Chapter 5

Chapter Five

“Why me?” Genevieve immediately asked after settling into the burgundy velvet seat.

Her question lingered in the air and filled the carriage with a tense silence. Her searching gaze came to rest on Wilhelm’s shadowed profile as he stared blankly out the window, lost in his thoughts.

The carriage was a luxurious cocoon of plush velvet and polished wood that swayed gently along the cobbled streets. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves and the muffled hum of the city faded into the background and made room for exploring the litany of possibilities that raced through Genevieve’s mind.

Wilhelm shifted in his seat, his movement causing the carriage to sway slightly, and cleared his throat.

He then turned to face her, his green eyes glinting in the dim light. “A question that has undoubtedly plagued many brides,” he remarked. His voice was a low rumble that reverberated through the confined space.

Genevieve’s lips curled into a dry smile. “Indeed,” she conceded, her voice infused with a playful challenge. “But I suspect my circumstances are somewhat unique, would you not agree?”

“Unique?” Wilhelm arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “In what way, pray tell?”

Genevieve leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. “I am, if you recall, a cursed widow.” She emphasized the word with a touch of irony. “A woman whose reputation precedes her like a plague. Hardly the most desirable of matches.”

Wilhelm’s lips twitched, a subtle smile playing at the corners. “I assure you, Duchess, that I do not believe in such superstitious nonsense,” he replied, his voice smooth and reassuring. “As for your reputation…” He paused, his gaze slowly sweeping over her. “I find it quite intriguing.”

Genevieve’s heart thudded, keenly feeling the heat of his stare on her skin. She inhaled through her nose, once again detecting the warmth of sandalwood and a hint of smoky cedar. The space between them became charged with a current of attraction that caused her body to quiver and her heart to pound in her chest.

His piercing, unyielding eyes lingered on her and pulled her into their light like a beacon she was powerless to resist. Her fingers twitched, and she gripped the velvet cushion in a futile effort to look away and break the spell he had cast on her.

“Intriguing?” she echoed, despising that her voice had cracked like a pubescent boy’s.

Wilhelm nodded slowly. “Indeed. You are… something else entirely, if I may say so.”

Genevieve placed a hand on the back of her neck and drew in a deep breath. “What did you expect?” she asked, her blue eyes sparkling impishly.

Wilhelm’s smile widened, a hint of mischief now apparent in his eyes. “That, my dear Duchess, is a secret I shall keep to myself… for now.”

Genevieve’s lips curled into a playful pout. “How intriguing,” she drawled, mimicking his earlier tone. “It seems I am married to a man of mystery.”

Wilhelm chuckled, a low rumble that reverberated through the carriage. “Indeed,” he agreed, his gaze holding hers. “But I assure you, the mystery is only half the allure.”

Genevieve’s heart stumbled and skipped a beat as a flush spread rapidly from her chest to her cheeks, her skin reddening noticeably despite the carriage’s duskiness.

The velvety carriage seat had rapidly become uncomfortably warm as it pressed against her thighs and groin. She shifted restlessly and tried not to draw the Duke’s attention to her mounting discomfort, but despite her best efforts, the fire bounded unchecked through her loins.

“I suppose I shall have to unravel your secrets, then,” she returned smoothly.

Wilhelm’s smile widened. A spark of intrigue lit up his eyes as she tilted her head and smiled back at him beguilingly.

“I welcome the challenge, Duchess,” he replied, his voice a lion’s low rumble, each word lingering between them like a promise.

She could not help but wonder what secrets he harbored and what desires simmered beneath his cool, controlled exterior.

“Tell me, Your Grace,” she began. “Why a widow? Of all the eligible ladies of the Ton, why choose a woman with a… complicated past?”

Wilhelm’s gaze softened, and the rigid lines of his face momentarily relaxed. A fleeting spark of unguarded memories crossed his face, but he quickly shifted in his seat.

“I have my reasons,” he said, his voice quieter and gentler. “Ones which I shall reveal to you in due course.”

Genevieve leaned forward slightly and tapped her fingers impatiently against the seat.

