“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked Tessa, pitching his voice to her level.
Tessa looked up at him, eyes bright but uncertain. “It’s very loud.”
“It can be,” he agreed. His gaze lifted, just briefly, to Madeline’s face. “Are you well?”
Her smile came easily enough, but it did not reach her eyes. “Perfectly, Your Grace.”
He did not believe her for a moment.
Henry appeared at his shoulder, a picture of easy charm. “Miss Watton,” he said warmly, offering a bow that was just exaggerated enough to be playful. “You look enchanting tonight. I fear you’ll have the entire room in a state.”
Madeline laughed softly, color blooming in her cheeks, and Wilhelm felt a sharp, irrational spike of jealousy lance through him at the sound.
“You are very kind,” she said.
Henry leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “If Kirkford does not dance with you this evening, I may have to steal you away myself.”
Wilhelm’s jaw locked. He shot Henry a warning look that went entirely ignored. Before he could interject, a familiar wave of attention swept toward him as several ladies converged at once, fans fluttering, smiles bright with intent.
“Your Grace,” one of them purred. “Might we speak with you?”
Wilhelm glanced at Madeline. He saw the way she had already begun to withdraw, her hand firm on Tessa’s shoulder, her eyes scanning the room rather than him, and guilt flickered through him
“I shall return,” he said quietly to Tessa, who nodded reluctantly.
He turned back to the ladies and offered his arm with practiced ease. “Shall we?”
The reel swept him forward and away again, hands clasped briefly and released as the figures turned. The woman opposite him smiled when she was meant to smile, met his eye when the pattern required it, and vanished again as the line reformed.
And yet each separation sharpened his awareness of where Madeline was not. He found himself marking the space at the edge of the floor without intending to, aware of her stillness even as he moved, of the fact that she alone remained unmoved by the music.
When the figures brought him back around, he caught her again in his periphery, unchanged, observant, too composed for the noise and motion surrounding her.
It unsettled him more than closeness ever had. And then Tessa’s voice cut through the music. “No.”
Wilhelm’s head snapped up.
She stood at the edge of the floor, arms crossed, her mouth set in a stubborn pout. “I want to dance too.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the nearby guests, indulgent and curious, and Wilhelm felt a flush of frustration and fondness colliding inside him.
Henry, bless him, swooped in at once. “Then allow me,” he said, bowing deeply before Tessa and offering his arm. “I would be honored.”
Tessa’s expression transformed instantly. “Really?”
“Truly.”
She took his arm with delight, glancing back at Madeline, who smiled.
Wilhelm watched them step onto the floor together, watched Tessa laugh as Henry guided her through the steps, and felt the weight of what he was doing settle heavily in his chest.
He turned back to his partner, the dance resuming, but his gaze drifted, inexorably, to the corner of the room where Madeline now stood alone. Her hands were clasped. Her posture was composed and distant, every inch the governess, every line of her body radiating a longing she did not allow herself to show.
Guilt gnawed at him. Desire burned beneath it. And beneath that, something far darker stirred, something that whisperedhe was making a terrible mistake even as he forced himself to continue.
This was duty, he told himself grimly, as the music carried him farther away from her. And yet every step felt like a betrayal.
The room glittered with candlelight and silk, with the low hum of voices layered over the music, laughter rising and falling like a practiced refrain. Madeline’s gaze tracked Tessa instinctively, following the bright flicker of her movement, the way Henry exaggerated his steps just enough to make her laugh, the way Wilhelm—across the room now, partnered with another lady—kept glancing back at her.
