Page 59 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
She could not say a word. She could only hope that her pleading eyes were enough to show him that she had not meant to deceive him. She was merely trying to help her father.
Her breath hitched when he came closer.
“You’re J. Lewis,” he declared.
No, his time to ask questions was over.
Her hand flew to her throat as if she could force down the lump that had formed there.
She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered weakly. “I never meant to deceive you, Oliver.”
No, she would not take several steps back as she always did when feeling cornered. She was keeping his name on her lips. However, she noted how his brow furrowed and his eyes glistened.
The candlelight cast shadows on his face as he finally made sense of something he had suspected before.
“But you did,” he said through gritted teeth. “You kept a secret from me while I thought what we had was real.”
It was like a slap to the face. Her insecurities had attempted to shield her against perceived and future hurts. There were no words that could make this better. She had lied to him, and the secrecy was proof that she did not trust him enough.
“I had to protect myself, Oliver,” she choked out. “As a woman, I would not have been taken seriously.”
“You’d assumed that I would ridicule you? You thought I would reveal your name against your wishes—deprive you of your passion? Have you not noticed how I listen to you and appreciate your music from afar?”
Alexandra bit her lip. She did not want to cry in front of her husband. He’d think that she was using her tears as a weapon.But she also wanted to reason with him, even if she could no longer understand her own motivations.
Silence fell between them. It seemed for a house that loved music, silence always found them.
Oliver took another step closer, and his wife could barely look at him.
“Alexandra,” he began, the rough emotion in his voice giving her fresh hope. He reached for her chin and tilted it up so that he could look her in the eyes. “I want you, but not with a wall between us. Not with you escaping whenever I peel back a layer covering who you truly are.”
It was her turn to reach for him, and she flattened her palms on his chest. She liked that he was firm and solid in a world where she could barely grasp her dreams.
“I… I don’t want to lose you, Oliver,” she finally admitted, her voice trembling at the enormity of her words.
She did not want to be vulnerable before anyone, but her fear of losing him was greater.
“And I you,” he said, his voice breaking as he covered her hands with his own. “You have brought hope to my life. Even your most melancholy music made this place a home. So, please trust me. Tell me your secrets, and you can ask me to tell you all of mine.”
“You don’t want to be with me, Oliver. My troubles will only drag you down. You’ve worked hard to help yourself become?—”
“Shh,” he murmured. It was his turn to put a finger on her lips. “You’re the one who helped me overcome my unhealthy desire to frequent Devil’s Draw.”
“But you still went there,” she reminded him, her tone mildly accusatory. Her head rested against his chest, and she listened to his heartbeat.
“Only because I thought you did not care whether you lost me or not,” he whispered.
It was then that Alexandra let herself cry in front of the man she had learned to accept as her friend. Her lover. Her husband.
They stood like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding comfort in each other and the sounds of their heartbeats.
Alexandra was prepared to give Oliver all her truths now—all her secrets. But then, she felt his body stiffen.
He gently pulled away from her and asked, “What is John Prescott’s role in all of this, Alexandra? Does he know about J. Lewis?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Who gave this to you, Ellen?” Alexandra asked her maid, who looked paler than usual.
