Page 27 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)

Chapter Nineteen

“ W e don’t often let Hector dine with the adults, Duchess,” he admitted. “The dinner after our wedding was a special occasion. So, we allowed him to be there with us.”

Gerard found his new wife different. He realized that what she had been showing everyone was not an act; it was her real character.

“Ah, I understand,” Wilhelmina said. “However, I come from a large family. Even though the children eat their meals in the nursery, we have company. Hector has nobody?—”

“He has his governess, Miss Elliot,” Gerard reminded her.

“I know. But wouldn’t it be better if he had his family, too?” she reasoned.

Gerard took a long, deep breath. He didn’t like changing any of his routines, but he had to admit that Hector looked happier since Wilhelmina had moved in with them.

“I like eating dinner with you, Papa,” Hector said with a big smile.

Gerard sighed. He looked at his new wife and his little boy, and grudgingly said, “I suppose we can eat a little early so Hector can still go to bed early.”

“Thank you, Papa! You will not regret this!”

He had to listen to his son chatter about his day. At first, he thought he would be annoyed—maybe he was a little—but he soon found himself appreciating the moment.

Then, Hector knocked the salt shaker. Gerard tried his best to ignore it, focusing on his food, while Wilhelmina smiled and reassured the boy.

After dessert, Miss Elliot took Hector to the nursery. The boy was already dragging his feet, trying valiantly to stifle his yawns.

Once the governess had gone, Gerard found himself alone with his wife.

“Please remember that what we have is an arrangement, nothing more,” he said, his tone clipped. “I am gratified that Hector enjoys your company, and I have given you a safe home in return. That is where it ends.”

Her eyes flashed, though her smile was deceptively mild. “So, you did not mean it when you said we’ll move dinner to an earlier hour?”

“We cannot argue in front of the child,” he countered.

“Oh? Is that because you fear looking like the villain?”

His jaw tightened. “This household has rules. They are not altered at every whim. If I must bend to every small preference, Hector will cease to respect my authority.”

“I am not asking you to change everything,” she countered, her voice rising. “Only to make a few adjustments—ones that would make his life easier, happier. He is a child, Duke! Not a soldier in the field.”

Heat rose up the back of Gerard’s neck. Did his wife think she was the only one who cared for the boy? He was Hector’s father—he had spent years ensuring the boy had everything he needed. But she spoke as though he were negligent.

“You will consult me before making further changes,” he insisted, the warning clear in his voice.

Wilhelmina furrowed her brow. “But I thought eating dinner together was already settled! Surely it is reasonable. You are busy with estate matters during the day, and Hector must learn independence. But dinner is the one time you can speak with him, show him that he matters.”

Gerard gave a noncommittal shrug, though his chest ached with the truth of her words.

“Do not shut him out, Duke,” she added softly.

The title slid between them like a barrier. She still refused to call him by his Christian name. He could hardly blame her, and yet… he wanted it. Wanted her lips to form his name.

There were far too many things he wanted that he had no business desiring.

“Once again, Duchess, you overstep,” he said coldly.

It was true; Wilhelmina had been everywhere of late, worming her way into Hector’s heart and, worse, into his thoughts.

Irritating him at every turn. Irritating him, because she was right about the boy.

Irritating him, because he could not banish the image of her from his mind at night, lying just beyond the adjoining door, he sometimes stared at it until sleep claimed him.

On their wedding night, he had nearly gone to her. Nearly lowered his hand onto the doorknob. But in the end, he had not. He had not done so in years, not since Pamela, and then only out of a sense of duty, a habit developed through their grim quest for an heir.

Wilhelmina had asked him if he wanted another child. Her cheeks had flushed scarlet as she posed the question. He had told her no.

But had he meant it? He already had Hector—his heir, his legacy. This marriage was meant to keep up appearances, to settle accounts, to shield them both. Nothing more.

And yet?—

“If that is what you think.” Wilhelmina gave a delicate shrug, as if dismissing the entire quarrel.

Damn him, but his eyes followed the movement, traced the slope of her shoulder, the fine line of her collarbone revealed by her gown.

