Page 36 of The Duke’s Duet

Chapter Ten

White's usually offered Harper a refuge from society's endless demands - a place where he could retreat into the comfortable silence of the reading room or lose himself in a game of billiards. But this morning, the familiar leather chairs and tobacco-scented air provided no such sanctuary.

He'd barely crossed the threshold when the whispers began, following him like persistent shadows:

"...quite extraordinary performance..."

"...never heard anything like it..."

"...seems a bit beneath his dignity, wouldn't you say?"

The last comment came from Lord Rutland, a pompous older peer who had never quite forgiven Harper's father for some ancient slight. Harper ignored him with practiced ease, though his fingers itched to shape themselves into fists. Instead, he made his way to his usual corner, hoping to lose himself in the morning papers.

But the papers, it seemed, had other ideas. The social pages of the Morning Post contained a lengthy description of the previous evening's concert, with particular attention paid to his duet with Melody. The writer had waxed poetic about their ‘remarkable harmony’ and ‘evident artistic rapport’.

Artistic rapport.

Was that what they were calling it?

Harper remembered the way that Melody's voice had wrapped around his, the heat in her eyes when they'd exchanged glances over the pianoforte, the electric awareness that had sparked between them with every shared breath. Rapport seemed an inadequate word for what they'd created together.

"Well, well." Lord Pembroke's familiar drawl cut through his thoughts. "If it isn't London's newest musical sensation."

Harper looked up to find his friend watching him with that knowing expression that always spelled trouble.

"Hardly that."

"No? The Morning Post seems to think otherwise." Pembroke dropped into the chair opposite, uninvited but undeterred. "Though I must say, their description barely does justice to what actually occurred. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"It was just a performance."

"Was it?" Pembroke's voice dropped lower. "Because from where I sat, it looked rather more like a declaration."

Harper's hands tightened on the newspaper.

"You're imagining things."

"Am I? Then you might wish to tell your face to be less expressive when you sing with her. The way you looked at her during that final harmony..." He shook his head. "Half the ton was holding its breath, waiting to see if you'd kiss her right there on the stage."

The truth of his friend's words struck uncomfortably close to home. Harper had wanted to kiss her - had barely restrained himself from doing exactly that after their voices joined in that last, perfect note.

"Charles," he said quietly, warning clear in his tone. "Enough."

But for once, Pembroke didn't back down.

"No, old friend, not enough. Not this time. You need to hear this." He glanced around to ensure that they had some privacy before continuing. "The ton is talking. Some admire the artistic collaboration, praise your dedication to the charitable cause. Others..." He hesitated. "Others are suggesting less innocent motivations."

Ice formed in Harper's stomach.

"What exactly are they saying?"

"What you might expect," Pembroke replied carefully. "That you've found an... interesting way to pursue a dalliance with a beautiful performer. That she's using her musical talents to catch herself a Duke. That the whole charitable endeavour is merely a cover for—"

"Stop." Harper's voice emerged as a harsh whisper, his hands clenching into fists beneath the table. "How dare they suggest... She's an artist. A lady. They have no right—"

"Of course they have no right. When has that ever stopped the ton from speculating? From destroying reputations for their own amusement?" Pembroke leaned forward, his usual levity replaced by genuine concern. "You know how this works, Brightwood. Better than most. If they can't understand something, they'll create their own explanations. And what happened last night... that connection between you... it frightens them."

"Frightens them?" The idea seemed absurd. "It was merely a musical performance."