Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

“ J ust a rake playing with my na?veté,” she muttered, pressing her fingers to the piano keys.

While Alexandra enjoyed the ball, the aftermath was exhausting.

She craved solitude, as she often did when she was overwhelmed, seeking solace in her music. The quiet corners of Oliver’s townhouse became her refuge, where she could drop the pretense. The charade was tiring, especially as her heart betrayed her by believing it might be real.

His jealousy and their heated kiss replayed in her mind, stirring conflicting emotions. Her cheeks reddened when she remembered how they went further. She hadn’t known that a man could do that to a woman. She pressed her thighs together as a sweet ache pulsed in her sex.

Music was her rebellion, the one part of her life she controlled. But with every note, guilt weighed heavy—her compositions paid for her father’s mounting debts.

Even though Oliver seemed kinder of late, she couldn’t ask for his help. Independence, even in marriage, mattered more than ever. Still, she dreaded the day he would discover just how far her passion for music had taken her.

“What would he think if he knew who I really was?” she whispered to herself, even as her fingers danced over the black and ivory keys.

When the house fell silent, and Oliver was away, Alexandra played with abandon. The music gave her peace, passion, and purpose, reminding her who she truly was.

Oliver, meanwhile, couldn’t stop thinking about Alexandra. He had kissed countless women, but none had left him feeling so undone. Now that he had a taste of her, he wanted more . It was a challenge he was willing to undertake, a puzzle he was willing to solve.

Her willingness during their kiss had ignited something primal in him, yet she had since retreated behind a wall he couldn’t penetrate. Her mysterious behavior fed his curiosity and gnawed at his patience.

Oliver threw himself into estate management to distract himself. He oversaw his countryside holdings, boxed to release his frustration, and hunted with determination. Yet, even in the fields, Alexandra lingered in his thoughts.

Her excuse for avoiding him—that she was indisposed —felt like a slap to the face. They had been the subject of gossip at the ball, but now she refused to even go on their morning strolls.

The world moved on, yet Oliver couldn’t shake the feeling that something between them had shifted.

She was slipping further away, just when he thought they had bonded physically.

And what was worse, he didn’t know how to pull her back.

Perhaps nothing had changed, and they weren’t meant to be anything more.

A few days later, Oliver decided that enough was enough. His wife was avoiding him, but it did not mean that he had to avoid her, as well.

He came home earlier than usual, hoping to spend more time with her before supper. They could not simply talk about paltry things over food and wine.

A part of him had been expecting the music that welcomed him. The faint, haunting notes drifted down the hallway. He followed the melody to the music room, like a hungry child after the Pied Piper.

Through a crack in the door, he glimpsed his wife sitting at the piano. She was not just playing, but she was also being played by the music. Swayed by it. Her fingers glided smoothly over the keys.

The sight rooted him to the spot, as he did not dare breathe lest he broke the spell.

Alexandra played a beautiful yet unfamiliar tune. How could that be? Oliver, having been brought up in a noble family, had prided himself on knowing the latest pieces. This piece was so exquisitely composed that he could not believe it had not been played at the most famous parties.

Admiration bloomed in his chest as he continued to watch and listen to the complexity of his wife.

When the music stopped, Alexandra’s eyes fluttered open. It was a slow process, as if she was coming out of a dream. And it was like that for her. She would dive into a new world each time she played her compositions.

The first thing she saw was the tall man peeking through the door. He stood there, looking just as surprised as she was. Instead of the smirk she’d expected from him, he wore an apologetic expression. He had been caught watching, but she had been caught baring her soul.

“Your Grace,” she breathed in greeting.

Flushed, she hastily reached for her sheet music. She stood up and shoved it in a drawer, her heart breaking as the edges were creased. He did not need to see what she was doing—could not see the correction marks on the notes.

“Why did you stop?” Oliver asked gently.

His eyes, on the other hand, seemed to bore into hers. He truly wanted to know more about her, but she didn’t think she was ready.

“It was nothing, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper, formality dividing them again as if they were meeting for the first time.

“Nothing?” he echoed, stepping into the room, his eyes fixed on the drawer where she kept her sheet music. “It did not sound like nothing. We both know you have a gift, but I am now fully realizing the passion you have for music. Please let me hear you play some more.”

