Page 25 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)

Suddenly, Wilhelmina felt a prickle at the back of her neck. She was being watched.

She turned around. Behind the tall glass windows of the study stood a figure, tall, dark, and motionless.

The Duke. Gerard .

Though the panes and the distance separated them, her breath caught as though he were but a step away. She could not get over this effect he had on her.

Surely it was natural, for he was her husband now. And yet the weight of his gaze unsettled her. Not with fear, but with something more dangerous, more intricate. Emotions she could scarcely begin to name.

Their eyes met. He did not frown. He did not smile. Yet there was an intensity in his look that seemed to reach past glass and stone to strike at her very composure.

Then, with sudden decisiveness, he turned away, disappearing back into the shadowed recesses of his study without so much as a nod.

Wilhelmina’s wedding day was proving to be a lifetime in itself. Her nerves were frayed by the time she was called for dinner. She had to sit between her husband and his son at the dining table.

Even though it was just the three of them, with Mrs. Everly hovering discreetly in the corner, it still felt like a feast, with roasted venison, herbs, and pastries.

The newlyweds seemed to be nervous, or at least awkward, for the conversation seemed to drag at first.

Gerard was his usual polite and formal self, not behaving like a newlywed at all. Even Robert was much giddier during their wedding dinner, although the two men’s personalities were a lot different.

“Your Grace, do you know,” Hector began, the words tumbling out the instant he had swallowed a bite of meat, “that my father and I have not dined together here for years?”

Gerard’s knife paused midway to his venison. His fingers tightened, though his expression did not betray any emotion. “Hector, that is an exaggeration. I have not eaten with you here these past few nights, not for years.”

“I truly thought you were avoiding me! You were so distraught!” Hector cried, ignoring his father’s correction as though he had not even heard it.

A tense silence ensued.

When Gerard spoke again, his voice was low and edged with steel. “And what if I said it was you who avoided me? You ran away more than once. I believe that trumps my absence from the table. What say you, son?”

The boy’s defiance faltered a little.

Wilhelmina felt the air thicken around them, strained between father and son. This was not merely a disagreement; it was a wound that was reopened.

She could not sit idle.

“I believe,” she interjected, setting her fork carefully on her plate, “that no matter how busy either of you becomes, there is comfort in dining together. A family must gather at the table whenever possible. When my parents were absent, my siblings and I still sat down, spoke, and jested together. It bound us and made the nights more peaceful. You can see how close we still are, even now that most are grown and with families of their own.”

She glanced at Hector, who sat straighter, his eyes alight with the promise in her words. He liked the notion. He liked the word family .

“Hear, hear!” he declared, his grin returning.

But when she looked back at Gerard, her heart stuttered. His gaze was fixed on her, dark and assessing, as though she had laid bare more than she had intended. The weight of it unsettled her.

Heat rose into her cheeks, and she shifted in her chair, suddenly conscious of the fine line she had crossed.

At last, he said, “It is a sound proposal. We will discuss it later. And yes, we will endeavor to gather whenever time allows.”

The tension lingered, but it was quieter now. Hector, satisfied, dug into his food with renewed contentment, eating every bite of meat and vegetables without complaint.

Wilhelmina kept her smile, mannerly and composed, though her thoughts turned inward.

Her mother’s endless admonitions on deportment rose unbidden.

At least some of them served her here. If she wished to make a place for herself, she must be more than polite; she must be a steadying presence, one Hector could trust as he might his real mother.

Wilhelmina could never replace her, but she might still give him something of that warmth.

The servants brought in dessert, and Hector’s eyes lit up at once, all thoughts of discord forgotten.

It was then that Gerard rose.

“A word, if you please,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Without waiting, he left the dining room.

Wilhelmina’s pulse raced. She rose, smoothed her skirts, and followed, closing the door behind her.

He rounded on her the instant they were alone. His voice was calm, yet it stung hotter than if he had shouted. “You overstep.”

She froze. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are here to care for my son,” he said, each word deliberate, “in return for stability and protection from the scrutiny of the ton. You are here to dissuade him from making mischief, to guard him from danger in his reckless exploits. But you are not here to dictate my affairs or my meals. If there are changes to be made, they are not to be declared before Hector. They are to be discussed in private, with me.”

Wilhelmina could understand his concern. But the severity of his tone, the way he had confronted her without warning, sparked something inside her. Her chest tightened, though she would not let him see her falter.

With her chin lifted, she said evenly, “I merely suggested something that should have been done all along. You asked me to keep Hector from running away again. Then you must give him a home he wishes to remain in.”

“You think dinners will remedy everything? You know nothing about this house. Nothing about us.”

Her temper flared at that. She had tried to keep it in check, but his words struck too near.

“You are right. I do not know you or Hector, not truly. My family already believes I erred in marrying a stranger. But I do know what loneliness looks like. I see it in your son, and I see it in you.”

The words seemed to hit their target.

Gerard’s eyes narrowed, and she could not look away even as heat prickled along her skin. His nearness unsettled her; she caught the faint spice of his cologne and felt unsteady, almost reckless.

“You presume too much, Duchess.”

The title landed like a blow. She bristled, but refused to shrink back.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you simply dislike hearing the truth.”

Something shifted in his gaze. There was anger, yes, but something warmer threaded through it, something far more dangerous. His eyes lingered on her mouth, and she felt her breath catch, her lips parting in response before she realized what she had done.

And then?—

A discreet cough sounded behind her. She turned sharply, her face hot, and found the butler standing a pace away.

“The next course is waiting, Your Graces. Lord Hector asks for Your Graces to return.”

When Wilhelmina glanced back, Gerard’s expression was shuttered, his composure restored swiftly as if nothing had happened between them.

“Very well,” he said shortly.

Her pulse still raced as she followed the butler back to the dining room. For an instant, she wondered if she had imagined the moment entirely. Perhaps she had been foolish. Perhaps it had only been her.

She composed herself before re-entering, plastering on a smile for Hector.

Only for Hector.