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W illiam’s hand shook as he turned the key. The door creaked open. He cursed the sound. How many times had he cursed that sound, afraid it might wake Helene or make her stumble during her balance exercises?

But the garret was empty. Ghosts didn’t mind disturbances. They might enjoy the variety from the endless boredom. Though he had been drinking since early afternoon, his legs carried him inside with surprising steadiness.

He told himself he came to Helene’s apartment to escape Baines’ ridiculous concerns. He told himself it would be good to see the place, to exorcise himself from her presence. And Farley’s news… He told himself he didn’t care if the journalist was arrested tomorrow. They had free will, had they not? If Farley followed his passions, he should pay like everybody else.

God knew he was paying well enough. William removed the flask from his coat pocket and took a hearty swig. The brandy burned a path through his throat, and then settled in his unsettled stomach.

The moon chose that time to witness William’s punishment, bathing the wooden floor in an otherworldly sheen.

Memories flooded him. Helene lying below the window, nude. The light had given her skin a silvery hue. Opening her arms, she had offered herself to him, a pagan goddess. Kneeling, he had touched the valley between her breasts and kissed a moonlit path to her navel. Her head had fallen back in a breathless moan, and he devoured her, giving her the homage she deserved.

A tightness encompassed his heart, so strong it made breathing hard. “Why can’t I escape you?”

Coming here had been a mistake. Still, he couldn’t force his legs to leave. It must be some cruel form of torture—that his body believed it had come home. A wicked illusion that he could now rest, that soon she would open that door and saunter inside, smelling of rosin and croissants, chatting about her day, and going on the tips of her toes to kiss his lips.

William swallowed the brandy. His vision wavered, the contours of the furniture blurring into a bleak shape. He paced the living room, his gaze drifting to the unmade bed and the open book by the window seat. His fingers brushed the worn spine of Shakespeare’s play, as if he could summon her voice reciting the lines.

Her wings, by God, her wings were discarded on the floor, lifeless. Staggering closer, William caught it. Through the gossamer tissue, his fingers appeared grotesque. He could see her dancing gracefully, her laughter echoing in his mind. What wouldn’t he give to see her nude back adorned by wings again?

“I hate you, damn you, I hate you so much. Why did you come into my life? I had it all. Power. Duty. Legacy. But no, you had to tempt me into wanting more, into being dissatisfied. With your smiles, with your dance, with your light. You shoved me into this tortuous path. It’s all your fault.”

Shutting his eyes, William crushed the wings to his chest, and the air left his lungs painfully. A faint ripping sound cut through him. William held the wings at arm’s length. What had he done? A hole marred the beauty of the left wing. Sorrow invaded him, and he caressed the fabric, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t intend to hurt you.”

Moonlight vanished from the window, plunging the room into darkness.

William staggered, falling to his knees, her wings clutched to his chest.

“Please stay. No, don’t be mad, don’t. Here, I’ll fix it,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Clumsily, he tried to restore it, but his drunken fingers wouldn’t obey. His dry sobs mingled with his panting breaths.

A mournful violin melody came from somewhere in the building and then all was silence.

William lifted himself from the floor, the absence of sound pounding in his ears.

“You loved this place. Always filling it with song and laughter and ballet. Now it is so quiet. A mausoleum. Will you let it be like this? That’s not like you at all.” His voice rose, and he didn’t care if the neighbors came. Let them all come. “I command you, Helene. Come and make music. Dance for me. Dance with me. Dance atop my chest, dance inside my heart, and trample over it.”

Only silence answered and the faraway clop of hooves. William’s chin dropped, and he dragged his weight to the bed. He caressed the sheets, her handmade pillows.

“Don’t leave me. This once, will you come? It would be like the old times. I promise I won’t try to catch you. I won’t. I will sit here and watch. I’ll tie my arms behind my back, and you can take me flying, lash out at me.”

Exhausted, he collapsed on the mattress, holding the wings to his chest.

“Just promise you will come. Haunt me, disturb me, make me lose control, I don’t care. Just don’t make me pass another night alone. I’d rather live with your ghost than with no part of you.”

***

The door opened with a bang. William groaned, clutching his head. It felt as if a stake was being driven between his ears, the throbbing pain pulsing with each heartbeat. The garret, illuminated by the stark morning light, had shed the night’s forgiving shadows, the sun exposing every trace of Helene’s absence.

A woman stood in the doorway. William pushed himself to a seated position, his movements slow and burdened. His body weighed a moored ship, and his mouth was so dry, it seemed he had swallowed sand.

Blinking, he stared at the intrusion and recognized Katherina Fontaine, Helene’s teacher. What was she doing here?

She dared to raise a painted brow, tapping her feet. “Your Grace, have you misplaced your house?”

Her commanding voice pierced his hangover.

William brushed his hands over his face. “I don’t know. Have you misplaced your pupil?”

She pulled Helene’s clothing from a drawer and stuffed them carelessly in a canvas bag.

“If you are talking about Mademoiselle Helene de Beaumont, I most certainly didn’t misplace her. She is exactly where she is supposed to be. By her brother’s side, stepping into her role in Parisian society. I dare say she will cause quite a stir, and will soon forget her time on this humid island.”

The thought of Helene with another made his insides twist, and he cursed the moment he had laid his eyes on her. William looked at his palms. How right it had felt to catch her waist, to support her that first day. A student in a ballet class—a harmless, smiling dancer. How wrong he had been. Women like Helene should come with warnings so males wouldn’t fall into the thrall of their siren song.

“I assume you are such a brilliant teacher." He massaged his temples, trying to get rid of the pain. "You were the one who taught her everything she knows.”

“Helene was a wonderful student.”

“I wonder what sort of teachings you conduct for your pupils. If it involves ruining a man’s life.”

“I hardly need to.” She didn’t pause her meddling in Helene’s belongings. “It seems most males can ruin themselves on their own. Really, Your Grace, self-pity does not become a duke. It is not dignified. It shows a terrible lack of English restraint.”

The sounds of the city awakening invaded the garret, an indifferent world moving on.

William traced the wings. “Helene wrecked me.”

The woman turned her stare at him, her posture stiff. She advanced to the bed and caught the wings from him. William had to fist his hands not to take them back.

“She wrecked you?” Her voice rose in pitch. “To you, she was an intrigue of the heart that you were glad to place in a house and amuse yourself with. Now that it is over, the affair will make you more alluring to your peers. If anyone did, as you put it, wrecked something, it was you. Helene was the promise of her age in ballet.”

Her words sliced his skin like the lash of a whip, and nausea rolled in his stomach. The teacher was wrong. William had tried to help Helene.

“I’ve made her the prima ballerina.”

“She would’ve gotten the part on her own, and her position would’ve been steadier, not dependable on your constancy. Because of your relentless pursuit, you made her lose her career and her reputation.”

William flinched. His head dipped forward, and he covered his face with his hands. Unbidden memories assaulted his mind. Helene pleading for him to stop looking at her, the pain on her face when he took her virginity, her despair after Lady Thornley’s dinner, and worst of all, her deadened eyes after she fell from her last pirouette.

She had looked to him for support—and he had let her fall.