Page 42 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
Music was her rebellion, the one part of her life she controlled. But with every note, guilt weighed heavy—her compositions paid for her father’s mounting debts.
Even though Oliver seemed kinder of late, she couldn’t ask for his help. Independence, even in marriage, mattered more than ever. Still, she dreaded the day he would discover just how far her passion for music had taken her.
“What would he think if he knew who I really was?” she whispered to herself, even as her fingers danced over the black and ivory keys.
When the house fell silent, and Oliver was away, Alexandra played with abandon. The music gave her peace, passion, and purpose, reminding her who she truly was.
Oliver, meanwhile, couldn’t stop thinking about Alexandra. He had kissed countless women, but none had left him feeling so undone. Now that he had a taste of her, he wantedmore. It was a challenge he was willing to undertake, a puzzle he was willing to solve.
Her willingness during their kiss had ignited something primal in him, yet she had since retreated behind a wall he couldn’t penetrate. Her mysterious behavior fed his curiosity and gnawed at his patience.
Oliver threw himself into estate management to distract himself. He oversaw his countryside holdings, boxed to release his frustration, and hunted with determination. Yet, even in the fields, Alexandra lingered in his thoughts.
Her excuse for avoiding him—that she wasindisposed—felt like a slap to the face. They had been the subject of gossip at the ball, but now she refused to even go on their morning strolls.
The world moved on, yet Oliver couldn’t shake the feeling that something between them had shifted.
She was slipping further away, just when he thought they had bonded physically.
And what was worse, he didn’t know how to pull her back.
Perhaps nothing had changed, and they weren’t meant to be anything more.
A few days later, Oliver decided that enough was enough. His wife was avoiding him, but it did not mean that he had to avoid her, as well.
He came home earlier than usual, hoping to spend more time with her before supper. They could not simply talk about paltry things over food and wine.
A part of him had been expecting the music that welcomed him. The faint, haunting notes drifted down the hallway. He followed the melody to the music room, like a hungry child after the Pied Piper.
Through a crack in the door, he glimpsed his wife sitting at the piano. She was not just playing, but she was also being played by the music. Swayed by it. Her fingers glided smoothly over the keys.
The sight rooted him to the spot, as he did not dare breathe lest he broke the spell.
Alexandra played a beautiful yet unfamiliar tune. How could that be? Oliver, having been brought up in a noble family, had prided himself on knowing the latest pieces. This piece was so exquisitely composed that he could not believe it had not been played at the most famous parties.
Admiration bloomed in his chest as he continued to watch and listen to the complexity of his wife.
When the music stopped, Alexandra’s eyes fluttered open. It was a slow process, as if she was coming out of a dream. And it was like that for her. She would dive into a new world each time she played her compositions.
The first thing she saw was the tall man peeking through the door. He stood there, looking just as surprised as she was. Instead of the smirk she’d expected from him, he wore an apologetic expression. He had been caught watching, but she had been caught baring her soul.
“Your Grace,” she breathed in greeting.
Flushed, she hastily reached for her sheet music. She stood up and shoved it in a drawer, her heart breaking as the edges were creased. He did not need to see what she was doing—could not see the correction marks on the notes.
“Why did you stop?” Oliver asked gently.
His eyes, on the other hand, seemed to bore into hers. He truly wanted to know more about her, but she didn’t think she was ready.
“It was nothing, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper, formality dividing them again as if they were meeting for the first time.
“Nothing?” he echoed, stepping into the room, his eyes fixed on the drawer where she kept her sheet music. “It did not sound like nothing. We both know you have a gift, but I am now fully realizing the passion you have for music. Please let me hear you play some more.”
Panicked, Alexandra lowered her gaze to the floor. Suddenly, the lines on the marble had become more fascinating. “It’s just a pastime, Your Grace.”
“Did your mother have you taught to play the pianoforte or did she teach you herself?” Oliver asked, his voice was cautious, just like his approach.
Alexandra was surprised by his questions. She thought he would insist that she play immediately, or demand if she’d been having more lessons with John Prescott.
