Page 56 of The Wayward Duke
Desire speared through her, sharp and hot. “Are you jealous?” she whispered, arching her neck as his teeth grazed her throat.
A harsh exhale that might’ve been a laugh ghosted across her skin. “Furious with myself. Seeing him…” Julian’s voice dropped, words scraping raw against her ear. “You called for Grey that night in Edinburgh last year when I pulled you from the flames. Do you remember? I was holding you in my arms, and he was the one you trusted. He was a comfort you needed, and I failed to provide.”
Shame lanced through her. She had few memories of Edinburgh. Richard and Anne’s hasty wedding, the sudden heat that filled her bedchamber – then hazy fragments glimpsed through smoke and fire-lit dark.
Take me home, Richard. Take me to Ravenhill. I want to go home.
She remembered wanting to be buried beside her son. But the admission lodged like broken glass in her throat, too jagged to voice aloud.
She hadn’t realised how much that moment had hurt Julian. Taken all their damaged edges and fractured them further. Introduced more doubt in an already shattered foundation.
Before she could speak, Julian cut off her words with his mouth, fierce and uncompromising. She lost herself in the kiss, the possessive sweep of his hands over her bare skin. He touched her as if he were imprinting himself on her very bones, searing away any lingering ghosts.
There was only this – him and her.
And all the half-healed wounds between them.
22
Caroline awoke to the haunting strains of piano music drifting down the hallway. The melody washed over her, melancholy and aching, speaking of old griefs and memories worn thin by time.
Julian’s music.
Caroline slipped from the bed and donned her silk wrapper. She made her way through the shadowed corridors, following the music towards its source. The notes hung suspended around her, strands of gossamer that clung and pulled.
What memories haunted him tonight? The same ones that haunted her days, she suspected. Whispers and echoes that never entirely faded.
Grace.
Tristan.
The wounds they had carved into each other with their silence.
At last, she came to the music room. Julian sat with his back to the door, shoulders hunched over the piano keys. Moonlight filtering through the tall windows glinted off the black waves of his hair. He seemed cast in shades of silver and grey, softened at the edges. The austere duke stripped away to reveal the man beneath.
Here was the brooding boy who had first caught her attention so many years ago in his father’s gardens. Before he had slipped from her grasp like smoke, a half-remembered dream.
He did not turn or otherwise acknowledge her presence. The song flowed on, and Caroline closed her eyes against the hollow ache of it. She thought perhaps she would be content to stand there and let the notes crash and break over her like waves. Let it scour their sharp edges until they were as smooth as sea glass.
Caroline watched his elegant hands move across the ivory keys. Long fingers coaxing forth strands of melancholy sound, spinning them into something achingly sweet. She thought of where those hands had touched her skin only hours before, mapping her with reverence. The memories echoed through each mournful note.
She could see Julian’s fingers tremble. His knuckles stood out in sharp relief, skin pulled taut over bone. The veins on the backs of his hands flexed with each note, delicate traceries that captivated her. He had musician’s hands. Graceful and strong. Hands that knew every inch of her.
Without turning, Julian asked, “Did I wake you?” His playing never faltered despite the distraction.
“I don’t mind.” She drew closer, bare feet soundless on the carpet. “It’s beautiful.”
And it was. Achingly so.
A noncommittal grunt. “My technique is rusty.”
“It sounds flawless to me.”
As his fingers dropped from the keys, silence swelled to fill the void. Still, Julian did not turn.
“You’re thinking very loudly over there,” Caroline said gently. “What’s troubling you? Is it Richard?”
“It’s nothing.” He did not stir from his perch. “Just an old piece I was trying to remember.”
