Page 37 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
But what if…?
Thoughts of John Prescott crept into his mind. The man was in no way bolder than some of the lords in attendance. Yet, he brought out some of Oliver’s insecurities.
Did women really want him because they liked him, or did they like his money and title more?
The gossiping hens were right. He had not looked at any woman the way he looked at Alexandra. But was she looking at him in the same way?
He could still remember her excitement and nervousness upon seeing Prescott at the opera, and he did not like the gnawing pain in his chest.
The orchestra played another song after they had danced—proof that the world would continue turning even after he and Alexandra had decided to part ways once more.
The new music that was played was strange and unfamiliar. For some reason, it went straight to Oliver’s heart, like a flying arrow finding its target.
He saw his wife, who was only a small distance away from him, stop in her tracks when the tune began. He noticed that she gaveit her rapt attention, and narrowed his eyes as the fingers at her sides began tapping in rhythm to the music.
“Who is the composer of this song, Elliott?” he asked the lord who walked past him. “I usually know the music they play at balls, but this one is unfamiliar to me.”
“Oh, that is from a new composer—J. Lewis, I believe. Some say that he is using a pseudonym. Apparently, he does not want to be known, just like that painter, Eric Westback. Many even say that he is from London.”
Oliver thanked the other man for the piece of information. Then, he made his way back to his wife.
“What is it about this mysterious composer?” he muttered, leaning closer to her. “It’s cowardly to hide behind a pseudonym. Is he waiting for the praise to come first before he reveals himself?”
Alexandra’s eyes opened as his voice jolted her out of her little daydream. The soft look on her face disappeared. “Perhaps his anonymity gives him freedom. Perhaps he does not want his talent to be tied to his real identity.”
“I disagree. I believe that a man worth listening to must also be worth knowing. Or perhaps the mystery appeals to your romantic nature?”
She blushed, further piquing Oliver’s curiosity. A burning question was niggling at him.
Why did this composer seem to captivate his wife? He’d seen the flash of indignance and passion in her eyes when she defended the unknown composer. It was almost as if she knew the man. Or perhaps, a voice in the back of his head added, she was merely being difficult.
Still, the mention of J. Lewis seemed to have a strong effect on his wife, and her reaction had a strong effect on him.
Oliver felt he had to distance himself from her, but he continued to watch her from across the room as she continued to listen to the mysterious composer’s piece.
Alexandra’s heart was pounding. She felt that if Oliver had asked more questions, she would have revealed her secret. With him giving her space, she thought she would have time to relax and appreciate her composition. However, her peace was short-lived.
She opened her eyes to meet the harsh gaze of her father, Lord Hartwell.
“Father,” she greeted, inclining her head.
Her stomach churned when she saw the expression on his face. She knew that he was about to tell her something she would not like.
“Alexandra. You’re playing the part of Duchess well enough,” he bit out. “All it did was make you more arrogant and parade around in finery. Otherwise, I see no real benefit from your time here in London. You simply wasted your time with theton.”
The accusation landed sharply. Alexandra clenched her hands in her skirts. She realized the extent of the vitriol in her father’s heart. After having insulted her in public and taking her money, he still believed it was her responsibility to get him out of trouble.
At that moment, she could feel the burden he had placed on her shoulders. It was certainly ironic that she was the room’s center of attentionandthe wife of a wealthy duke, butstillcould not meet her father’s demands.
She felt a swirling mix of shame and resentment.
“You had made it clear that I was nothing but a useless chit. A failure,” she reminded him, a new edge to her voice. She was glad her voice did not waver.
“You were raised to understand your duty, Alexandra. There will be consequences if you fail to do it,” her father warned in a low voice and then sauntered away.
Alexandra could not believe that her own flesh and blood could not show her any sign of affection. The urgency in his words made her burden heavier, cornering her further. Putting her on the edge.
She could not believe that her sensitive mother had fallen in love with such a cruel man.
