She was a grown woman—she should have had an answer. But she didn’t. No one had ever asked her such a thing before. Her wants had never been of consequence, and she had accepted that, just as her aunt had. It was a woman’s role, after all, to fill the spaces in the lives of those around them, to be of service, to do what was needed.
She shook her head, her gaze falling away from his once more.
“I truly don’t know,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the fabric of his shirt.
The words were as honest as she had ever been, and tears pricked at her eyes. She turned away from his touch and walked slowly along the parapet, pretending to admire the view when all she wanted was to keep the tears from falling. In that moment, she wished she were the sort of woman who had an answer—who knew herself, who knew her desires. But she was realizing now that she did not. And she wondered, with a quiet ache, whether that would disappoint him.
“You are dutiful,” the Count said. “A dutiful daughter. And I assume a dutiful wife.” He came closer, his hand settling at the small of her back, firm and possessive. He turned her to face him. “But I do not want a wife bound by duty alone. I have seen what becomes of a life lived that way, and it is not what I want—for myself, or for you.” His gaze searched her face. “Show me the fire within you. I want proof of its burn upon my skin. You are not like the others, Wilhelmina. Prove me right. Show me what lies beneath the mask of duty.”
She stared up at him, her thoughts tangled, her emotions colliding—fear, longing, confusion, something dangerously close to hope.
Then he pulled her in.
There was a moment’s pause. At first, she thought he was hesitating, doubting himself—but she quickly realized he was waiting. Waiting for her permission. For a sign that she would allow him to touch her, to kiss her.
She did not pull away. Her gaze lingered on the outline of his mouth as he leaned closer.
His lips met hers—slow, gentle. A question rather than a claim.
And despite herself, something inside her answered.
A spark flared beneath his touch, unfamiliar and intoxicating. His hands tightened at her waist, drawing her closer, and she kissed him back with a hunger she scarcely recognized. The sensation was dizzying, as though she were drunk on his nearness. Her heart fluttered. She reached up, her fingers brushing the smooth line of his jaw, the solid strength of his shoulder beneath her other hand.
She felt the cool touch of his hand against her cheek, trailing down her neck, his fingertips grazing her décolletage.
A sharp sound broke from his lips.
He jerked away.
In an instant, he was several paces from her, the cold night air rushing in to fill the space he had left behind. Mina struggled to steady her breathing. When she met his gaze, she found his brow drawn tight, his expression unreadable.
Shame washed through her. Had she done something wrong?
“I’m sorry,” she said, one hand pressed to her heaving heart. “I don’t know what came over me.”
He said nothing at first, and her stomach sank. Had she misread him entirely? He had wanted her passion—hadn’t he?
“Do not apologize,” he said at last. He did not move toward her. “I should take you back to your chambers.”
Disappointment coursed through her, but she nodded.
As she followed him off the stone walkway and down the steps—this time, no part of them touching—embarrassment crept in, heavy and unwelcome. This had been their first moment alone together, and she had ruined it so quickly. But how? She had been overzealous, surely—had let herself be carried away by feeling. And yet, hadn’t he done the same? Or had it been a test all along? Had she failed?
When they reached her chamber, she turned to face him, though it took effort to lift her eyes to his.
“I apologize if I’ve offended you,” she said quietly. “The way I behaved—that is not how I was raised, nor the kind of woman I am.”
Silence settled between them, the space filling with discomfort.
“Goodnight, Wilhelmina.”
This time, her name sounded different on his lips. Flat. Devoid of warmth.
She blinked, trying to reconcile the man who had drawn her close only moments before with the one nowstanding at a careful distance. His passion one moment, his withdrawal the next—she could not make sense of it.
Before she could speak, he turned and disappeared into the darkened corridor, leaving her alone to stare at the space where he had been.
CHAPTER 14
