Page 62 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
The tension lingered, but it was quieter now. Hector, satisfied, dug into his food with renewed contentment, eating every bite of meat and vegetables without complaint.
Wilhelmina kept her smile, mannerly and composed, though her thoughts turned inward.
Her mother’s endless admonitions on deportment rose unbidden. At least some of them served her here. If she wished to make a place for herself, she must be more than polite; she must be a steadying presence, one Hector could trust as he might his real mother. Wilhelmina could never replace her, but she might still give him something of that warmth.
The servants brought in dessert, and Hector’s eyes lit up at once, all thoughts of discord forgotten.
It was then that Gerard rose.
“A word, if you please,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.
Without waiting, he left the dining room.
Wilhelmina’s pulse raced. She rose, smoothed her skirts, and followed, closing the door behind her.
He rounded on her the instant they were alone. His voice was calm, yet it stung hotter than if he had shouted. “You overstep.”
She froze. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are here to care for my son,” he said, each word deliberate, “in return for stability and protection from the scrutiny of the ton. You are here to dissuade him from making mischief, to guard him from danger in his reckless exploits. But you are not here to dictate my affairs or my meals. If there are changes to be made, they are not to be declared before Hector. They are to be discussed in private, with me.”
Wilhelmina could understand his concern. But the severity of his tone, the way he had confronted her without warning, sparked something inside her. Her chest tightened, though she would not let him see her falter.
With her chin lifted, she said evenly, “I merely suggested something that should have been done all along. You asked me to keep Hector from running away again. Then you must give him a home he wishes to remain in.”
“You think dinners will remedy everything? You know nothing about this house. Nothing about us.”
Her temper flared at that. She had tried to keep it in check, but his words struck too near.
“You are right. I do not know you or Hector, not truly. My family already believes I erred in marrying a stranger. But I do know what loneliness looks like. I see it in your son, and I see it in you.”
The words seemed to hit their target.
Gerard’s eyes narrowed, and she could not look away even as heat prickled along her skin. His nearness unsettled her; she caught the faint spice of his cologne and felt unsteady, almost reckless.
“You presume too much, Duchess.”
The title landed like a blow. She bristled, but refused to shrink back.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps you simply dislike hearing the truth.”
Something shifted in his gaze. There was anger, yes, but something warmer threaded through it, something far more dangerous. His eyes lingered on her mouth, and she felt her breath catch, her lips parting in response before she realized what she had done.
And then?—
A discreet cough sounded behind her. She turned sharply, her face hot, and found the butler standing a pace away.
“The next course is waiting, Your Graces. Lord Hector asks for Your Graces to return.”
When Wilhelmina glanced back, Gerard’s expression was shuttered, his composure restored swiftly as if nothing had happened between them.
“Very well,” he said shortly.
Her pulse still raced as she followed the butler back to the dining room. For an instant, she wondered if she had imagined the moment entirely. Perhaps she had been foolish. Perhaps it had only been her.
She composed herself before re-entering, plastering on a smile for Hector.
Only for Hector.