“I am not a patient woman by nature, Your Grace,” she said, her voice steady. “That is the first thing you should learn about me.”

Wilhelm chuckled, the sound low and predatory.

“I am aware of that, Duchess,” he replied, then paused as his expression became serious. “But I assure you, the wait will be worth the effort. This marriage… it will serve us both in ways you cannot yet fathom.”

Genevieve found it hard to breathe, her lungs suddenly feeling too small to accept the thick air of the carriage.

“I cannot simply take your word for it.” She exhaled slowly, striving to keep her composure.

Wilhelm’s inquisitive eyes pierced through her facade. “Perhaps I should be the one asking you a question.”

Genevieve tilted her head to the side. “And what would that be?”

“Tell me, Genevieve,” Wilhelm began, pointedly pronouncing her name. “Was your late husband’s fondness for laudanum a contributing factor to his untimely demise? Or should I place the blame squarely on the shoulders of your… how do they put it… curse?”

Genevieve blinked, and her breath caught in her throat. She gripped the armrest in an attempt to gather her wits and make sense of his startling words.

How did this man know about Lord Mirfield’s addiction? What else does he know?

The questions sent a cold shiver of fear down her spine.

How could he know?

Her mind was spinning. The secret that she had guarded so closely now lay, ugly and exposed, before her. She had never uttered a word to anyone about her first husband’s addiction, not even to her closest and most trusted friends.

“I am a meticulous man, Duchess,” the Duke continued, his voice cool and measured, as if he had read her thoughts. “I believe in thorough research, especially when it concerns matters of such importance.”

He had investigated her. Delved into her past and uncovered her secrets.

Genevieve’s shoulders sank imperceptibly, and she pulled away from him as she pressed her lips together into a tight line and remained silent.

Wilhelm hesitated for a long moment before softly adding, “I know that you have been through a great deal, Genevieve. The tragic and untimely loss of your entire family, the sudden death of your first husband, the whispers of the Ton… it is enough to break even the strongest of spirits.”

Genevieve’s heart ached at his words. “You seem to know a great deal about me, Your Grace,” she murmured, fixing her gaze on the carriage’s velvet curtains.

“As I said, I am a meticulous man,” he replied, leaning closer to her.

He paused, his expression once again turning solemn as he gently stroked her hair. “I know about your uncle, Genevieve,” he continued, his voice lowering. “I know that he forced you into that ill-fated marriage with Lord Mirfield. I recognize that he did it solely to exploit your vulnerability for his own selfish gain.”

Genevieve gasped in shock at his admission, and her vision blurred as the memories of her uncle’s deception and trickery flashed through her mind.

Wilhelm reached over and gently traced his fingers along the line of her jaw. “I am fully aware of the burdens you have been forced to carry, Genevieve,” he whispered, his touch sending a shiver through her. “And I intend to lighten them.”

“Why?” she snapped in unrestrained irritation. “Why do you wish to go to such lengths for a woman you barely know? What do you want from me?”

She turned her head towards him and quickly saw that their faces were only inches apart. She glared at him as the steam inside of her began to gather.

“Are you afraid of me now, Genevieve?” Wilhelm asked darkly, his warm breath fanning her face.

“Not in the slightest,” she replied steadily, her blue eyes flashing with anger. “I am utterly unafraid of you, Your Grace.”

A slow smile curved Wilhelm’s lips, and warmth kindled in his eyes.

Despite her cold demeanor, Genevieve lowered her eyes and inhaled his intoxicating scent before her eyes slowly traced the subtle arch of his full lips.

She closed the remaining inches between them, her body betraying her raw desire.

The carriage wound itself around them in a protective shield, insulating them from the memories of their misfortunes and the scathing voices of the Ton. Wilhelm leaned closer, his lips one angel feather away from hers.

Genevieve’s breath left her body in short, uneven bursts. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her skin was dewy with fervor. The world around her blurred at the edges. Her heart drummed in her ears, each beat echoing louder than the last. The air in the carriage was thick and pressed against her as she fought to steady herself.

Just as he was about to close the distance between them, she raised a hand, her fingers lightly brushing against his chest.