Panicked, Alexandra lowered her gaze to the floor. Suddenly, the lines on the marble had become more fascinating. “It’s just a pastime, Your Grace.”

“Did your mother have you taught to play the pianoforte or did she teach you herself?” Oliver asked, his voice was cautious, just like his approach.

Alexandra was surprised by his questions. She thought he would insist that she play immediately, or demand if she’d been having more lessons with John Prescott.

“My mother insisted that I be taught how to play. She said it was a way of expressing emotions when words were not enough.” Her face softened, and for a moment, she did not care if her husband saw her vulnerability. “She was right.”

Silence fell between them. This time, Alexandra did not mind. For some reason, Oliver’s presence did not rattle her. Instead, it comforted her.

So, she let the silence stretch on and fill the void left by the music.

“My mother wanted me to learn how to play, as well. Not for artistic reasons as your mother did, but because she found it rather fashionable,” Oliver suddenly said. “However, my father believed that music was a pastime for the weak.” He smiled wryly. “He only encouraged practical pursuits—even violent ones. Everything was better than having his son sit and play music.”

The two fell silent again, watching each other from time to time. Assessing. Finding clues in each other’s movements.

Alexandra realized that she had missed his presence. She had thought that he would stay by her side and try to make sense of the kiss.

But, no, it was not like that at all.

She had to admit that she was disappointed when he threw himself into managing his estate and his hobbies. She should have been relieved, she reminded herself, but she was not. Instead, she had listened for the sounds of his footfalls at night. She could have sworn they stopped near her door at midnight, but she could have been imagining things.

“You know, Duchess,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “I initially thought you were avoiding me. Now, I believe you are hiding something.”

Alexandra turned slowly, forcing a smile that she hoped would mask her inner turmoil. “Hiding? Whatever would I have to hide from you, Your Grace? You know the darkness in me. You know the worst of me—my father’s debts…”

She enunciated each word carefully, trying not to waver, even as she grew hot whenever she remembered where his lips and tongue had been. She licked her lips—almost unconsciously.

“I do not know yet, but I intend to find out,” he declared, and the threat felt delicious as he stared at her lips.

Alexandra wondered if she could do to him what he did to her.

No, she shouldn’t think about it.

“Perhaps it is best to leave some things alone, Your Grace,” she said primly, although other words wanted to escape her lips.

This time, a hint of vulnerability slipped through even though she tried to maintain her composure. He made it worse by stepping closer, so close that she could feel his warmth and smell the subtle hint of sandalwood on his skin.

“I have the rest of my life to solve the mystery that you are, wife.”

The finality of his words startled Alexandra. She could hear the truth in them. He would not stop until he found out what she was hiding. Which meant that she was running out of time.

Without a warning, he reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb gently stroking the tender skin beneath her eye. “Dance with me,” he demanded, his voice gentle yet commanding.

“How? Here?” she asked, wondering how it could be possible. “Nobody will be playing music for us.”

Alexandra reasoned that to refuse would be to draw even more suspicion. But was it all that it was? She was committing to a dangerous game.

“Yes. I know you have music in your head,” he said, almost purring.

Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his, feeling the callouses on his palm that spoke of hours of boxing.

His answer rattled her. Did he not know anything at all, or was he playing a game of cat and mouse?

His grip on her hand tightened slightly, pulling her closer until their bodies brushed against each other with every step. Alexandra tried to focus on the rhythm he had started—a silent one punctuated by the thudding of her heart—but she couldn’t.

“Tell me,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “What is it that you fear so much? Do you think about what happened in the opera house?”

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “It is… complicated.”

“And the kiss?” he asked, his voice dropping suggestively, making it clear that he wasn’t talking about just the kiss.

“I never thought about it,” she lied.

For some reason, he looked as if he believed her. Oliver suddenly untangled himself from her and left her standing there, wondering what happened.

She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart. She needed to prepare, to steel herself for what was to come. Oliver was getting closer to the truth, and she didn’t know what he was seeking.

Becoming more intimate with her. Or finding out if she had anything to do with J. Lewis.

She was indeed running out of time.