She smiled. “I have simply learned to pay attention.”
He leaned in, just slightly, and she did not step back. The moment stretched as they?—
A knock sounded at the door. “Your Grace? Shall we clear the cups?”
They stepped apart at once, the spell broken. Wilhelm nodded, voice composed. “Yes.”
As the maid entered, Wilhelm caught Madeline’s eye one last time. Something unspoken passed between them, something unfinished. And as he turned away, he knew, with a certainty that unsettled him, that whatever he had begun to feel for her would not be easily set aside.
CHAPTER 12
“You look like a man who has been dragged through the mud by his own thoughts.”
Wilhelm did not turn his head as Henry lowered himself into the chair opposite, though the familiar weight of his presence was impossible to ignore. The tavern was low-ceilinged and warm; the sort of place men came to forget themselves. Wilhelm had come because he could not afford to do so anywhere else.
“I have been dragged through the day,” Wilhelm replied, voice even, his hand still curled around the glass as though the cold rim might keep him anchored.
Henry leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. His gaze was unrestrained with the unembarrassed intimacy of a long friendship. “You’ve always had days, Wilhelm. But you do not always look as though you would like to throw someone through a wall.”
Wilhelm’s jaw tightened. He lifted the glass and took a measured sip, letting the burn settle in his chest. It did not loosen the tension lodged there, but it gave his body something simple to focus upon.
“You exaggerate,” Wilhelm countered, setting the glass down with more care than necessary.
Henry’s mouth curved. “Do I?” He watched him a moment longer, then added, quieter, “It has been years since you came here without a reason you could name. So, tell me, what is it?”
Wilhelm traced one shallow groove with the pad of his thumb without thinking, a small act of control in a place that made him feel too exposed. “My daughter was outside today.”
Henry blinked, his brows lifting as he leaned back a fraction. “Outside?”
“Yes.” Wilhelm did not look at him as he answered, his gaze fixed instead on the dark rim of his glass.
Henry huffed softly, one corner of his mouth twitching as he shifted his weight. “That does not sound like a crisis.”
“It should not be,” Wilhelm replied, keeping his voice carefully even.
He had enjoyed the afternoon more than he cared to admit, and that was precisely the problem.
His shoulders had gone rigid without his consent, his jaw tightening as he hesitated, weighing his words. Henry did not need encouragement. He needed restraint.
“She was outside with the governess,” Wilhelm continued at last, exhaling slowly, as though conceding something he would rather have kept guarded.
Henry’s expression changed at once. The idle amusement drained from his face, replaced by something sharper, more alert. He straightened, eyes flicking briefly to Wilhelm’s hand where it gripped the glass too firmly, then back to his face. Understanding sparked there, quick and unmistakable.
“Ah,” Henry said, softly.
Wilhelm’s gaze snapped up. His eyes narrowed, heat flaring beneath the restraint he wore like armor. “Do not say it like that.”
“Like what?” Henry asked, all innocence, and yet the amusement in his eyes betrayed him. “Like I know what this means?”
“You do not,” Wilhelm said flatly.
Henry tilted his head. “Then why are you drinking as though you are bracing yourself for punishment?”
Wilhelm’s fingers curled around the glass again. He could still see the snow, bright and thick over the grounds, the way it hadsoftened the world into something almost gentle. He could still hear Tessa’s laughter, full-bodied and heedless, and he could still feel the shock in his own chest, as though sound itself had reached inside him and pulled at something that had been locked away.
“She makes Tessa happy,” he admitted, voice low.
Henry’s gaze softened for a fraction. “That is good.”
