Page 93 of A Deal with her Forbidden Duke
“You have pressed the wrong chord,” Alexander told her. “It is this pattern.”
He pressed down the correct fingers onto the keys, his touch gentle. Ever since he had let down his defenses and told her the truth of his grief and ownership of the Raven’s Den, Madeleine had begun the process of realizing she could not blame him, nor the establishment, for Donald’s fall into debt.
She had tried to tell herself it no longer mattered. She had a new life now, and her old life had been put to rest.
“How am I doing with the melody?” she asked, letting her fingers trill over the keys to form the tune, while Alexander chimed in with the chords.
Together, they played for a short while. Her learning of the pianoforte was slow-going but peaceful.
“You are doing well,” he complimented.
“You are a patient teacher,” she teased.
“You sound almost disappointed.”
“Perhaps I wished for you to get cross with me.” Her tune on the instrument turned light and playful. “Perhaps I wished for you to get so frustrated with my slow learning, that you find yourself forced to push me over the keys and teach me another lesson.”
Next to her, Alexander stilled.
In a flash of a moment, her hand was removed from the keys, and the lid slammed down.
Before Madeleine could even take a breath, Alexander had her bent over the polished wood.
“Is this how you envisioned it, Duchess?” His voice was a purr. His hand landed on her upper leg, drawing higher up.
“Yes,” she gasped.
His hand tightened, and he pressed against her, pressing her wrists atop the instrument, pinning her beneath him.
“Like this?”
“Yes,” she answered, her teasing tapering into a breathlessohwhen Alexander’s hand brushed beneath her dress, sliding between her legs.
She was already pressing back against him, trying to find friction.
“Kiss me,” she pleaded, angling her head for him to lean over and close his mouth over hers.
He had been so busy in London with meetings, and her visiting Tessa and Colin, that they had barely had time to indulge themselves beyond a quick, tired coupling before tumbling into sleep.
Alexander kissed her deeply, his tongue immediately brushing hers. Their lips danced together, and Madeleine gave up the control of the kiss as his hand slid into the length of her hair, keeping her head held towards him.
She was so busy getting lost in the kiss, and the wandering, stroking of his hand, that she did not take any notice of the door slamming open. It was only when a familiar voice bellowed across the room that Madeleine utterly froze.
“Get your hands off my sister!”
Alexander was suddenly wrenched off Madeleine, and she scrambled to stand upright, her blood turning to ice.
She knew that voice well.
“Brother?” she gasped.
John Dunby gaped at Alexander, holding him at arm’s length by the collar of his shirt.
But it was Madeleine he quickly turned to look at.
“Sister,” he breathed, his face red with anger. “What is the meaning of this? In fact, no. Do not answer.” He turned back to Alexander. “You, what do you think you are doing with your hands—” He broke off, his lip curled. “With your hands up my sister’s dress?”
Alexander gazed back at him, a smirk already lifting his lips. Madeleine realized he was about to play it as if John should know the whole story to antagonize him.
