She had embraced them, sung to them, told them stories, read plays to them, and protected him from his father’s barking and never-ending demands for perfection.
When she’d left, his father’s expectations of a perfect heir had only increased, and Will had had no one to soften that intensity. He had learned to hide his emotions before his father could correct him for weakness.
Perfection was easier than shame.
He’d been alone ever since he’d made that realization, for at least if he remained alone he’d never have his world ripped asunder again.
But the ice bath did not jar him from his dark mood this morning, even as dawn’s first rays trailed into his chamber. He sat in his large, specially made tub, waiting for the cold to have its effect.
The ice cubes bobbed. Mocking him.
He let out a hiss of breath through his teeth.
Usually, once he plunged into the shudder-inducing water and allowed all his thoughts to escape, he felt, if not at one with the world, at least release from the painful emotions he kept at bay.
But today, it wasn’t just the melancholy that left him feeling…apprehensive, as if an army was threatening the fortress that he had so carefully built.
Today, at two-second intervals, that woman appeared in his thoughts. In all her infuriating glory.
It was absolutely…well, infuriating.
How could a single person drive him to such distraction? The therapy of his ice bath was meant to push away the deep sorrow that often plagued him. A sorrow he shielded his brothers from.
The jarring fact was she had disturbed the stoic facade that he had forged. This was exactly why he had not wished to meet her. Her letters… They were nothing compared to the sharp beauty of her mind combined with her presence. And now, he found himself unable to locate the tranquility that he usually did.
Because of her.
Blissful peace eluded him.
At least it wasn’t the agonizing nightmares and resulting grief that wouldn’t release their grip today. Or the deep longing for connection he could not allow himself to have.
It was the opposite—he was feeling connection. Connection to her. And it was damned alarming.
All he could see was her sparkling brown eyes, her fiery cheeks, and the defiant tilt of her chin.
And there had been that moment when her breasts had brushed his chest…
He clenched his fists, unable to bear the cold this morning, because he kept thinking of her marching so soundly away from him on the dance floor. Hah.
And he couldn’t quite shake how her gown had caressed her body so perfectly as she made her triumphant exit.
A note of sheer exasperation escaped his lips.
It wasn’t working.
If anything, he was thinking of her more.
With thoughts of Beatrice glaring at him and flouncing away, he grabbed hold of the edges of his tub and thrust himself up from the bath. Today, he’d avoid his brothers. He never liked them to see him ill at ease. Anger was acceptable. Frustration was fine. But self-doubt or melancholy? They were not. He was his brothers’ rock, and he wouldn’t allow them to see him shaken.
Water sluiced down his hard frame, and he stepped out, grabbing a linen towel. He dried himself with far more vigor than necessary, drove a hand through his hair, and then hauled his riding clothes on, which had been set out by his man.
As soon as his coat was in place, he strode from his bedroom and roared down the long hall. He had so much to do today. He had reams of papers to go through. He had lists of laws to be considered. He had people to meet, and he had a country to govern. That, at least, would distract him.
If he did not find something to occupy his thoughts, he could spend the whole bloody day repeating that impossible exchange and leaving him fixated on her person.
How the devil had she done that?
He was going to shake her the next time he saw her and tell her that she would have to go and rail at some other duke to get her way.