Page 55 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

The assembly room felt impossibly crowded as William led Charlotte back inside. Every eye seemed to follow their progress across the polished floor, though the better-bred members of society at least pretended absorption in their own concerns. The orchestra had launched into a waltz – still considered slightly daring in country assemblies, though London had embraced it fully.

William’s hand settled at her waist with proper formality as they took their positions. Yet something in his touch felt different – a new awareness that made Charlotte’s breath catch in her throat. As they began to move with the music, she forced herself to meet his grey eyes, searching for some hint of his thoughts.

“You are angry with me,” she ventured quietly, pitching her voice below the music.

“Angry?” His hand tightened fractionally at her waist as he guided her through a turn. “No, Charlotte. Though perhaps I should be. What you did was dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as allowing him free rein to spread his poison.” Charlotte matched his steps perfectly, years of dancing lessons allowing her body to move while her mind raced. “William, I couldn’t stand by and watch him hurt you so deliberately.”

She felt the look he gave her then like a physical touch.

They danced in silence for several measures, their movements perfectly synchronised despite the tension thrumming between them.

“You reminded me of my mother just then,” he said finally, his deep voice rough with something she dared not name. “She had the same way of wielding society’s weapons to protect those she... those she cared for.”

Charlotte’s heart thundered, so much so that she was surprised that he couldn’t hear it.

“I meant what I said on the terrace. You are a man of honour, William. I will not stand silent while anyone suggests otherwise.”

“Even at the cost of your own reputation?” His thumb moved in a tiny circle against her waist – so small a motion that none could see it, yet it sent shivers racing along her spine. “Society can be cruel to those who defy its expectations.”

“Society can drown in the cesspit of their own gossip,” Charlotte whispered fiercely, surprising a quickly suppressed smile from him. “I care only for truth, and for...”

She stopped, suddenly aware of how many ears strained to catch their quiet conversation. William guided her through another turn, his movements holding studied grace that barely masked the tension in his frame.

“For what, Charlotte?”

She met his eyes again, seeing in them a vulnerability that matched her own.

“For you,” she said simply. “For the man you truly are, not the shadow Caldwell tries to paint.”

The music drew to a close, forcing them to separate. William’s bow held perfect correctness, yet his eyes never left her face. As he straightened, Charlotte saw something in his expression – like ice breaking up after a long winter, revealing deep currents beneath.

“My dear,” he said softly, offering his arm to escort her from the floor, “I begin to think that I am entirely unworthy of such fierce loyalty.”

“Then you think wrongly,” Charlotte replied with quiet certainty. “And I shall spend as long as necessary proving it to you.”

They made their way to where Margaret waited, her dark eyes holding careful assessment as they approached. Yet before they reached her, William paused, drawing Charlotte slightly aside.

“When we return home,” he said, his voice pitched for her ears alone, “there are things that I must tell you. About my father, about Caldwell’s claims... about everything.”

Charlotte’s heart leapt, though she kept her expression carefully neutral.

“I shall listen to whatever you wish to share,” she promised. “Not as your Duchess, but as your partner in all things.”

The look he gave her then held tender gravity and affected her as much as might a physical caress. Without another word, he guided her to join his sister, his hand warm at her back.

The evening was far from over, but something deep had shifted between them. Whatever storms lay ahead, they would weather them together – not just as Duke and Duchess, but as something far more precious and far more dangerous to them both.

Love, after all, had a way of changing everything it touched.

A short while later, as William was engaged in conversation by one of the local gentry, Margaret drew Charlotte to one side and, in the shadows of a quiet corner, for one moment, opened her rather large reticule, to show Charlotte the edge of what appeared to be a document curled within it. Charlotte gasped, and met her eyes.

“My dear sister, I do believe that fate is taking a hand. Sir Geoffrey was quite extraordinarily clumsy as he left – in his agitation, some papers fell from his coat. I, of course, picked them up, before they could be damaged or completely lost…”