Page 43 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
He saw her—truly saw her—beneath the facade of the cursed widow and the frightened girl.
“I…” she began, her voice trembling with emotion, but the words caught in her throat.
Wilhelm’s gaze softened with understanding. “It is all right,” he murmured. “There is no need for words.”
“I shall leave you to rest,” he announced, his voice regaining its formality. “I apologize for the inconvenience of this arrangement. It seems the storm has forced many travelers to seek shelter, and this was the only room available.”
Genevieve’s gaze followed him as he moved towards the other end of the room. “Wait,” she called softly.
He turned, his eyebrows raised in question.
“Where will you sleep?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Wilhelm’s lips curled into a small smile. “Do not worry, my Duchess,” he assured her. “I shall find a comfortable spot on the floor.”
Genevieve shook her head firmly. “That is not fair,” she insisted. “You have done so much for me already. I do not wish you to develop a bad back because of me.”
“I assure you, I am not that old, my Duchess.” He chuckled.
“Still, no.” Genevieve blinked at him, shaking her head as she spoke. “You cannot sleep on the floor.”
A low chuckle escaped his lips. “Ah, so you are insisting that we share the bed, Duchess? I never thought you to be so forward.”
Genevieve narrowed her eyes at him, though she knew the sudden heat in her cheeks betrayed her feelings.
“I am insisting because I have manners, unlike you. Do not let it go to your head,” she told him.
“Whatever you say, darling,” he replied with a wink.
She rose from the armchair, her movements stiff and hesitant. “I believe I would like to lie down,” she said, glancing briefly at the bed before meeting his eyes.
Wilhelm held her gaze with a hint of amusement. “As you wish, Duchess,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
He moved towards the bed, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the room. Genevieve’s breath hitched, her heart rate quickening as she watched him shed his coat and waistcoat, revealing his crisp white linen shirt and his tailor-made trousers.
He turned to face her, a slow, mischievous smile playing on his lips.
“I shall turn away while you undress,” he murmured in a teasing tone. “But do try not to tempt me into looking, Duchess. My willpower only stretches so far.”
Genevieve arched an eyebrow, and she flushed deeply. “Then it is a good thing that I have no intention of tempting you, Your Grace. I would hate to overestimate your self-restraint.”
Wilhelm chuckled and turned towards the window.
Genevieve quickly unfastened the lacings of her gown and corset, letting both fall to the floor. She stood nervously in her gauzy chemise, then quickly slipped beneath the bedcovers, the sheets cool against her skin. She shivered and pulled the covers tighter around her.
“You are trembling,” Wilhelm observed in a low voice as he turned back to face her.
Genevieve’s cheeks flushed, her embarrassment growing. “I… I am a bit cold,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Wilhelm’s gaze softened. “Turn over, Duchess,” he instructed, his voice a gentle command. “I shall warm you.”
Genevieve’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?” she exclaimed.
“Do not be alarmed, Duchess,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I am merely offering to warm you with my body. Rest assured, I am a gentleman. I was only jesting earlier.”
Genevieve hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. She could not deny the attraction she felt towards him or the way his presence always caused her to quiver with excitement. However, she could not dispel her perception of his intentions.
Was she merely a pawn in his game?
