Page 57 of The Wayward Duke
“It sounded like a lament.” And like a love song for something lost. For apologies left unspoken.
Another broken chord, almost a sigh. “I wrote it for Tristan and Grace.” His voice dropped. “And for you. After.”
After.A single word encompassing all the sprawling years. Since the ground crumbled beneath their feet. Since the slow undoing.
Since the strangers they had become.
Grief pierced Caroline once more, sharp and unexpected. She had thought herself inured, calloused from years of sorrow worn smooth. But the wound gaped as fresh as ever – bloodless yet still so quick to sting.
She thought of eight years wasted, eight years they could never regain. A wall of regret had risen brick by brick until she could scarcely see him on the other side. Until all that remained were two hollowed-out people circled in orbit, neither daring to draw too near.
She fought to keep her voice steady. “Play me the rest. I want to hear it.”
Silence swelled around them, deep as the darkness between stars. For a heartbeat, she thought he meant to refuse.
But then he shifted on the stool in silent acquiescence – an invitation for her to join him.
Caroline crossed the floor, silk slipping softly at her legs. The old wood creaked faintly beneath her as she settled at the piano beside her husband. His fingers returned to the keys.
The melody moved through her, low and soft, then climbing, pleading. Speaking of grief, chances lost, chances still waiting, just out of reach. It crested inside her chest, receded like the tide, and then swelled again. A lament to love smothered too soon.
Unable to stop herself, she reached out and let her hand hover just above his thigh.Shall I touch you? Comfort you?
Before doubt could take hold, Caroline pressed her palm to his leg.
The notes fractured, faltered. Julian’s focus slipped from the keys as her hand stayed in place, trembling with possibilities. With words left unspoken and memories beaten smooth. She held her breath, her heart crashing against her ribs. Waited for him to pull away, to slip back behind cold marble. Behind locked doors and hollow vows.
But Julian remained still beneath her touch. Slowly, by increments, the tension leached from his body. Only once he had mastered himself did the melody resume, low and sweet. His fingers moved across the piano keys, coaxing forth notes like strands of glass, fragile and thin. They cut into her soul, deeper with every repetition.
Flay me open,she thought.Lay my sins bare.
As the final notes faded, they sat in silence. He did not pull away. Did not retreat, as he had for so long. And neither did she. The space between them rang hollow with all their unspoken truths.
His fingers curled into fists on his thighs, knuckles sharp beneath the skin. At last, Julian turned towards her. Someone haunted and far removed from the boy with ink-smudged fingers who had shared secret smiles with her as they passed notes across a crowded ballroom lifetimes ago.
“Come here, duchess,” he said softly.
Reaching out, he drew the silk robe down her shoulders. It slithered to the floor between them, baring more of her shivering skin to the shadows. To him.
“I want to see you. All of you.” His breath gusted hot against the shell of her ear.
Caroline did not pull away. Did not move at all save for the agitated rise and fall of her chest. She held still, pulse thundering, as Julian’s gaze moved over her. His hands followed in slow, burning trails, fingertips skating up her thighs. They traced her hips, her waist, skimmed the undersides of her breasts with reverent restraint. Every hollow and ridge was mapped beneath those elegant hands. Following the paths charted into muscle and memory.
Caroline shifted to straddle him. Even through the thin linen of his trousers, she felt him harden against her as the slick heat of her core settled against his cock. The exquisite pressure made her dizzy, nerves singing as she slid over that thick hardness.
Julian’s fingers constricted on her hips, a broken noise tearing from his throat. For endless moments, they remained suspended, frozen in torturous possibility, breaths crashing loudly between them.
Tilting her face up, she ghosted her parted lips along his frantic pulse. Felt it leap beneath her teeth when she whispered, “I’ve never been with anyone else. Just you.”
A secret spilled to soothe old wounds. Somehow, to stitch their tattered edges back together.
His arms tightened. “Not even Grey?”
“No.” Her lips moved against his skin. “I couldn’t bring myself to let Richard touch me. I felt… nothing for anyone after you. Just empty inside. And that made me hate you more.”
Julian tensed, but his arms stayed locked around her. She inhaled slowly, the air burning in her lungs.
“So I asked Richard if I could paint him instead. If I couldn’t give myself to someone new, I wanted my art back. To replace the memories of you.” Silence rang out, hollow as a rotted tree. “And if you saw my paintings, I wanted you to hurt the way I did. God, Julian, I hurt so much I barely knew myself.”
