Page 11 of The Duke’s Duet

"And discipline without emotion becomes mere mathematics!"

Her voice had dropped to barely more than a whisper, though whether from anger or from their dangerous proximity, she couldn't have said.

They stood too close now, the air between them charged with something that had nothing to do with their artistic differences. Melody's breath caught as she realised how improper this was, but she couldn't seem to step away.

The Duke's gaze dropped to her lips, and for one wild moment she thought he might...

"I see that you two are discussing the performance."

They sprang apart as the Dowager Duchess entered the room, and Melody dropped into a curtsey, her cheeks burning, while the Duke stepped back so hastily he nearly collided with a chair.

"Mother, we were merely—"

"Analysing your artistic differences?" The Duchess's tone was dry, but her eyes were sharp as she looked between them. "Well, you shall have ample opportunity to resolve them. The audience was quite enchanted by your performance together. So much so that I have already received several inquiries about the next concert."

"The next..."

Harper's voice faltered, and Melody's heart lurched at the thought. More performances with the Duke? More opportunities to draw that hidden passion from behind his mask? The idea was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Indeed. I have just assured Lady Jersey that you will both be performing at all remaining concerts in the series."

Melody watched the Duke's face as he struggled with his response. Something fierce and beautiful had emerged in him during their performance, something he clearly both yearned for and feared. She found herself holding her breath, waiting to see which side of him would win.

He turned to her suddenly, those storm-grey eyes intense.

"Miss Piper, would you be willing to endure more of my... rigid interpretation?"

The question held layers of meaning that made her breath catch.

"Only if you are willing to endure more of my... liberties, Your Grace."

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes - a heat that had nothing to do with music and everything to do with the way they stood, still too close for propriety. Then his careful mask slipped back into place, though not quite as perfectly as before.

"Then I believe that we must practice. Extensively."

The words were proper enough, but his tone sent a shiver down her spine that was equal parts anticipation and fear. This partnership would either be her greatest triumph or her complete undoing.

She watched him leave the room, his straight spine and measured stride a study in control, even as the memory of his passionate playing belied that careful facade. What would it take, she wondered, to make him forget his precious control completely? And more importantly, what would happen to her heart when he did?