Desire, unwelcome and insistent, coiled low in his belly.

“It does not matter what I think,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Days later, Gerard was gripped by a strange kind of tension. He had always been reserved, but these days, the tension seemed to have heightened. It simmered under the surface, rendering him restless.

It was what pushed him to ride out early in the morning with Samuel. His friend was glad to accompany him, albeit a little surprised.

“Isn’t it still your honeymoon, Talleystone?” Samuel asked, his eyebrows arched comically.

“Spare me the interrogation, Berkhead,” Gerard responded irritably.

Then, he urged his horse to go faster.

For a few moments, he let the stallion thunder through the forest. Samuel followed. They slowed down, eventually, settling into a canter.

Gerard did not really like tiring his horse unnecessarily, but sometimes the feel of the wind on his face made him want to ride at a full gallop.

“You keep saying it is a marriage of convenience. But do you really believe that?” Samuel asked, a little breathlessly. “Why do you look so irritable? Perhaps you should go back home to your dear wife.”

“My home has been upended by my new wife,” Gerard muttered, almost to himself. “She has taken over nearly every aspect of the house—Hector, meal times, the decorations… Even the servants seem to favor her over me.”

Samuel chuckled, shaking his head.

Gerard knew how his complaints might sound to an outsider—petty, perhaps—but he clung to the idea that he should have some measure of control over Talleystone. Over his life. Over everything . Then came Hector. And now Wilhelmina.

She seemed made for his boy; together, they were chaos and laughter.

“That does not sound so bad, Talleystone,” Samuel replied lightly. “Hector seems happier with a stepmother who can keep him in line when you are otherwise occupied.”

“He is a wild child,” Gerard admitted reluctantly. “I thought the Duchess would be a steadying hand, more constant than I could ever be.”

“Oh, she is, my friend. She was a widow grateful for a second chance, fortunate to marry someone of your standing. It is working exactly as it should,” Samuel said, the amusement in his voice barely restrained. “You need to ease up on yourself.”

“I—” Gerard exhaled sharply, the sound betraying the tension in his body. “I can’t seem to do that.”

Everywhere he went, he caught a glimpse of her.

A flash of loose hair cascading nearly to her waist, the tempting curve of her neck when her hair was pinned up.

Each glimpse ignited something within him—a restless, almost dangerous desire. He imagined the feel of her, the warmth, the softness of her body hidden behind doors that led to privacy… where such displays were welcome, expected even.

“Are you certain it is not irritation born of physical frustration, my friend?” Samuel asked, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

Gerard shot him a glare, sharp and unamused. Yet as they cantered back to the house, he could not shake the thought.

That connecting door between their chambers, the one he had avoided, taunted him still. He could picture pushing it open and claiming his wife for himself. Let her resist if she dared.

His pulse quickened at the thought, a dangerous thrill that both alarmed and consumed him.

“Victoria was the one who placed the frog in Daphne’s reticule,” a voice whispered.

It was night. Gerard had spent a lot of time with his friends and touring the estate to see what was needed. At first, all he could hear was silence. He had felt relief at the thought.

But soon enough, he heard voices coming from the parlor. One of them was Wilhelmina’s. He’d recognize her voice anywhere now.

But what is she doing downstairs?

“Daphne was searching for her lavender perfume. She put her hand in her reticule and felt something move. Something slimy . She screamed so loud that our father was ready to cane her, but he was calling Victoria’s name. The two are identical, but Vicky has always been the mischievous one.”

Her laughter tinkled, like music. It was something she could not have made up. She didn’t even know someone else was listening.

Another voice laughed. Someone older.

Gerard almost groaned aloud.

Mrs. Everly .

It looked like his wife had truly taken over the staff.

“That is why you can handle Hector well,” the housekeeper commented admiringly. “He is like your sister. Mischievous, but he does not mean harm. One time, he released a mouse during supper. I don’t know how he was able to catch one, but Cook certainly wanted to leave that day.”

“Leave? Because of the mouse?” Wilhelmina asked, sounding genuinely curious.

At that point, Gerard had drawn close enough to see the usually prim and proper housekeeper and his Duchess sitting on the couch like long-lost friends.

