Page 103 of The Duke's Dream
He caught her hand. "This is a matter of grave importance, not only for us but for the country."
Helene smiled while her insides quivered. He must know something. But what? An obscure fear congealed her heart. Everything she had gained thus far could be destroyed. Like her family in France. Taken away by angry people, guns, machetes—a cruel song.
"The country? What did I do? You speak as if I killed someone or tampered with the landowner's rights, God forbid. Is there a death penalty for that? I bet it is written in Britain's blood code—"
“Whatever you tell me, I will hold as a secret.”
"How magnanimous of you, Your Grace."
She hated when he slipped into his parliamentary persona—distant, formal, shoulders squared—a mantle of righteousness and superiority that ruffled her swan feathers.
Helene stood abruptly and went to the window. Crossing her arms, she stared at London's soot and mist until her eyes blurred.
She heard him exhale and, from the corner of her eye, saw him remove his coat. Then, he unclasped the diamond studs from his shirt and rolled the sleeves. Helene’s gaze licked his naked forearms. Before, he never had as much as shown her his throat, and now she was entitled to these tantalizing displays. He didn't need the Silent Sovereign to interrogate her. Glimpses of his skin were enough to lull her into confessing anything.
He positioned himself behind the piano, stretching his long, long legs underneath it. Was he about to play? Helene held her breath.
His fingers met the keys. Each note sparkled, a treasure, a glistening gem. Her heart swayed with the sweet intimacy. William's virtuoso's hands moved with a grace that mirrored her ballet, precise yet infused with passion. They differed in everything—her softness to his hardness, his restraint to her abandon, his society to her freedom—but in this, they were one: music.
She closed her eyes, letting him take her in his swirling depths, a cocoon of sound that held her still and safe. Song had always been a command, a call to motion, and she savored being William's audience, tasting the luxury of music for music's sake, her first serenade.
As if William were the piper and she the eager little mouse, she perched on his side and leaned against him. William had solid shoulders, the perfect size to pillow any heartache.
Helene sighed. How could she explain to him? Lying was wrong, but the thought of having their music end because of something beyond her control made her desperate.
"There is pain in the past," she whispered. "And things better left unsaid."
"Do you remember when I played for you at the theater?"
Helene traced his jaw. "How could I ever forget?"
It had been the first time she had glimpsed the passionate man beneath the Duke of Albemarle's facade.
"Do you know why I left?"
She drew a lyre in his arm. "The Silent Sovereign remembered a colony he had to subjugate?"
A wry smile tugged his lips, and he shook his head, his attention riveted at the keys. "I don't play the piano in public."
She had suspected as much but stayed quiet, shifting closer to feel more of his warmth and let him know she treasured every note emerging from his talented fingers.
"When I play, I unleash a fire inside of myself."
He stroked the lower keys, the sounds discordant and violent, clashing with his calm demeanor. He looked at her then, and that same look of hatred that she had glimpsed the first time they met flared in his stormy irises.
"It is unacceptable," he said through gritted teeth.
Helene interlaced their fingers, unwilling to cower before him. She sensed that the boy inside of him needed to know he could manage his vast powers. "You play with passion, and you have a beautiful talent, and if I were not a greedy woman, I would feel sorry for all the people you are depriving of your music. Still, the sun doesn't stop shining because he fears he will burn humanity."
He halted the notes, and anguish seeped into his expression. "Would you tell me of your past? Please?"
Helene exhaled, brushing her moist palms against her skirts. "My stronger memories are from when we settled here in London. Langley and Katherina gave us free rein in the theater. We did as we pleased. We only saw Langley in ballet class, and then he honored us with his brilliant attention. I learned English from an actress at Kemble's company. She taught us to read and write."
"Let me guess, Shakespeare?"
Helene smiled wryly. "Are you not surprised I don't 'thee' and 'thou' everyone? I left that phase behind… eventually. It was a fun childhood—our only discipline was ballet."
"And before London?"
