Page 47 of The Duke’s Duet

She saw his hands clench at his sides, as if fighting the urge to reach for her.

"You should have told me."

"Why? What could you have done, without causing more gossip? More speculation about... about what exists between us?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy, filled with everything they'd been avoiding saying. Harper moved closer, close enough that she could see the play of lantern light in his eyes.

"I never meant..." He stopped, seemed to gather himself. "When I was a boy, music was everything to me. The only time that I felt truly free, truly myself. But my father..."

"What did he do?"

She asked it softly when he faltered.

"He caught me playing when I should have been studying estate management. He..." Harper's voice roughened with memory. "He struck my hands with his riding crop. Said no son of his would waste time on such frivolous pursuits. That a Duke must be above such things."

Without thinking, Melody reached for his hands, cradling them in her own. His fingers curled around hers instantly, desperately, betraying how much he needed the contact.

"Oh, my dear..." The endearment slipped out before she could stop it. "No wonder you fight yourself so hard when you play. No wonder you try to maintain such rigid control."

He stared down at their joined hands, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a way that made her shiver.

"Until you... until our duet... I'd forgotten what it felt like. To let the music take over completely. To feel that freedom again."

They stood so close now that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, could catch the subtle scent of sandalwood that always clung to his clothes. The coloured lights painted patterns across his aristocratic features, softening them, making him look younger, more vulnerable.

"Harper..."

His given name felt like a sacred thing on her tongue. He lifted one hand to her face, his fingers trembling slightly as they traced her cheek. Melody's breath caught as he leaned closer, his eyes dropping to her lips...

"Your Grace!" Lady Pembroke's voice carried clearly through the garden, deliberately loud with warning. "I believe that I see Signor Bianchi's party approaching!"

They sprang apart just as the Pembrokes rounded the corner, both breathing unsteadily. But Melody could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers on her skin, could still see the heat in his eyes before they'd been interrupted. And she knew, with sudden, painful clarity, that no opportunity in Italy could possibly mean more than what she'd just glimpsed in those lantern-lit moments - the real man behind the Duke's mask, reaching for her with all the passion he usually kept locked away.