Page 18 of The Duke's Dream
Turning quickly, she covered herself with the coat so he would not see any more inches of skin, and pushed the costume down her legs.
He stepped back, a frown marking his forehead.
Helene scoffed at his blatant surprise. Women must fawn over him like courtiers to Prince Hal, and the arrogant tyrant assumed she would bow to his wishes. Thwarting his desire had been worth burning her own skin. Still, she would better cease his shock to flee.
Heart speeding, Helene circled him.
He grabbed her arm and leaned forward, trapping her gaze. His eyes changed from almost caressing to hard and forbidding. His stare was formidable. She suspected he had smote lesser individuals with such a fiery display.
“You play with fire.”
“How can that be possible?” Helene forced a valiant smile. “If society exists to protect us from such dangerous flames?”
He released her as if she had burned him.
Helene brushed past him. “Bonsoir, monsieur le Duc.”
Williammovedthroughtheglade, each step muffled by moss and pine needles. The night breathed around him—whispers of ancient trees, the hush of unseen water. And beneath it all, a hum. Elusive. Beckoning. Like a forgotten melody just beyond reach.
He parted a curtain of mist, and the world shifted.
A clearing opened before him, glowing as if the moon had chosen this one spot to anoint. Silver light pooled over the grass, soft as silk.
And there she was.
The sprite.
She danced, her milky skin bathed in moonlight, limbs unfolding with the rhythm of a world untouched by time. She skimmed over the meadow, and wherever the tip of her toe kissed the earth, a white flower bloomed—reaching for her as if longing to dance. Mist clung to her ankles, and the wind moved to her breathless tempo, carrying the hush of the overture through the trees like a secret only he was allowed to hear.
“Helene,” William breathed.
She turned to him, startled. A smile lit her pouting lips. There was a promise in those heart-shaped lips. A promise for which he burned.
She twirled around him, enticing and playful. He wanted to explore her beauty and travel through her milky limbs.
With an impish flick of her wrist, she made William’s evening attire vanish, and moistness coated his naked skin.
“Helene,” he warned, his voice gaining strength.
She stopped dancing. “Why do you follow me, William?”
Her question echoed in the meadow.
His mind was sluggish. Why couldn’t he form words?
“I need you to understand.” His tone was a mixture of plea and command.
The sprite laughed softly, and the sound brushed against his chest.
“Understand what? That you seek to cage what stirs you most?”
She flitted closer, lightning quick, and twirled a lock of his hair on her finger. William held still, his skin tingling, waiting. Her face—so close. Lips near his ear. The silvery light solidified, becoming gossamer threads, linking her to him. Too elusive. He needed more. Skin, heat, mouth.
William tried to grasp her hand, but she evaded him, darting over trees and sweet-smelling flowers. The grass broke under his strides as he chased her. When he was about to catch her, she flew to the tallest branch and perched out of his reach, her dainty feet swinging to and fro.
William placed his palms over his knees, panting. This—this hollow yawned awake in him. His spirit yearned for her. Something moved inside him, a force brushing against his ribs. Wings. He banked them. Always like this. She wished him to fly after her. But he could not. Would not.
Frustration welled in his chest, and the trees around him twisted, their gnarled branches spreading like claws, a canopy of ghostly fingers snatching away the moonlight. The mist thickened, swirling into shadows that darkened the air, pressing in around him.
