For a moment, Elizabeth thought he’d shut down entirely, that he’d retreated behind that wall she’d come to recognize. That he’d send her away.
But then, unexpectedly, his voice broke through, low and taut. “I need answers, Lady Elizabeth.”
“Answers?”
“Aye.” His voice roughened. “Answers that’ll lead me to justice. I can handle the mud; I’ve walked through it most of my life. But me faither… he deserved better. I promised meself and him I’d find out what really happened. I swore it.”
She didn’t know the full story, not yet. Only fragments, murmurs she’d pieced together from others’ silences. But she understood now.
This wasn’t about ambition. It was about grief. About loyalty. And rage.
“That’s… noble,” she said quietly. “Your Grace.”
He gave a short laugh—dark, almost bitter. “I’m not a knight in shinin’ armor, lass. Daenae paint me as one. I’ve done things… things I’m not proud of.” He looked down, jaw clenched. Then, softly, “Me faither, on the other hand… he was the kind of man that should’ve worn armor.”
Elizabeth stepped towards him. “You’re not a knight, I agree,” she said, her voice gentle. “But you are certainly not the brute they accuse you of being.”
He looked up at her then, something sharp softening behind his eyes.
“Let’s get to yer dancin’ lesson, then,” he said gruffly, flashing her a grin that was all teeth and mischief. “Before I start believin’ ye like me.”
He held out a hand. “Come here, daenae be shy. We’ll start with a waltz.”
Even though no one else was present, Elizabeth still felt the peculiar self-consciousness of being watched.
Perhaps it was becausehewas the one watching her.
She stood near the center of the room, her hands poised uncertainly at her sides.
When the Duke extended his hand, she placed hers into his without a word, only to shiver at the contrast between hisrougher, warmer palm and her own. It was a simple contact, and yet she felt her pulse jump in multiple places—her wrists, her throat, her chest.
His touch grounded her. It also scattered her.
He moved them into the first position, their bodies aligned just enough to suggest the shape of a dance, and she felt her breath grow shallow.
“Straighten that back. Lift that chin,” he instructed softly, his brogue gentled with purpose. “Ah. That’s better. Almost perfect.” A slow grin curved his lips. “But ye do have tolookat me, me lady.”
“Iamlooking,” she muttered, not meeting his gaze.
“Are ye?” he teased. “You look at me like I’ve just crawled out of the wall and started shriekin’ for revenge.”
She bit back a smile. “You’re absurd.”
“And yet here ye are.”
They began to move, slowly, her body unsure of each step, her limbs stiff with resistance. He corrected her posture with light touches, one hand guiding her elbow, another tilting her chin back to center.
“Try again, lass,” he murmured.
She obeyed, but her motions were still awkward. Her spine locked. Her breath uneven.
He sighed dramatically. “Ye’re stiff as a brick, woman. I’ve seen corpses with more rhythm.”
“Iamrelaxed!” she said defensively.
“Ye’re about as relaxed as a nun in a brothel.”
That pulled a bark of laughter from her, and she swayed slightly.