Page 73 of The Duke's Dream
"Helene, this sort of relation does not exist."
A simple arrangement, a contract, would keep things tidy—manageable. What she asked couldn't be confined by terms and conditions.
Her smile lit up the garret, and it positively disarmed him. "Well, then it will be our prerogative to invent it, will it not?"
Impossible relationships. William exhaled, trying to focus on how vulnerable and inexperienced she was. This was the cue to establish his guidelines.
"I'm glad you brought this up. I've thought about something in the same direction, albeit not as eccentric. In fact, I'll have a settlement ready for you to sign this afternoon—A house of your choosing, a carriage, and servants. A monthly allowance and a perpetuity of five hundred pounds."
She sat, crossing her arms. "What are you offering, Your Grace?"
William narrowed his eyes. By forcing him to speak plainly, she had maneuvered him into a corner. But retreat wasn't in his nature.
"The position of my mistress."
Helene stared at him.
In parliament, he could read the room and predict the outcomes easily. But Helene created her own rules, leaving him to navigate without a compass. William braced himself for her reaction. A sensible woman would seize the opportunity to enhance the terms. A foolish one would be offended.
His Helene laughed.
She opened her pretty lips, fixed her eyes on his, and laughed in his face.
Shushed and laughed at. What other brutal negotiation tactics did ballerinas hide in their tulle skirts? Perhaps he ought to send the party's MPs to dance class.
"So you will pay for something I'm quite willing to offer you for free."
"This is not a joke," he caressed her cheek. "You cannot expect us to embark on a relationship without terms being drawn."
If she were his mistress, a position society understood, it would shield her from scandal.
"That is exactly what I want." Holding his gaze, she took his hand and kissed his palm. "Like partners in a pas de deux, we stay together while our music lasts. We carry into this what we brought, and we take from it the art and the memories, nothing more."
His orderly life couldn't encompass a bloody pas de deux. She already consumed his dreams and his awakened thoughts. What would happen if he let her closer?
"Helene, be reasonable."
Ignoring him, she looked at her nails and hummed.
William ran a hand over his hair. "You are serious. I can't believe you are serious. You cannot buy food on memories. They don't pay the bills."
She lifted a pair of stubborn brows. "I have my art for making ends meet. I want anamantto make me happy. Are you available for the job?"
Exhaling slowly, he observed her—the unwavering gaze, the set of her jaw, the confident tilt of her head. For once, he read her clearly. She wanted a partnership of equals. And by God, she had the stubbornness to carry it through.
He could force his position, but at what cost? Her radiance this morning—did he really want to see it fade under the weight of hard truths? And if he couldn't convince her? What if she ended their music? Cold seeped into his stomach, and he clenched his hands. Unacceptable.
They were still in the little season. He could spare some hours on his agenda for her. The MPs were more malleable to increase the military budget than he had expected, and the real season, when balls and dinner parties would demand his presence, would only start after Easter.
I can't believe I'm about to lose this negotiation.
William exhaled long and deep. "We will do this your way for two months, and then you will sign the contract."
She smiled coquettishly, a mischievous glint in her eye. "How conceited, Your Grace! Are you so certain you can keep my affections for two entire months?"
He tried to grab her, but she danced out of his grip.
Laughing, she vaulted from the bed.
