“You are a bold woman,” he said at last.
Heat climbed her neck again. “Not bold. Only… honest.”
His gaze swept over her face with a steadiness that felt almost intimate, as though he were memorizing her features rather than merely observing them. It moved slowly, first to her eyes, lingering long enough that she felt the breath tighten in her chest, then down to the faint curve of her cheek, and finally to her mouth. The shift was subtle, barely a flicker, but he looked at her lips as if the sight unsettled him, and yet he could not quite pull away.
Madeline’s pulse fluttered unevenly. Every inch of her skin seemed suddenly aware of him, aware of his height blocking the lantern light, aware of the breadth of his shoulders, aware of the faint scent of cold and pine surrounding him.
When she had seen Hale earlier, fear had risen swift and unmistakable, her instincts clear about what must be done. This felt altogether different, softer and far more dangerous… a quiet, unnerving awareness that loosened her control instead of sharpening it.
She lowered her gaze quickly, unable to withstand the intensity of his eyes for another heartbeat. She felt flustered and unsteady in a way she never had before. She’d been so composed for so long. How did this unexpected glance from him chip at all the walls she’d learned to build?
She needed to leave.
“Yes, well,” she finally murmured, fingers curling tightly around the edge of her cloak, “I should go. My employer will grow concerned if I stay much longer.”
“Wait.” His voice wrapped around her, warm and low, catching her before she could take a step.
She turned, and he was already closer, towering above her.
“You handled my daughter with more grace than any governess she’s had,” he said, softer now. “You did not hesitate. You did not recoil. You spoke to her as if she were an ordinary child.”
“Sheisjust a child,” Madeline whispered.
His eyes flickered in surprise, then in something far deeper, far more vulnerable. “I need someone like you,” he said.
Her breath stopped. “I—what?”
“Tessa needs a governess who will not fear her scars. Who will not make her feel small.” His voice was low and earnest. “Traditional interviews have failed. The candidates treat her as if she were—” He broke off, jaw tightening. “As if she were something to be pitied.”
“I’m sorry,” Madeline murmured.
“So am I.” His gaze softened. “I watched you with her. You knew exactly how to steady her.”
A strange warmth unfurled through her chest, but she could not afford warmth, oranythingthat resembled it.
“Your words are kind, Your Grace, but I’m afraid I must go,” she repeated, backing away. “Truly.”
She turned toward the tent flap and froze. Captain Hale stood outside, eyes surveying the passing faces with ruthless concentration. Her blood turned to ice.
“No,” she whispered.
“What is it?” the Duke’s voice came from behind.
“I—” Her breath came fast, irregular. “I’m sorry. I must leave.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking Hale’s line of sight without even knowing it. “Miss Watton,” he said quietly, and her name sounded like a command on his tongue, “have I frightened you?”
“No. I simply must go.”
“You’re trembling.”
She hated that he noticed, and heat pricked her eyes.
He lowered his voice further. “I apologize if I was too direct earlier. I did not mean to unsettle you.”
“It isn’t that,” she whispered.
“Then tell me what it is.”
