Page 58 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
Again, Alexandra felt like crying and she did not know why.
Oliver, meanwhile, found himself increasingly restless, his mind racing. Although he and his wife had reconnected the night before, there was still something between them, and he was determined to discover and rid them of it.
Alexandra, even as she gave him more of her body, continued to guard her emotions.
The frequent late-night piano playing continued. The candlelight slipping under the door to the music room, herhushed movements, and the occasional sheet music all fueled his curiosity and frustration. He was more discreet with his listening, unwilling to disturb her from her passionate playing.
There was no way that playing the piano was merely a pastime for his Duchess. She had not only mastered the keys, but she had also commanded them.
Through the crack in the door, he watched her. As he had expected, she was playing the pianoforte as if she were one with it. Her fingers moved gracefully over the black and ivory keys as if they were parts of each other.
He could see her profile, the way her face softened as if she was living in another world.
Perhaps she was.
Oliver could hear his own breaths, but he knew that his wife could not hear anything beyond her piano playing. Then, she stopped and murmured to herself. He had not seen her do this before.
What was she doing?
He listened more closely. Yes, every time she stopped playing, she whispered something. Now, she was writing something on the sheets with a quill, making him catch his breath.
And all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
One night, too restless to sleep, Alexandra paced in her room. She should be happy—ecstatic even. After all, she and Oliver had reconnected. They talked about their future. What he did not know was that she had just given birth… to her latest composition.
Alexandra realized that caring for someone meant wanting to be honest with them. Her heart was often heavy with her secrets, weighing down even her happiest moments with Oliver.
But what if she told him? What would he think? Would it be the end of J. Lewis and his compositions?
Fear and excitement warred within her. On the one hand, she was afraid that her identity would be unmasked and she would have to flee into oblivion. On the other hand, she felt a flicker of excitement about finally being recognized for her achievements. She certainly had not enjoyed the fruits of her work, and her father was forever ungrateful.
The music room no longer felt like a refuge. It was now a prison with walls that were thin enough to reveal her passion but opaque enough to hide her secrets.
Confession. For now, she could only do it through playing the piano. Her nightgown clung to a body drenched with the sweat of guilt. Her latest composition was sorrowful and yearning,revealing the turmoil that continued to plague her even as she tried to live a happier life with her husband.
As with most nights, Alexandra let herself get lost in the moment. She was aware that Oliver sometimes listened, though not how often.
A part of her wanted to be caught, she realized.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a figure silhouetted against the faint candlelight. Oliver’s presence was unmistakable, but she was afraid to look at his face.
What would she see there? She’d like to see admiration and love, but she knew that was her wishful thinking.
Oliver was no longer hiding. He walked toward her, not even bothering to muffle his footfalls.
Alexandra stopped playing as soon as he stopped inches away from her. A tense silence hung between them. It was not like last night, when he came in and saw her trying to hide the proof that she was J. Lewis. This time, she felt that he knew more, but she would still try to deny it.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, dread coiled in her stomach like a snake about to spring. However, she straightened her back, seemingly composed.
What if he told her to leave? Why would he want to spend the rest of his life with a coward and a liar?
Time seemed to stand still as they studied each other. But then, he broke the silence.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Duchess?” he asked in a low, measured voice.
Despite his civility, Alexandra sensed the betrayal he felt. He also did not call her by her Christian name.
Regret washed over her. Why didn’t she simply ask for his help? He had proven from the very first day they were reunited that he was capable of defending and protecting her, but her pride was strong, and their connection back then was non-existent.
