“That was not foolish,” he said. “That was trust.”
She looked up then, startled, and met his gaze. There was no heat in his eyes now, only intent, and something like care.
“No one should have taught you to see yourself that way,” he added softly.
Wilhelm’s gaze dropped, briefly, to her mouth, then rose again, and something in his eyes turned hotter, darker, making Madeline’s pulse jump violently.
He leaned in with a quiet ease, close enough that she caught the clean scent of soap and wool, the warmth of him steady and grounding. His mouth curved slightly, as though amused by a private thought.
“I should like to correct one misconception,” he said lightly. “Your figure is quite attractive.” The hint of a smile deepened, softening his tone. “Very becoming, some might say.”
Madeline blinked. Then, despite herself, a quiet, incredulous laugh escaped her. It surprised her almost as much as it did him.
“Your Grace,” she said, shaking her head faintly, color warming her cheeks, “you are incorrigible.”
“Honest,” he countered gently. “I’m being honest, Madeline.”
Her lips parted. “Your Grace…”
His eyes held hers, full of fire now, the sort of fire that did not belong in a dining room, that did not belong between a Duke and his governess, that did not belong anywhere except the private spaces occupied by a husband and wife.
Madeline’s hands trembled. She could feel the pull between herself and the Duke like a physical thing, like a cord tightening. She remembered his mouth on hers, the taste of him, the way her own body had melted against him before her mind could stop it.
She wanted to feel it again.
’The Duke’s gaze flicked down again, to her lips, and Madeline’s breath caught because she knew he was thinking of it too. His hand lifted slightly, as if he meant to touch her, and Madeline’s skin seemed to tighten in anticipation, every nerve awakened.
Then the door creaked.
“Papa?” Tessa’s small voice cut through the charged silence like a bell.
The Duke jerked back as though struck, his posture snapping into rigid control so swiftly that it was almost frightening. Madeline stepped back as well, heart pounding, cheeks still burning.
Tessa stood in the doorway in her nightgown. “Did she get into trouble for not eating her dinner?” Her hair was loose and her eyes were wide with worry. “Mrs. Hayward always says that it might hurt Cook’s feelings if I do not eat all the vegetables on my plate.”
’The Duke snorted lightly, clearly amused by his daughter’s words. “No,” he said gently. “Miss Watton is not in trouble.”
Tessa’s gaze darted between them, suspicious. “You both look… odd.”
Madeline forced a smile, though her pulse still raced. She crossed the room quickly, lowering herself to Tessa’s height. “No one is angry,” she said gently. “Your father was only asking me about my health.”
Tessa frowned. “Are you sick?”
“No,” Madeline replied, smoothing her hair back. “I am well.”
Tessa studied her a moment longer, then seemed to decide she believed her, because she relaxed slightly. After giving a mild shrug, the child reached forward and grabbed hold of Madeline’s sleeve. “Will you come with me?” she asked. “Mrs. Hayward said I must sleep, but I cannot, because I thought you were being scolded.”
Madeline’s chest tightened again. “Of course,” she said softly.
She glanced sidelong at the Duke.
“Good night, Your Grace,” Madeline said in a tone that was barely audible.
His eyes flicked to hers for the briefest moment. “Good night,” he replied, and there was something in his tone that made Madeline’s stomach twist with a strange sense of longing.
She led Tessa out into the corridor, the child’s hand warm in hers, and walked her back to her room, murmuring reassurance as Tessa climbed into bed.
“You are certain you are feeling all right? You do not need to see a doctor?” The little girl yawned broadly. “You are not leaving because you do not like our food, are you, Miss Watton?” Tessa asked sleepily, eyes heavy.
