Page 38 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
Alexandra had thought herself a strong woman, but in front of her father, she found herself nodding like a child. It was an automatic reaction to a man who did not deserve her obedience. She had always strived to be the best daughter, but he only responded with cruelty and judgment. However, this time, something in her was beginning to boil. Itching for a fight.
With her father’s dismissal still stinging, Alexandra felt small and alone. The heights that her mood had reached after her dance with Oliver and hearing her composition played at the ball crashed. Evaporated.
When she turned her head slightly to the right, though, relief washed over her.
There stood John Prescott.
Alexandra walked toward her former music instructor, who was smiling at her kindly. He had the power to immediately soothe her frayed nerves, just like the music they shared.
“Mr. Prescott, how lovely to see you here at the ball,” she said.
“Likewise, Your Grace,” he returned, giving her a slight bow.
With John, her walls were ready to crumble. With him, she was simply a woman. A musician. She did not have to suffer the weight of expectations that she felt everywhere else.
“I can tell you heard your latest composition,” he continued in a low voice so that only the two of them could hear.
“Yes. I am thrilled to hear theton’spositive comments on the piece. I’d spotted some pleasantly surprised music patrons,” she said, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. “Thank you, Mr. Prescott, for the opportunity.”
“It was my pleasure, Your Grace.” Again, John gave her a polite bow.
The orchestra began playing a new piece. Caught in the moment, Alexandra did not think of the consequences of what she was about to say.
“Would you like to dance, Mr. Prescott?”
The instructor hesitated for a moment. “Dance with you, Your Grace? I, er, do not know if it would be proper. I am no lord, and?—”
“Yes, they might say it’s inappropriate. Whatever the case may be, you were my teacher. You are my friend, and we both love music. So, let us dance—thetonbe damned,” she insisted.
“Your Grace, I… I do not…” John mumbled.
“Come on, John. Please. It’s just a dance.”
John sighed. “All right. If you say so.”
She smiled at him as he led them to the dance floor.
Alexandra let herself be swept away by the waltz. She was comforted by the music. For a moment, she felt like everything would be all right. She was free from her father’s demands and the strain in her marriage.
With her eyes closed to focus on the music, she was unaware of a pair of eyes watching her intently.
“Your eyes betray you, Brother. Perhaps thetonis right. A woman has finally ensnared the Duke of Westgrave,” Catherine teased.
Oliver was delighted to see his sister at the ball. However, he was distracted by the sight of Alexandra dancing with John.
The genuine happiness on her face irritated him. It should not. It just should not be directed at someone else—a man like John Prescott, the music master.
He did not like how the dance was making him feel—vulnerable and angry. The smile that his wife was giving John was something that he had not seen from her. Not yet.
Perhaps not ever.
“There is no truth in that,” Oliver scoffed. “I am merely treating her like a puzzle that needs to be disassembled. She is an infuriating woman.”
His idea of unraveling the puzzle that was his wife entailed heading straight to her and her dance partner.
John Prescott was light on his feet, graceful, and far too close to her. A pang of something dangerously close to jealousy twisted in Oliver’s chest. It was irrational—after all, he had no claim to her heart. But it felt as though a piece of his heart had been stolen.
“Are you listening, Brother?” Catherine’s voice broke through his thoughts. Her teasing smile dropped as she noticed the way his eyes tracked Alexandra’s movements. “Good heavens, Oliver. You look as if you’re about to march over there and challenge Mr. Prescott to a duel.”
