away in front of my eyes,” he said. “I will not have you faint during her lessons because you have decided to starve yourself.”
