“We must be going,” Wilhelm said, perhaps more abruptly than was polite. “The hour is growing late.”
“Of course,” Catherine said, her intuition clearly picking up on his shift in mood. She offered one last smile to Tessa. “Good day to you all.”
As they walked back to the carriage, Tessa tugged Wilhelm’s hand. “She was nice, Papa. She didn’t look at my face the way the wine-lady did.”
“No,” Wilhelm agreed, his throat tight. “She is a very good woman, Tessa.”
Madeline said nothing. She kept her head down and Wilhelm was left to wonder about what she was thinking.
Dinner that night back at Kirkford House was the quietest it had been in weeks, but it wasn’t the cold, strained silence of the morning. It was a soft, domestic quiet. The dining room was lit by a dozen candles, the fire crackling in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows across the silver and crystal.
Tessa sat between them, her carousel on the table, the tiny tinkling music providing a soundtrack to their meal. Wilhelm watched Madeline as she ate. After she removed her cloak, and the candlelight played over the pale column of her neck, the way her collarbones shifted beneath the fabric of her dress. He found himself remembering the feel of his thumb tracing that same line in the garden, the way her skin had heated beneath his touch.
I want her,he thought, the realization no longer a shock but a burning truth.I want her in my bed, in my life, in every room of this house.
Tessa’s head began to bob, her eyelids drooping as the excitement of the day finally took its toll.
“I think someone has reached the end of her strength,” Madeline said softly, her voice full of a tenderness that made Wilhelm’s chest ache. She stood and moved to Tessa’s side, smoothing a stray curl from the girl’s forehead. “Come, love. Let’s get you to bed.”
Tessa grumbled a half-hearted protest but allowed Madeline to pull her into her arms.
As Madeline turned to leave the room, Wilhelm stood. The movement was sharp, the chair scraping against the floorboards.
“Miss Watton.”
Madeline paused at the threshold, the sleeping child heavy in her arms. She looked back at him, her face framed by the soft glow of the hallway lamp.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“When she is settled,” Wilhelm said, his voice dropping into a low, commanding rumble that brooked no argument, “return to my study. I wish to speak with you in private.”
Madeline’s eyes widened, a flash of that familiar, electric tension sparking in her gaze. She did not answer with words; she simply gave a small, jerky nod and disappeared into the shadows of the stairwell.
Wilhelm remained standing, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t know if he was going to demand the truth of her name or simply pull her into his arms and never let go. All he knew was that the silence of the house was no longer enough. The walls were closing in, and tonight, the Duke of Kirkford was done with being patient.
He poured himself a glass of brandy, the liquid amber and fire in the light, and waited for the sound of her footsteps on the stairs.
CHAPTER 24
“You wished to speak to me, Your Grace?”
Madeline stood just inside the threshold of Wilhelm’s study. After closing the door behind her, the familiar scent of leather, paper, and old polish wrapped around her like something intimate and forbidden. The fire was low, casting a muted glow across the shelves and the large desk that dominated the room, and Wilhelm stood beside it rather than sitting behind it.
“Yes,” he said, and there was the faintest pause before the word, the smallest hitch that told her he was not as composed as he wished to appear. “Thank you for coming.”
He gestured toward the chair opposite the desk, but did not move to sit himself, remaining standing instead, one hand braced lightly against the edge of the table. His shoulders held in a tension that made Madeline’s heart flutter in immediate sympathy.
She crossed the room with slow steps and took the offered seat, smoothing her skirts with hands that were steadier than she felt. She kept her gaze trained just below his eyes, on the line of his jaw, the knot of his cravat, anywhere but the expression she feared might undo her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence was not awkward in the usual sense. It was weighted, dense with things neither of them had said and both were carefully choosing not to say now.
Wilhelm cleared his throat. “I wished to ask your opinion,” he began, and stopped again, his mouth thinning briefly. “About Lady Catherine.”
Madeline’s breath caught before she could stop it. She had known the question was coming, had been bracing for it since the moment he had asked her to remain, but the sound of the lady’s name in this room, in this moment, struck her with an unexpected force.
“Lady Catherine?” she echoed, keeping her voice even with effort.
