Page 32 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
“Your Grace—”
“There was no room for softness in the mountains. There were days it was so cold, if I had closed my eyes for rest I would have slept to my death. There are times when the sun does not penetrate the foliage of the towering trees, and the vast emptiness is endless and beautiful and cruel. There are days of no food…of avoiding those creatures that would make me the food. There are days of no sleep or rest. Tell me, Southby, should I have been reminding myself then about the nicest manners that come with being the heir to a dukedom?”
The hint of amusement in his tone felt like a trap. “You are no longer living in the wilds, Your Grace.”
“My waking moments are threaded with ghostly wisps of the Northern Sound.”
She was suddenly aware of an aura of ruthlessness surrounding him that was intimidating. Worse, his eyes seemed hollow.
“You must be careful that when you peer at the past, you do not look too long,” Jules said softly. “Those ghostly echoes will be with you for a lifetime, but the present is also here. A life that should once again become familiar if you allow it, Your Grace.”
There was something curious in his stare but also calculating. “Is that so?”
Yes. “Your mother said you sang once, beautifully, and you often sang for her as a lad. Do you still sing?” she asked, hoping to remind him of the moments that bonded him to his family.
“That voice is now gone.”
“Is it?”
“Broken by my screams of despair in those first months.”
That painful hitch darted through Jules’s heart. “I am sorry, Your Grace.”
Silence fell, and without speaking, she felt the duke cloak himself in indifference and reserve. She moved away from the past, sensing the impenetrable nature of the walls he had erected. “The duchess informs me a dance tutor will attend on you tomorrow.”
His grunt was decidedly annoyed, yet he made no comment.
“Will you see those lessons through?”
The chill in his gaze grew pronounced, and she suspected he wrestled internally.
“Is it a requirement to be a duke?”
Jules smiled. “Perhaps in finding a wife.”
“How so?”
As she watched him, Jules couldn’t help thinking there was something about the duke that seemed too stark and ageless. “Ladies do love to dance, and they see it as an important expression of courtship. Gentlemen share the same viewpoint and are quite eager to dance with ladies they admire and woo.”
“Do you enjoy dancing, Southby?”
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Though I have received the appropriate lessons, I’ve never taken a partner to the dance floor. I have no notion if I would enjoy it or not. I have observed that it looks remarkably freeing.”
He chewed for a few moments. “I find our conversations pleasant.”
“I am pleased given that your family seems to think you have lost the ability to hold any sort of discourse, Your Grace. You should engage with them more.”
“Call me James.”
A soft breath rushed out of her. “I cannot—”
“I grow tired of this incessant ‘Your Grace’ business.”
“Very well,” she said a trifle pertly.
His gaze sharpened. “What is this?”
“What?”