Wilhelmina’s eyes were wide and round, as if she didn’t want to miss a thing. She wanted to see everything. Hear everything. She looked so alive .

A bottle of wine sat on the table in front of them, along with two glasses. It dawned on him that the two women were drinking wine while chatting.

“Well, not just because of the mouse, Your Grace. But also because of the cleanliness of her kitchen,” Mrs. Everly replied, nodding sagely.

The housekeeper seemed a little restless, though. She twisted around, and as soon as she saw Gerard standing there, she shot up from the couch.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace!” She winced.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Mrs. Everly,” Gerard said, surprising himself with his soft tone. “Thank you for keeping the Duchess company. You may retire to your rooms.”

There was no need to tell the housekeeper twice. She bobbed a quick curtsy and fled.

Meanwhile, Wilhelmina was giggling softly, the sound light and unrestrained.

Gerard’s eyes narrowed in both exasperation and fascination.

His wife was definitely drunk. Too tipsy to be taken seriously, yet not so much that she would fall over.

Her cheeks were flushed, her laughter spilling freely, and her hands fidgeted with the folds of her gown as if the silk itself amused her.

“Poor Mrs. Everly. You can be terrifying, you know.”

“Am I?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said without hesitation, glancing at the wine in her glass before downing the last drops. “You prowl and peer. You squint at the tiniest hint that someone might be enjoying themselves.”

He crossed his arms, letting out a sharp breath, his gaze fixed on her with quiet intensity. One hand lingered on the wine bottle as if it were a shield.

“And yet you don’t seem the least bit frightened,” he noted.

“Someone has to keep their courage about them,” she said, tilting her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Otherwise, the house would be run entirely by terror.”

She chose that moment to rise, and he had no way of predicting what she intended to do.

Was the wine bottle already empty? Was she going to fetch more?

She took a step—or tried to—but wobbled dangerously.

“Whoa!” she gasped as she lost her balance.

In two strides, Gerard was beside her, steadying her before she could fall. Her hands landed on his chest, warm and soft, lingering longer than they should have.

He reminded himself that she was drunk, yet the heat that shot through him when she looked up at him, heavy-lidded eyes and lips a deeper pink thanks to the wine, was impossible to ignore.

“You didn’t come to my bed,” she mumbled, her lips curved in a pout that was uncharacteristic of her.

“Ours is a marriage of convenience, remember?” he said, though he had to fight to keep his voice steady.

Wilhelmina hummed in response, her fingers tracing up his chest to his shoulders, as if testing boundaries in a dangerous game.

“Did you want me to come to your bed?” he asked, his voice low, husky, betraying the hunger he had long tamped down. “ Do you want me to?”

He thought of the times he had imagined pushing open the adjoining door and finally making her his.

Her eyes darted away. “No.”

Then, almost immediately, she was back on him. Her hands wandered down his arms, squeezing, exploring.

“You’re very strong, aren’t you?” she teased.

“Duchess,” he warned, his throat dry.

But she did not pause. The wine had unraveled the control she usually wielded. Her hands drifted lower, and he had to catch them before they slipped past his waist.

“You’re not sober,” he growled, attempting to jolt her back to awareness.

“Obviously.” She laughed, a sound light and dangerous. “Or else I wouldn’t be doing this.”

“I don’t want you doing this while your judgment is clouded,” he said, injecting authority in his voice. “I want you to be of a clear mind. Willing. Begging me to touch you.”

Her eyes widened, blinking as if struck. Speechless, lips parted, she bit her lower lip in sudden realization.

For the first time, Wilhelmina seemed shaken, pulled toward sobriety by his words alone.

Gerard would touch her only when she asked, fully aware and consenting. Tonight, she was not in such a state. Every instinct urged him to guide her safely to the stairs. She was steady enough now to ascend on her own.

“Go to bed, Wilhelmina,” he murmured, his hand hovering near her elbow.

She looked back at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy.

Without waiting for her response, he marched upstairs and shut himself in his chambers.

Away from her.

Away from the sinful, delicious thoughts of her.