Page 25 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
“Of course,” Thomas agreed, lifting his wife’s gloved hand gently to kiss her knuckles.
Catherine giggled delightedly, while Alexandra stiffened against Oliver’s arm. Oliver rubbed her arm with his other hand. It was meant to comfort her, and judging by the way her body relaxed, it worked.
Not long after meeting with his sister and her husband, Oliver felt another shift in his wife’s mood. She was responsive, making him think of other ways he could make her even more so. He reminded himself that they were in public and that he should not be thinking of her that way.
He let himself be lulled by the beautiful music. It reminded him of more innocent days.
Alexandra was just as or even more engrossed in the performance. She did not even notice that he’d wrapped his arm around her. Oliver could not help it. She was soft against his hard body, a contrast he was growing to enjoy.
With them sitting so close, it almost felt like they had a real marriage. It was a frightening prospect that Oliver had been entertaining of late.
During the intermission, he guided his wife to the lobby to greet acquaintances or to simply be seen. While some wealthy patrons preferred staying in their private boxes, Oliver thought that it would be good to use the time to show everyone that they were a happily married couple.
“John,” Alexandra uttered suddenly.
Who was John? Oliver followed her gaze and saw a man a few years older than himself walking toward them.
His curiosity was piqued. Who was this man? Was he the kind of man his wife sought?
John was the opposite of him, and perhaps it was why his wife had never been impressed with him.
“Your Grace.” The man’s voice was barely a whisper, but it sounded like an explosion in Oliver’s head.
There was nothing improper about it, but the warmth and familiarity in the man’s voice made Oliver ball his hands into fists—he didn’t like it one bit.
“Mr. Prescott,” Alexandra responded, with a slight nod. “Your Grace, Mr. John Prescott was my music teacher. Mr. Prescott, this is my husband, the Duke of Westgrave.”
“Pleasure, Mr. Prescott,” Oliver offered in a cold tone.
“Likewise, Your Grace,” John responded with a slight bow.
“How did you find the first acts and the overture?” Alexandra asked.
She was outwardly calm, but Oliver noticed her fingers playing with the pendant of her necklace. Her back had also become ramrod straight.
“They were marvelous. However, I can think of a few pieces that could add to the emotions in the story.”
“Perhaps something that starts with a good melody and descends into madness?” she asked, sounding breathless.
“Perhaps,” John demurred, his gaze fixed on her.
It was as if Oliver was not there at all.
His ears perked up at Alexandra’s choice of words. Why were these two discussing what pieces the opera should have? Why did it seem like they knew exactly what the other was saying?
His blood ran cold. He prayed that he would not lose his temper and make a scene.
“That sounds like something you’ve played for me before, Duchess,” he commented, stressing the final word. “That first time you played in the townhouse.”
“It does, does it not?” Alexandra turned to him with a smile, but it was strained, as it did not reach her eyes.
“Oh, and Mr. Prescott? Perhaps you should compose music, since you find it such a fascinating subject,” Oliver could not help but sneer.
At this point, the other man seemed calm, and it grated on Oliver’s nerves. He wondered if Alexandra was playing one of John’s compositions. He could still remember the passion she had put into it, and it made him want to rip off his cravat.
“Ah, no. My passion lies in the academic realm. However, I can appreciate and recognize raw talent. I’ve also learned how to identify what is missing in some pieces or performances.”
“Have you seen my wife perform?” Oliver’s tone was suggestive, emphasizing the last word, and Alexandra looked up at him in surprise.
