Page 22 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)

The Duke of Talleystone was a partner in business and convenience. Yet his gaze remained on her—intent, questioning, almost penetrating. In that instant, his shield seemed lowered. His eyes roamed over her with curiosity, revealing more of him than she had expected.

And though it was brief, she felt the weight of his attention, precise and unflinching, as if trying to read the truth behind her carefully maintained composure.

“Is-Is something the matter, Your Grace?” she stammered, her fingers tightening on the edge of her chair.

The Duke didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze lingered, slow and deliberate, and she felt a flush creep up her neck.

“I have not seen your hair loose like this before,” he noted, his voice rougher than before.

Her breath hitched. She had not expected the timbre of his voice to tug at her in such a way.

“Well,” she replied, trying to sound dismissive, though her cheeks betrayed her, “you are in my house at this hour. Obviously, I cannot parade around in my robe outside. People are already scandalized by my very presence. Imagine how they’d react if my hair were not pulled into a prim chignon.”

The Duke stepped closer. Just a few paces, but each one made the air between them crackle with tension.

Wilhelmina did not feel suffocated. She felt… noticed. Seen .

His eyes traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck, the fall of her hair. His gaze, so intent, made her chest tighten.

“Do you think,” he murmured, almost to himself, “that you know the effect you have on others, Lady Slyham?”

Her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to step back, to remind herself that this was the man proposing a marriage of convenience, her future husband in every sense but desire, but her feet were rooted to the floor.

Her breath hitched. “What… what do you mean by that?” she asked quietly.

His gaze held hers steadily. “You have a way of… being,” he said carefully, as if weighing each word. “A way that makes it impossible not to notice you. Not just your presence, but also your mind, your thoughts, the way you carry yourself. Even when I try to focus elsewhere, you linger in my mind.”

Her fingers tightened around the hem of her robe. “Lingering… how?”

He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, though the distance remained. “Like a question I cannot answer. Like a thought that will not leave me. You draw my attention, My Lady, whether I wish it or not. And it is… unsettling to admit that.”

She swallowed, heat rising to her cheeks. “I… I am not accustomed to this,” she whispered. “No one has ever… looked at me this way.”

“No one?” He tilted his head, his eyes darkening in a way that made her heart stutter. “Not ever your first husband?”

She straightened, realizing that she could give away Robert’s secret any moment.

“Robert was… different,” she offered, careful not to reveal too much.

“So am I,” the Duke said, slow and deliberate, and the air between them seemed to thrum.

“Know this, Lady Slyham: I will be a husband in every sense of the word, even if our marriage is one of convenience. I will see to your comfort, your safety, and your place in my household. I will make sure that no one undermines you or makes you feel small while you live under my roof.”

Wilhelmina felt a different heat rise in her cheeks at his words.

His proximity, the steel in his voice, it was… unnerving, yet impossible to ignore.

“I will provide stability, security, a home where you are respected and where Hector is loved,” he continued, stepping close enough that she could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. “But… I will not tolerate anyone taking liberties with what is mine. With what I—what we —care about.”

Her pulse thudded in her ears. She could see it in his eyes now, the flicker of something sharp, protective, almost feral in its intensity.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her reaction, and before either of them realized it, the distance between them had shrunk.

“And I mean it all,” he added, his voice dropping further, “I intend to keep you safe, My Lady. No one will touch you. Not unless they seek their ruin.”

Her lips parted before she could stop herself. “Your Grace…”

“Call me Gerard,” he said, his breath brushing her cheek.

She could feel the warmth emanating from him; it contrasted sharply with the cool air of the room.

She shivered, though not from the cold. “I…”

He leaned in just enough that she could see the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes lingered on her lips.

“Tell me your name,” he demanded. “I’ve heard it from others, but I wish to hear it from your lips.”

A shiver went down her spine. “It-It’s Wilhelmina.”

“Wilhelmina…” he echoed, and her name had never sounded sweeter.

“Ger—”

Crack!

The sound of a vase shattering in the hall made them jump apart.

His hand dropped back to his side, and the heat in his eyes cooled almost instantly, replaced by that familiar composure.

Wilhelmina’s breath came fast. Her skin tingled from his closeness, from the promise she had glimpsed in his eyes, and yet the coldness had returned as abruptly as it had vanished.

Then, an impatient knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Wilhelmina called, her voice pitched high, before clearing her throat.

