AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When my palm slips over his, a delicious current of heat skips across my skin. I fall into step beside him, feeling like this is the most natural place to be. Like I belong here, at his side.
Blythe Estate has been shrouded in mystery for the past four years, and I guess I expected it to be dark and dingy and mysterious.
It’s not.
The hallways are wide and bright. Rooms we pass are well-kept and clean, as if the entire mansion is lived-in and loved. We pass pictures of the late Duke and Duchess of Blythe as well as Heath and his brother as children. The whole place feels warm and welcoming, with staff greeting us at every corner. Heath knows all their names.
There are touchscreens at the entrance to every room, and when we pass through a large foyer, I notice the lights brightening and dimming beside us. The whole place must have been rewired as a smart home, with sensors and pre-programmed settings made exactly to the Duke’s preference.
He’s not some brooding, mysterious Duke who retreated from civilization. He’s just been living life on his terms.
Noticing my stares, Heath grins at me. “Not what you expected?”
“I thought this place would be haunted.”
He gives me a sad smile, squeezing my palm. “I used to think it was.”
Beneath the surface, Heath is a complicated patchwork of pain and love. I see glimpses of it when he drops his serious expression. Right now, his eyes linger on a large portrait of his family.
Giving his head a slight shake, he jerks his chin to a door at the end of the hall. “You’ll love this piano,” he says, pushing the tall, wide door open.
I gasp.
A huge room opens up before us, the walls and floor paneled in rich oak that makes my footsteps resonate. The acoustics in this space are insane. It looks like it was purpose-built for the huge grand piano that sits illuminated in the center of the room.
I drop Heath’s hand, taking a few quick steps forward before pausing, afraid to touch the instrument. I turn to look at him, completely in awe.
I catch another glimpse of the man beneath the brooding exterior. His green eyes shine in the light of the room, watching me. His face is open. Hopeful.
I could fall in love with him when he looks at me like this. I might already have.
“My mother commissioned it from one of the master piano craftsmen they employed,” Heath explains, taking long, measured steps toward me. He puts his hand on my back, leading me toward the instrument. “She used to sit in here and play for hours. I have it tuned every year, even though no one ever plays it.”
“Heath…” My voice trails off, eyes glued to the piano. It’s incredible. The cover has been opened and I peer inside, looking at the hundreds of strings stretched tight across the wide body. It gleams black and sleek, waiting to be played. I can tell without touching it that it’s been made with love. Walking to the keys, I let my fingers drift over them, testing a chord out.
Rich, warm sound rings out. Chills rush down my spine. The keys have a wonderful weight to them, and the sound they produce makes my whole body thrum. I’ve never played anything like it.
Giving Heath a questioning glance, I see his eyes shining. He nods to the bench. We don’t need to speak. I know he wants me to play.
This time he stands by the piano, watching my face. I don’t feel nervous or embarrassed. I know playing this instrument is an honor that I don’t deserve, but I’ll do my best to try.
So, I play.
Music has a special ability to reach into my soul and dig out the purest of emotions. Playing an instrument like this one—in the Blythe Estate, under the watchful eyes of the Duke himself—heightens every sensation. I’m wound as tight as the strings of the piano, tugged by every note. My whole body becomes an extension of the music, and before I know it tears spill over my cheeks.
When the piece of music finishes, I stop playing and wipe my face. Gulping, I lift my eyes to the Duke’s.
He stares at me like I just cracked his heart open. Lips parted, hand on his chest, eyes shining. I watch his chest heave as the air thickens between us.
His throat bobs as he swallows, and he runs a hand through his thick black hair. “My mother used to play that piece all the time,” he says, emotion choking his words. “How did you…”
“I didn’t,” I whisper. “I’m sorry if I—”
“No,” he answers. “It was perfect.”
It only takes him two steps to reach me, and one swift movement to lift me off the bench. Pulling me into his chest, the Duke crushes his lips to mine. He kisses me hungrily, as if he needs me to live. Wrapped in his arms, he holds me close.
When we come up for air, I search his face. “Why did you wait for me to text you?”
