Page 14 of The Duke’s Duet

Their first attempt was stilted, both of them too aware of each other, too conscious of maintaining proper distance. But gradually, as they worked through the piece, something of the magic from their performance began to return. She found herself swaying slightly closer as she sang, drawn by the way that his body moved with the music despite his attempts at rigid control.

His playing was still more restrained than it had been when she'd first entered, but there were moments when that rigid shell cracked, when real emotion shone through. She found herself deliberately pushing those boundaries, using her voice to draw him out, to challenge his careful restraint.

When she took a particularly passionate liberty with the phrasing, his fingers faltered for a moment before following her lead, and the look he shot her was half exasperation, half admiration.

Until suddenly he stopped, his hands frozen above the keys.

"Miss Piper." His voice held warning, but also something darker, hotter. "You are doing it again."

"Doing what, Your Grace?"

She tried for innocence, though her heart raced at the intensity of his gaze.

"Attempting to force me into your more... emotional interpretation."

"And is it working?"

The words hung in the air between them, charged with meaning that went far beyond their musical collaboration.

His eyes met hers, and for a moment Melody glimpsed something fierce and hungry behind his careful facade.

Heat bloomed in her chest, spreading outward until she felt almost feverish with awareness of him.

Then he looked away, his shoulders stiffening.

"We should focus on technical precision first. The emotional interpretation can be discussed once we have mastered the basic framework of the pieces."

The withdrawal hurt more than it should have.

Melody forced herself to remember her father's warnings, to recall the vast social gulf between them.

"As you wish, Your Grace."

They worked for another hour, maintaining careful distance both physically and artistically. Yet every so often, their eyes would meet over the music, or their hands would brush as they turned pages, and that dangerous spark would flare again.

Each time it happened, Melody felt her resolve weaken a little more.

It wasn't just his physical beauty that drew her, though that was undeniable.

It was the glimpses of his true self that she caught between moments of rigid control — the way that his eyes softened when the music moved him, the slight smile that curved his lips when she hit a particularly pure note, the almost unconscious way that his body swayed towards hers when their art aligned perfectly.

When Simmons finally appeared to announce that the Duke was required elsewhere, Melody felt both relief and regret. As she gathered her things, she caught sight of their reflection in one of the tall windows — the Duke in his fine linen shirt and perfectly tailored trousers, herself in her modest day dress that had been carefully mended twice already. The contrast could not have been clearer.

Yet when she looked at his face in the reflection, she found him watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

Their eyes met in the glass, and for a moment the social gulf between them seemed to vanish, leaving only two people who understood each other's souls through music.

"Same time tomorrow, Miss Piper?"

His voice was perfectly controlled again, giving no hint of the passion she had glimpsed in his playing. But his hands gripped the edge of the pianoforte with enough force to whiten his knuckles, betraying his own inner tension.

"Yes, Your Grace." She turned to face him, lifting her chin slightly. Something reckless rose in her, born of frustration with his constant withdrawal. "Though I warn you, I do not intend to give up on drawing genuine emotion from your playing."

Something flickered in those storm-grey eyes — amusement? Warning? Desire?

"Then I fear we are destined to wage a continuous battle, Miss Piper."

"Perhaps, Your Grace," she said, as she moved towards the door, letting her voice carry just a hint of the emotion they'd been discussing, "that is precisely what the music needs."

She felt his eyes on her as she left, burning between her shoulder blades like a physical touch.

The memory of his unguarded playing from earlier haunted her steps through the grand hallways, mixing with the heated looks they'd exchanged, the almost-touches they'd shared.

The music might be all that mattered, she thought as she finally emerged into the morning light, but she was beginning to fear that it was not all that she wanted.

And from the way that he had looked at her in that last moment, she suspected she was not alone in that dangerous truth.