Page 102 of The Duke's Dream
"You will not repeat this. Not even to your own shadow," William said, fisting his hands.
If Rodrick implicated Helene... Would he be able to protect her? The thought sent a wave of panic crashing through him.
Rodrick scoffed, his black eyes flickering with condescension. "What, you fear I will arrest Miss Beaumont?"
William's body vibrated, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I'm not a mindless brute to be afraid of your fists." His heart pounded as he stood. This conversation was over.
"Stay away from her."
Helenepacedthelengthof her garret. She glared at the piano, ignoring its sweet siren call. Her whole body tingled, and her legs couldn't stay still. Hadn't she asked the generous tyrant not to give her gifts?
The very air around the instrument seemed charged. Why didn't William send her jewels or furs? Those would be so easy to refuse. Sighing, she caressed the gleaming mahogany and pressed the middle C, a brief touch, not daring to produce sound.
What wondrous music could be coaxed from these keys? What moments of joy, of intimacy… Memories from the last time she had a piano in her house flitted like poignant notes before her eyes. The melody had the scent of lilies and jasmine tea and rain-coated grass.
The door opened. William stood at the entrance. His expression was hidden under layers of starch and wool and a hat. Something boiled inside of her, and she raced to the door and flung herself at him, linking her legs around his lean waist. A will consumed her to pummel his chest and force him to remove the piano. The promise of music shouldn't be taken lightly. If she accepted this gift only to have him take it back, she would die.
When his arms crossed behind her, the cane he carried tumbled to the floor.
Heart pounding in her chest, Helene grabbed his hat and flung it away. Breathlessly, she kissed his eyelids, his cheeks, his ear, his hair, and the corner of his mouth.
Chuckling, William held her at arm's length. "I thought you would be mad."
"I'm raving mad. Haven't we agreed I would not accept presents from The Duke of Albemarle?"
"I see." With her draped over him, he sat on the piano's bench. "This is not a gift for you."
Helene eyed him askance.
"It's for me. I want our music to keep playing, Little One, and I can't do that without a piano, can I?"
Warmth invaded her chest, and she touched the keys reverently.
"Then… I suppose I can keep it here for you. While our song is still playing."
Her garret already accommodated his shaving apparatus and writing desk, not to mention a change of clothes his valet often came to exchange for new ones.
A wry smile pulled the corner of his lips. "How generous of you, Miss Beaumont."
Helene beamed at him and struck the keys for the first time, wanting to hear how song filled the corners of her small apartment.
He placed his hand over hers, his expression serious. "We need to talk."
"If this is about Lady Thornley's soirée, I sent her my acceptance already. She is doing it in my honor. It would be rude to deny her." Helene shifted away from him, her eyes inspecting the ivory keys.
She had been so happy with the invitation, thrilled to spend time with him in his society, and his reticence cut her deep. A voice inside her head whispered that he didn't want her among his friends, that he only cared for her between bedsheets. Helene shut the thought. Of course, he cherished her. It was only to protect her reputation that they kept their relationship a secret.
"Though I think it is not advisable for you to go, our discussion is about another subject." His voice was icy, matter of fact.
Helene frowned, adrift at the sudden change of his demeanor.
"We need to speak about your past."
Helene's breath caught, and she quickly averted her gaze. Pulse speeding, she struck aleatory chords. Why did he want to talk about her past now? Did he suspect something? Had he discovered about Gaetan? What would William think if he knew she was the sibling of a marshal from France? The hated enemy?
"Helene?"
"Oh, of course. Where should I begin? I came from the woods, like every sylph before me, and—"
