“I am protecting my household!” Wilhelm shouted, the sound echoing off the stone. He stepped into Henry’s space. “I cannotrisk it. Do you understand? I cannot let a woman like Madeline be corrupted by someone like me. My feelings are irrelevant. My lust is… it is a distraction I must master.”
“Lust?” Henry shook his head. “If it were just lust, you’d have settled this in a brothel months ago. This is something else, and it is going to ruin you if you don’t find a way out.”
“I need a wife,” Wilhelm said, more to himself than to Henry. He paced the length of the terrace, his boots clicking sharply. “A woman who can balance the requirements of the title with a genuine heart. But how am I to know who I can trust? I cannot rely on these thirty-minute interviews in ballrooms. I cannot see how these women will treat a child when they are busy trying to seduce a Duke.”
“So, bring the test to them,” Henry suggested.
Wilhelm stopped pacing. “What?”
“Host a ball. At Kirkford House. Here in London,” Henry said, his eyes brightening with the idea. “Invite the most likely candidates. Make it a smaller, more intimate affair. Include Tessa. Let her be seen, let her move among them. You can watch the ladies and see which ones offer a kind word when they think you aren’t looking. You can see who recoils and who reaches out.”
Wilhelm’s first instinct was to roar a denial. “It is contrived. It is a circus. And it puts Tessa on display. She’s sensitive, Henry.”
“Then supervise it,” Henry pushed. “Keep her close to you. Or close to… Miss Watton. Let the governess be the judge, too. She knows the girl better than anyone.”
The thought of Madeline watching him court other women made Wilhelm’s stomach turn. He pictured her standing in the shadows, her eyes wide and mournful, watching him dance with them. The idea was a special kind of torture.
But then, he remembered the library. He remembered the way his pulse had hammered in his throat when he’d leaned toward her. He remembered the sheer, terrifying power of his own desire, the way he had wanted to strip away her modesty and his own dignity and justpossessher.
He was losing control. Every time he smelled her scent in the hallway, every time he heard her voice through a closed door, the walls he had built around his heart crumbled a little more. He was a Duke, and he was becoming a slave to a woman who could never be his.
If he did not find a Duchess soon—a real, physical barrier between himself and Madeline—he would break. He would reach for her, and he would destroy the life she was trying to build.
“A ball,” Wilhelm whispered, the words feeling like a sentence.
“A ball,” Henry confirmed. “Find the woman who can be what Tessa needs. Before it is too late.”
“Too late for what?”
Henry looked at him with a pity that made Wilhelm want to strike him. “Before you’ve fallen so far in love with the governess that no other woman will ever be enough. Before you decide to burn your Dukedom to the ground just to keep her warm.”
“I do not love her,” Wilhelm hissed, though the lie felt like a hot coal in his mouth. “I am a Duke. I have duties. I have a daughter. I will find a wife who fits the criteria.”
He turned back toward the ballroom, his eyes scanning the glitter and the gold. He had to do this. For Tessa. For the Kirkford name. And for Madeline, because if he did not marry someone else, he knew with a terrifying, bone-deep certainty that he would eventually walk into her room, lock the door, and never let her go. And herespectedher too much to let that happen.
“Fine,” Wilhelm said, his voice cold and resolute. “We will host the ball. Send the invitations. We will find a mother for Tessa.”
As he stepped back into the heat of the ballroom, the music felt like a funeral dirge. He was a man drowning, and he had just ordered more water. But as he looked at the door, his mind didn’t go to the ladies in silk. It went to a quiet room in his house, where Madeline was likely tucking his daughter into bed, her hands gentle, her heart pure, and her presence the only thing in the world that truly felt like home.
He had to find a wife. He had to stop wanting Madeline Watton, even if it killed him.
CHAPTER 18
“Again,” Madeline said gently, lowering her voice as though volume alone might frighten the words back into hiding. “Slower this time.”
Tessa frowned down at the page, her brow knitting in concentration as her finger traced the line with exaggerated care, lingering over each letter as though the act of touching them might persuade them to behave. “‘The… knight… went… through… the—“ She hesitated, lips pursed, the sound dissolving before it could fully form.
“The gate,” Madeline supplied softly, tapping the margin once with her fingertip. “You know that word.”
Tessa glanced at her, half-annoyed, half-pleading. “I know it,” she insisted. “It just doesn’t want to come out.”
Madeline smiled despite herself, the expression gentle and familiar, born not of amusement but of recognition. “Then don’tforce it,” she said quietly. “Coax it. Words are like skittish creatures. The moment you chase them, they bolt.”
Tessa huffed, clearly unconvinced, but she tried again, shoulders drawing back as though she were bracing herself for battle. “The knight went through the gate.”
“There,” Madeline said warmly, her approval immediate and sincere. “Perfect.”
Tessa’s shoulders eased at once. The tension drained from her small frame as a quiet glow of pride softened her expression, and Madeline felt the familiar tightening in her chest that always came with moments like this. It was the quiet satisfaction of having guided without pushing, of having made space rather than demanded progress. These small triumphs, this careful patience, this sense of being useful in a way that mattered, were what she cherished when everything else felt uncertain.
