Page 19 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
His fists clenched at the idea that she wanted someone so terribly that she snuck out of the house to see them at first light. He imagined her thinking about another man as soon as her eyes opened.
No, it didn’t sound like Alexandra at all. Oliver reasoned that it wasn’t consistent with her character. But love could change people—for better or for worse.
His throat felt raw at the thought, but he shook it away quickly. It did not mean he would not try to find out what she had been doing.
Then again, Oliver did not really know his wife.
What if…?
A nagging thought crept into his mind. What if Alexandra was raising money for her father behind his back?
But how? What can a young woman do to earn enough money to pay off substantial gambling debts? She refused to use her allowance.
“I suppose it’s the morning sunshine and fresh air, Your Grace. Perhaps you are right. I may have to take Ellen with me on my next venture,” Alexandra said airily, having composed herself.
She tossed her head, making her stray curls bounce against her coiffure.
Oliver decided at that moment that his wife would not go on another venture. Not without his knowledge.
And perhaps not without him.
“You’re here to check the state of your wife’s finances. Is she doing worse than you once did, Your Grace? Forgive me for asking, but does she also gamble? Does she buy too many clothes?” Oliver’s solicitor, Henry Fields, had a cigar dangling from his lips while he rattled off the series of questions.
The room was smoky and dim, reminiscent of the domain of a gambling hell owner than a solicitor’s office.
“The Duchess has no such proclivities. However, her father is drowning in debt. She attempted to pay it off, but her money was not enough. Still, she had a considerable amount with her even though she barely used her allowances. It makes me wonder how and where she got the money.”
“Hmm.”
The noncommittal answer annoyed Oliver. He was willing to pay good money to investigate his wife, and the solicitor seemed not to take it as seriously.
“I need you to investigate her financial activities. Does she have a source of income that I don’t know about?”
“Are you concerned that the Duchess might be involved in something… illegal?” the solicitor asked, resting his cigar on a tray, the smoke curling up in the poorly ventilated room.
Oliver sighed. He did not know what to think. He had let a beautiful stranger into his home, and his simple days of avoiding vice, boxing for entertainment, and flirting with ladies were over.
Things were not simple when his wife was more secretive than an owl—or a slithering snake.
When he went home that night, he was gratified to hear the strains of the piano.
There, in a previously unused music room, Alexandra sat at the piano, playing a melody he was not familiar with.
It was beautiful, haunting, and sad.
He stood quietly by the door of the music room, not daring to make any noise lest she stop.
He had known his wife was talented, but the way her fingers flew over the keys… it was mastery. She was playing like a virtuoso, someone who had been playing concertos for years.
But Alexandra had not. Instead, she had been imprisoned in a loveless marriage and sequestered in the countryside.
The first strains of music lulled him into complacency. They then swerved into darker territory, growing faster. Alexandra’s curls bounced as her fingers expertly moved over the keys, her body entirely absorbed in the performance. The crescendo built, fierce and powerful, until it felt as though the room itself was holding its breath.
And so was Oliver.
Then, without a warning, the music stopped, the final note hanging in the air like an unanswered question. Alexandra’s hands stilled, but she did not turn around.
“I didn’t know you played so beautifully,” Oliver said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, but it was enough to make her shoulders tense up.