“Are you finished talking yet?” Hector’s small voice preceded him, sharp with curiosity and impatience.

The Duke opened the door and stepped aside as Hector bounded into the room. The boy’s energy seemed endless. His wide eyes swept past his father’s imposing figure, landing on Wilhelmina with wonder and relief.

“We are not quite finished, Hector,” the Duke said, though his voice carried a softness she had not heard earlier. “But you may join us for the remainder of the conversation.”

“I get to hear too?” Hector’s tone wavered between excitement and uncertainty, the same timidness that often tugged at Wilhelmina’s heart.

The Duke crouched down to meet his son’s gaze. Wilhelmina’s heart warmed at the tenderness of the gesture, so different from his usual formality.

Hector blinked, as if surprised by his father’s gentleness, and then realization dawned.

“Hector,” the Duke began, “I have asked Lady Slyham to become my wife, and she has agreed.”

For a heartbeat, the boy froze, astonishment mirrored in his wide eyes. Then, as if sunlight had broken through the clouds, his face split into a brilliant grin, radiating joy that filled the room.

“Does that mean she’ll live with us always? That I don’t have to go to the country house, and I can stay here, with her?”

Wilhelmina smiled, her heart swelling at his unguarded delight. The legalities and complexities of marriage were irrelevant to him; all that mattered was permanence and affection.

“Partially, yes. It means that she’ll live with us,” the Duke replied, his voice firm yet gentle.

Hector launched himself at his father, hugging him tightly, before spinning toward Wilhelmina. She welcomed him into her arms.

The boy pressed close, as if afraid that his happiness would vanish, and she held him firmly, feeling the natural ease with which he had become an integral part of her life.

“Lady Slyham! You’re going to live with us forever!” he exclaimed, his small voice brimming with the absolute certainty of a child’s world.

“It appears so, my dear,” she murmured, brushing his hair from his face with a tender hand. “Though you must be gentle, or I might reconsider.”

“I’m sorry, My Lady!” Hector said earnestly, loosening his hold. “Papa, does it really mean I’m staying in London? I promise I’ll behave better!”

The Duke straightened, the authority in his posture restored. “You will remain with us. But you must follow the rules: no wandering without permission, no leaving with anyone, even Miss Elliot, without my knowledge. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Papa.” Hector nodded earnestly. “I promise! I only ran away the first time because I thought you needed my help. But now, you are marrying Lady Slyham! There is no need!”

Wilhelmina raised an amused eyebrow at the boy, who returned her look with a solemn nod, repeating his promise as if she were part of the pact.

The Duke exhaled, a hint of relief crossing his features. Turning to Wilhelmina, he spoke with his customary precision, though she caught a flicker of something deeper in his gaze.

“I will acquire a special license so that we may proceed without delay. You need not concern yourself with any arrangements; I will attend to them immediately.”

As usual, his words commanded the room. But now, behind the iron-like authority, she glimpsed a shadow of questioning. An invitation to challenge him, to show herself more than acquiescent.

“Do we need to rush things?” she asked, the quiver in her voice betraying her uncertainty.

“Yes,” he replied simply. “For Hector’s sake.”

Wilhelmina inclined her head, acknowledging the truth. “And, of course, we must consider the ton.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “We’ll make appearances together. Though I insist that widows and widowers not be subjected to the same scrutiny as the younger couples. We come from lives already lived. Our courtship, such as it is, need not be a spectacle.”

“I understand,” she said, lowering her eyes respectfully and inclining her head in gratitude. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The Duke blinked slowly, his dark gray eyes unreadable, but something lingered there—hesitation, a sentiment she could not decipher.

“Come along, son. It is late, and we have taken up much of Lady Slyham’s evening.”

Hector hugged her again, as if reaffirming a promise, before scampering to his father’s side.

“Goodnight, Lady Slyham.” The Duke bowed.

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” Wilhelmina curtsied.

After Hector also bid her goodnight, the Duke lingered for a heartbeat in the doorway, holding her eyes. There was a quiet intensity there that she could not read.

Sadness? Regret? Something else entirely?

Then, he turned and left, his steps echoing down the hall.

Wilhelmina remained rooted in place, her chest still fluttering from the whirlwind of the evening.

The Duke and his son had entered her life like a storm, leaving her disoriented but inexplicably… light. She exhaled slowly, trying to make sense of it all.

In truth, nothing about this night had been ordinary. And yet she found herself quietly hoping it would not be the last storm to visit her.