Page 32 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
She approached the table, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet, her gaze lingering on the delicate arrangement of lilies and red roses that graced its center.
As they took their seats, a discreet retinue of servants appeared, their movements swift and seamless as they presented the first course.
The rich aroma of roast pheasant and spiced vegetables wafted through the air and blended with the sweet fragrance of the lilies. The symphony of scents tempted Genevieve’s senses. She shifted in her seat, still unsettled, and fixed her eyes intently on Wilhelm as she studied his every move.
The servants had discreetly withdrawn, leaving them alone in the soft candlelight.
Genevieve found herself unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
“Why?” she asked. “Why all this?”
Wilhelm’s emerald-green eyes locked onto hers, and he smiled softly at her. “Because you are my wife,” he said tenderly, his voice a velvet murmur. “And you deserve to be treated as such. And this is only the beginning.”
Genevieve’s heart pounded in her chest, disbelief and a burgeoning hope fluttering within her.
“I… I do not understand,” she stammered, her gaze darting away from his intense stare. “This is unlike you.”
“What is your definition of ‘me’, dear Genevieve?” he countered, his voice a gentle challenge. “The aloof Duke? The brooding master of Ravenshire? Or…” He paused, his gaze softening. “A man who is doomed?”
“I…” she began, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “I do not know.”
Wilhelm reached across the table, his fingers gently tracing the back of her hand. “Then allow me to show you,” he murmured, his voice a soft command that made her tremble with nervous anticipation.
Genevieve’s skin tingled at his touch. She became mesmerized by his fingers as they drew tiny circles on the back of her hand. The warmth of his touch stood in sharp contrast to her cool skin. She could not ignore the pull she felt towards him—it was a magnetic allure that lit her up from the inside, no matter how hard she resisted.
“Your Grace,” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, “why are you doing this for me?”
He withdrew his hand and looked at her. “Why is it so difficult to believe that I simply wish to spoil my wife?” he huffed in frustration.
Genevieve’s gaze hardened. “Because… you must have ulterior motives. It does not make sense that you go to these lengths for me,” she retorted defiantly. “Men like you always have ulterior motives.”
Wilhelm’s jaw clenched, and his expression became stony. “I am disappointed in you, Genevieve. I had hoped you would see beyond the baseless prejudices of the Ton. I know they judge me. They say I am a monster, not a man. But I did not think that you would permit yourself to become a part of that, given your clashes with them.”
He clenched his fist. “These are the same people who have ostracized you, spread lies about you, and cast you aside. You, of all people, should know that they will say anything that will fuel their imaginations in order to distract themselves from examining their banal existence.”
Genevieve scoffed. “It’s not about the Ton, Your Grace,” she countered, her voice rising. “It is about you. About your family. About the role your father played in my family’s downfall.”
Her honest admission mollified Wilhelm. He closed his eyes, then slowly reopened them to reveal a look of regret. “Yourfather was a poor estate manager, Genevieve,” he explained. “He was solely responsible for his misfortunes.”
Genevieve’s blood rushed to her head. “Howdareyou?” she snapped. “You know nothing about my father or the struggles he faced.”
Wilhelm’s eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored her own.
“I know much more than you think, Genevieve,” he confessed, his voice low and somber. “Since I was a child, my father made it a point to include me in his business dealings. He believed it was educational.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I admit that he pushed your father too hard,” he said regretfully. “I saw it then, even as a boy, and I despised him for it.”
Genevieve’s anger subsided as a wave of sadness overtook her. She had never considered that Wilhelm might have witnessed her father’s struggles, or that he might have shared her resentment towards his father.
“If your father were still alive,” he continued, his voice sincere, “Even though I have my doubts about your father’s situation, I would have shown him leniency and restored his fortune and honor everything that my father took away from him.”
Genevieve’s gaze dropped to her plate, and her heart ached with bittersweet longing for her late father.
“If my father were still alive,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, “we would not be in this situation. There would have been no need to marry me or show my father leniency.”
Wilhelm’s low and measured voice carried an unexpected gentleness. “I am truly sorry, Genevieve,” he said. “For everything.”
Genevieve was stunned by the sincerity of his words. He was not the cold, aloof Duke she had come to expect. At that moment, he was simply Wilhelm, a man who understood her pain and shared her grief.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
