“If you will excuse me,” Wilhelm said, and his voice carried a dangerous edge that made Henry’s head snap toward him at once, “I believe I owe Lady Beatrice a dance.”
The countess opened her mouth, likely to say something disapproving, but Wilhelm did not wait to hear it. He turned sharply and strode toward the floor, his movements decisive, as though action itself might burn the restlessness out of his blood.
Lady Beatrice startled when he appeared before her, then smiled brightly, color blooming in her cheeks.
“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying quickly. “I did not expect?—”
“Would you like to dance?” Wilhelm asked.
“Of course,” she said at once, placing her hand in his.
Her fingers were cool and light. As the orchestra swelled, Wilhelm guided her onto the floor, his palm settling at her waist. The moment his hand made contact, something inside him recoiled.
Wrong, his body insisted. She was too slight beneath his touch, too delicate, her form yielding without resistance or weight.
Lady Beatrice laughed softly. “You dance very well, Your Grace.”
“Do I?” Wilhelm replied, his tone polite, distant.
She smiled at him, lashes lowered just enough to be coy. “I have always enjoyed dancing. Mama says it is one of the few times one may speak freely.” Beatrice continued, clearly encouraged. “It allows one to… discover things about a person.”
Wilhelm met her gaze and studied her face as they turned. It was beautiful, symmetrical, carefully animated, but it felt like a surface he could not breach. Beatrice’s gaze flicked past his shoulder, momentarily distracted. Her smile sharpened, then adjusted.
Always watching, Wilhelm noted.Always measuring who might be observing her movements.
“Your Grace?” she said lightly after a bit. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
He looked down at her fully now. “I am… considering,” he replied.
She laughed, mistaking his meaning entirely. “How very intriguing.”
The music drew to its close at last. Wilhelm released her with precise courtesy, stepping back at once.
“Thank you for the dance,” Beatrice said, breathless, expectant.
He inclined his head. “You dance beautifully.”
It felt like a lie. He exchanged the necessary pleasantries, then turned away without pause, cutting straight through the thinning crowd toward the terrace doors. He pushed them open and stepped outside. The cool night air struck his face like a reprimand.
He drew in a deep breath, then another. The scent of jasmine and perfume faded beneath damp stone. Below, carriage wheels rattled against cobblestones, the sound distant and grounding.
“Running away?” Henry’s voice came a moment later.
Wilhelm did not turn. “I needed air.”
“Well?” Henry asked, leaning against the stone balustrade. “Lady Beatrice? Lady Elara? I saw you dancing. You looked like a man being led to the gallows, but you were dancing.”
“They are perfectly adequate,” Wilhelm said, his voice tight. He stared out at the dark silhouette of the city.
“Adequate. High praise from the Duke of Kirkford,” Henry mocked. “Come now, Will. Any of them could be your duchess. They have the blood, the breeding, and the education.”
“Education is not emotion,” Wilhelm snapped, turning to face his friend. “Tessa is not an ordinary child. She has been broken by women like those in that room, women who see her as a flaw in a perfect picture. I will not bring a wolf into my home to mother my daughter.”
Henry sighed, his expression softening. “You’re thinking about Miss Watton again, aren’t you?”
“Do not,” Wilhelm warned, a low growl vibrating in his chest. “Do not say her name in this context, Henry. It is nonsensical.”
“Is it? You’ve been a ghost for three days. You look like you are ready to tear the world apart with your bare teeth. You are not looking for a Duchess, Will. You’re looking for a reason to stay away from Miss Watton, and you are failing miserably.”
