Page 39 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
Clementi tucked the points of his coat behind his seat, and the murmuring of the audience slowly faded.
“No,” the duke murmured. “But he seems spry enough yet. I’m sure he has time left in him.”
On her other side, Eliza gripped her arm. “Am I going to be bored?” she whispered.
“I won’t be,” Isobel whispered back as Clementi gazed at the instrument for a long moment before placing his hands on the keys.
Isobel strained to see, and eventually, the duke shuffled a little to the right, creating a space for her to put her head—without getting too close to him. She sent him a grateful glance before looking at the man sitting at the piano.
His fingers moved faster than seemed possible, each note unerring and precise. He wrought such a melody from the instrument as though it transformed from wood and strings and hammers to a trickling stream and the wind through the trees. She caught her breath at the sight of him, lost in his own playing and the music that wove around them in a tapestry of sound.
She felt the duke’s gaze on her, but she refused to look away from the performer.
If her parents could not be here with her to see this, she would absorb all she could from the sight. She would make the most of every moment and recount it in her next letter; it was the least she could do.
And at least now, she did not have a gentleman whispering in her ear about the next social engagement they would attend. The duke at least kept silent so she could enjoy the moment.
And if she felt tears brim in her eyes at the beauty, the soaring overwhelm it made her feel, and if she subtly wiped them awaywith her glove, knowing the duke was watching her, then what did that matter?
It hardly made a difference what he thought of her. She now had the duchess as a buffer for public disapproval, and she had been the one to compel his compliance. And truly, since his mother’s return, the duke had been almostniceto her.
At the end of the first movement, Clementi finished with a flourish. As Isobel brought her hands together, she glanced at the duke.
For once, he wasn’t watching her as she took the opportunity to study his profile. Such a strong face—hard jaw, strong brow, and stern eyes. It was a face to make a sculptor weep.
He glanced across at her, their eyes meeting. Her stomach flipped. Their eyes locked, and she couldn’t look away. Her breath came too fast. There was heat in the back of his gaze, and she recalled with painful clarity the sight of his bare skin in the sunlight. The sweat on his skin.
The way his mouth had felt against hers.
That same mouth parted, and she felt it as though it passed straight through her.
“Lady Isobel,” he said—or at least, his mouth moved, framing her name, but the sound of the overwhelming applause drowned his voice.
She couldn’t be certain he had spoken at all.
Eliza caught her arm, distracting her attention.
“I wasn’t bored after all,” she said with simple delight. “I thought I would be, you know, because I have never been particularly fond of music when one cannot talk through it, but he was reasonably good.”
Isobel blinked at her friend. “Reasonablygood?Eliza, he is a master.”
“Well, you seemed to enjoy it,” Eliza said, looking a little surprised.
“Aye. More than anything.”
“How fortunate that Adrian could accompany us.” Eliza sank back on the seat. “Now everyone is envious of our escort, and that means we shall have even more people to speak to after the event is over.”
Isobel giggled, although she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the dukehadaccompanied them. Her fingers tingled, but she didn’t dare glance back at him.
“And you have begun to be more popular since the duchess returned and the duke has accompanied us to events,” Eliza added.
Isobel sighed, “Indeed.”
“You see? It is all for the good.”
“Aye. I hope so.”
“It will be.” Eliza said with confidence. “We shall find you a husband in no time.”