“Wait,” she said breathlessly, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her heart.

A wave of dizziness hit her with the force of a tidal wave and washed over her as she realized what she was about to do and who she was with.

This Duke, with his power and secrets, was not someone she could trust and was most certainly not a man she should kiss.

Sensing her withdrawal, Wilhelm paused and looked at her quizzically. “What is wrong, Genevieve?”

“I…” Genevieve’s hesitation was a reflection of her tangled thoughts. “This is unwise,” she stuttered, shaking her head in refusal.

She had become overwhelmingly intimidated by his power and the influence granted to him by his title. He was a force she could never begin to match, let alone overcome. She was not simply a widow with a new husband by her side; she was a woman trapped by the circumstances that had shaped her life. Fate had already made the decision for her.

What choices do I have left, if any?

Their impromptu marriage and her limited future clanged like the iron door of a cage, locking her into its confines of misery and hopelessness.

“Unwise?” Wilhelm echoed in the same low whisper. He leaned closer, his voice a hushed command. “Touch me.” His gaze landed on her hand before rising to her eyes. “Genevieve.”

Genevieve’s eyes went wide, her chest tightening as the words settled into her mind. Her pulse quickened as the shock of his boldness rushed through her. Heat bloomed across her cheeks in disbelief and burgeoning desire.

What is more preposterous is that I like it.

As though possessed by a will of its own, Genevieve’s fingers slowly and hesitantly brushed against the fine fabric of his thin shirt, then moved with a growing boldness.

She felt the solid warmth of his chest beneath the layers of expensive linen, his muscles flexing beneath her touch. A jolt of electricity shot through her, the spark igniting a fire that coursed through her veins and consumed all rational thought.

But just as quickly as her eagerness had flared, reality had barged back in and doused the flame of desire.

She drew her hand back as if she were burned, her cheeks coloring with shame and excitement.

Despite his disappointment, Wilhelm respectfully leaned back into the far corner of the carriage and watched her with understanding. He settled back against the plush cushions and stared out the window at the passing landscape in quiet acknowledgment of her confusion and inner conflict.

After a brief but respectful silence, he cleared his throat and spoke again.

“Genevieve,” he began, his voice now colder. “Let us both be clear about the terms of our arrangement.”

Genevieve straightened in her seat, blinking as she raised her eyebrows. “Terms?” she echoed.

Wilhelm nodded. “Indeed. As my wife, you will have free rein of Ravenshire. The house, the estate, the staff… all are at your disposal. You may redecorate, entertain, or simply wander the grounds. Whatever you wish.” He nodded, still looking out the window. “You are free to pursue your interests, to cultivate your friendships, and to live life as you please.”

Genevieve furrowed her brow. “But?” she prompted, sensing an unspoken condition.

Wilhelm furrowed his brow, his expression abruptly becoming a touch more enigmatic. “There are certain expectations,” he explained, his voice smooth and measured. “We shall, of course, make the necessary appearances together. Balls, dinners, social gatherings… we shall present a united front to the Ton.”

He paused, turning his head to face her, his gaze piercing. “However,” he continued, his voice hardening slightly, “you will not question my whereabouts, my business dealings, or my… associations.”

Genevieve leaned back in her seat to put more distance between them. “I do not understand,” she admitted, her voice tight. “It sounds as though you merely desire a decorative wife—a trophy—to display to the Ton. A trophy which you can later breed.”

Indignation rose from the pit of her stomach to her head, and she raised her voice, her words sharp and penetrating.

“I, Your Grace, am not for display.”

Wilhelm’s eyes glinted.

“A trophy?” he echoed, his voice laced with a hint of mockery. “You wound me, Duchess. I assure you, my intentions are far more practical.”

Wilhelm leaned closer. “You grossly underestimate yourself,” he said plainly.

Genevieve’s heart pounded in her chest, and her eyes narrowed on him.

What did he see in her? What hidden value did she possess, to which she herself was blind?

Before she could press him further, the carriage lurched to a halt.

Wilhelm straightened, his expression shifting back into the aloof mask he wore so well.

“We have arrived,” he announced, his voice devoid of emotion.