Page 147 of The Duke's Dream
As she launched into her third turn, a sudden fluttering of wings overhead broke her concentration. Her balance faltered, and she tilted dangerously to the side. She was about to stumble, when strong hands gripped her waist.
The world spun to a stop.
She gasped and found herself staring into a pair of eyes as dear and familiar to her as the summer breaking through after a harsh winter.
“William,” she breathed, and her heart flapped its rusty wings.
His warmth seeped into her, grounding her. The world narrowing to this singular, poignant moment. Sunlight filtered through the translucent panels, casting a kaleidoscope of light that danced between them. They stood like this—she, en pointe, her leg in passé, he, holding her, his gaze boring into hers—as if this were the first time their eyes had ever touched, as if they had loved each other all their lives.
Helene devoured his appearance—instead of the rigid London clothing, a white summer coat hugged his powerful shoulders, and the French sun had kissed his skin, now the color of warm honey. His hair was tousled as if he had traveled all the way from England on horseback.
Madame Campan halted the music. The girls dithered and giggled, breaching the blur that had become her vision. Helene pulled away, smoothing her practice clothes with shaky hands. Why was he here? When she was starting to heal? She could not face the hatred in his eyes another time.
Madam Campan stood and, after a knowing smile, glided to the exit. “Girls, mademoiselle has a visitor, and your etiquette teacher must be waiting at the school.”
As the student’s lips brushed against Helene’s cheek, her heart fluttered wildly against her ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. When they filed out of the orangery, her palms were clammy, her thoughts dissolving into a hazy blur.
Unable to lift her gaze from the floor, Helene drifted toward the piano, her steps unsteady. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the music sheets.
The air behind her shifted. Her thin cotton dress offered no protection against the heat radiating from him. Helene froze, the fine hairs on her arms rising and the papers slipping from her fingers.
“Would you look at me?” His tone was husky, and oh so dear to hear that she wanted to weep.
“No,” Helene breathed.
“Can you at least tell me why?”
“The last time I looked at you,” Helene said, her voice breaking. “The hatred in your eyes—It hurt too much.”
Sometimes, she dreamed of it, the pain too brutal to bear.
He placed both hands over her hips. “Would you give me another chance?”
Eyes closed, she allowed him to turn her until she faced him. His breathing ruffled her hair, and she inhaled his scent, wanting to store him inside her lungs forever. He cradled her cheeks and brushed his lips along the seams of her lips.
He kissed her eyelids in invitation, one and then the other.
She blinked.
His expression was soft, open with a lingering sadness.
Reluctantly, she searched his eyes. Where there was once an icy blizzard that threatened to freeze her, she now felt the tranquility of a blanket of snow. Where once she saw a blue flame ready to incinerate her, she now saw glowing embers, inviting in their warmth. Where once there had been the disdainful indifference of a glacier, she now felt the first warm breeze of spring, tender and welcoming.
His ocean-blue eyes held no torment, only the placidness of a summer lake. He looked at her with a tenderness and a love so vast it rivaled the Atlantic.
Her breath caught, and a wave of warmth washed over her. Dare she hope?
“You hated me,” she whispered, cursing how weak her voice sounded.
“Not you. Never you, Helene.” He held both her hands. “I hated myself. I hated this part of me you brought to the fore. A part of me that craved freedom, just like you do. A part of me that chafed against the strains of society. A part of me who dreamed of a sprite and longed for the freedom to fly with her. I thought I had to stifle it to be the man I wanted to be, but I was wrong. To be whole, I need to be William, and I need to be the Duke of Albemarle. They can’t exist apart, and I can’t exist without you.”
Even if it were true, what did this change? They were still from different worlds. A single tear coursed down her cheek, and Helene hugged herself. “Why are you here, William?”
“I came to bring you this.”
He removed something from his pocket.
She caught the paper with trembling fingers and frowned. “You ventured into France to give me a receipt?”
