Page 55 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

William halted mid-step, blinking as if he had just been doused with cold water. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” Anthony said, rising slowly from his chair and rounding the desk, “...that you have spent the last hour dissecting her thoughts, analyzing her motives, complaining about her reactions, and mapping out her future emotional states, yet you have not allowed a single, solitary word to cross your lips about what you are feeling.”

Anthony stopped a few feet away, folding his arms across his chest and looking at William. “Every time I bring up your internal state, every time I ask how you view her, you dismiss it as beside the point. Well, I am sick of that excuse. Now I want an answer, William. What is the point? What do you feel for her?”

The room fell into a short silence. The only sound was the crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.

William stood motionless, taking a deep breath in through his nose, forcing his lungs to expand, forcing his racing pulse to steady. He closed his eyes for a brief second, calling upon every ounce of his discipline to erect the stone walls of his composure once more.

He would not lie. He was a man of absolute facts, and he refused to deceive himself, nor would he deceive Anthony, who had known him since they were boys chasing stray dogs through the muddy alleys of Eton.

Of course there was an attraction on his side. It would be pure, cowardly delusion to deny it. Seraphina was breathtakingly beautiful. She possessed an ethereal, striking elegance that made every other woman in a ballroom look like a faint watercolor sketch standing beside an oil painting. But it was more than her physical form. She was fiercely, terrifyingly intelligent. She possessed a mind that moved like a rapier, cutting through fluff and nonsense with precision.

He loved listening to her talk. He loved the way her eyes lit up with a fiery, passionate spark whenever she debated a point of philosophy or science. He loved the way she refused to bow to his intimidating title or his imposing posture. She met his gaze as an equal, challenging him at every turn.

However, William reminded himself harshly, it was nothing he could not master.

William had spent his entire adult life cultivating absolute, unshakable control over his mind and body. He was not a slave to his impulses. He possessed an internal switch, a cold, mechanical off-and-on mechanism that allowed him to compartmentalize his desires, his worries, and his attachments.

There was only one enduring, sacred priority in his life. The management, expansion, and protection of the Norwyn estate and legacy. He had built an empire of shipping lines, land holdings, and political influence through unyielding discipline. While Seraphina was a fascinating, mesmerizing, and highly welcome distraction... she was ultimately just that. A distraction. He could flip the switch. He could turn it off. He could walk away from her tomorrow if required, and his world would not tilt on its axis.

Anthony was watching him silently, a smirk lingering at the corners of his mouth.

“I believe I have my answer,” he said.

William narrowed his eyes. “What? I am certain you have compiled some clever, insufferable retort in that head of yours, but let me assure you before you speak. Whatever conclusion you have arrived at, you are completely wrong.”

Anthony did not laugh. Instead, he leaned against the front of his desk, crossing his ankles and folding his arms over his chest.

“Like I said before, we have been in this study for an hour, William,” Anthony began softly. “In that time, you have spoken faster than I have ever heard you speak in the entire duration of our friendship. In fact, you have deployed more words in the past sixty minutes than you typically utter in a fortnight. If I were to sit back and remain silent, you would continue to rant for another two hours, dissecting a problem that does not require a single grain of this hysterical analysis.”

William opened his mouth to object, but Anthony shook his head.

“Examine your own behavior for a moment, my friend,” Anthony said. “Let us look at the evidence. First, your hair.”

William’s brow furrowed. “My hair?”

“You have worn your hair impeccably styled in the exact same side-swept, structured, perfectly tailored fashion every single morning since we were twelve years old,” Anthony said, gesturing toward William’s head. “It is your signature. You look as though you were born wearing a cravat and a perfectly combed pompadour. Yet right now, you are standing in my private quarters with your hair falling into your forehead, thoroughly disheveled, because you have spent the last hour running your fingers through it like a madman.”

William froze. His right hand, which had been unconsciously twitching upward toward his brow, halted mid-air. He slowly lowered it, his jaw tightening.

“Second,” Anthony continued, ticking a finger off on his hand. “You do not pace. Ever. The Duke of Norwyn does not march back and forth like a caged tiger. You stand completely motionless. You plant your feet, you place your hands behind your back, and you exude an aura of iron authority whether you are addressing a stable boy or the King himself. Yet for the past sixty minutes, you have worn a visible trench into my expensive Persian rug.”

William shifted his weight, stiffening his posture, but he said nothing.

“Third,” Anthony pressed on, ticking off another finger. “You are deploying vocabulary and phrasing that I have never heard cross your lips in casual conversation.”

William glared at him. “I have done no such thing.”

“Fourth,” Anthony said, ignoring the denial completely. “You took your ward and your wife on a picnic.”

William’s chest expanded as he drew in a sharp breath. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with taking my family for an afternoon on the lawn.”

“You have spent your entire adult life despising outdoor leisure.” Anthony laughed, shaking his head. “I distinctly recall two summers ago when Lord Harrington invited us to a garden party, and you spent a long time lecturing him on how dining on grass was an inefficient, unsanitary, and frivolous waste of daylight. You claimed the outdoors was meant for horses and agriculture. Yet ever since Seraphina entered your home, you have been gallivanting through meadows with baskets of sandwiches.”

Anthony’s smirk faded. He stepped forward, placing a hand on William’s shoulder. “Lastly, William... in all the years I have known you, through every trial and crisis, I have never once seen you affected by any human being on this earth. Nothing fazes you. Do you remember three years ago, when the merchant fleet out of Barbados was lost in the hurricane? Do you remember that afternoon?”

William’s eyes shifted downward slightly.