Winston opened his mouth to reply but no words came. Adeline fought to keep her eyes upon his. The temptation to look at his magnificent nakedness was akin to that which had assailed Orpheus.
He did not have an answer. He sat next to her, his body thudding to the bench as though his strength had left him.
“In answer to your question. It is a tune I associate with… bad memories,” he said.
Her fingers stilled. The melody died. She turned her face to him, near enough that she could see the fine lines of fatigue around his eyes and the pulse in his throat.
“Then I will not play it again. I would never purposely cause you pain.”
The bench was narrow, their arms brushed. The contact was slight, accidental, yet it jolted through her like lightning. He nodded, mouth twitching in a smile but one of infinite sadness. For the first time, Adeline wondered what inner turmoil he hid. Surely, his life was comfortable and always had been.
But mine was not. Yet an outside observer would say so.
He glanced at her, and she looked away, flushing at being caught staring. She looked at the keys, seeing that he had not looked away. He continued to gaze at her. When she glanced back, she saw that his eyes had moved to her lips. The power of those eyes almost made her murmur at the pleasure that rampaged through her. To stare at her lips was to contemplate a kiss. To remember the kiss they had already shared.
She could feel the unbearable tension in his stillness, the way his hands rested on the piano, fingers seeming to anchor him as though to prevent him from placing them elsewhere. The way his chest rose and fell a little too quickly.
“Adeline…” His voice was low.
He reached out, meaning to touch her hand, but his fingers brushed the inside of her wrist instead.
She turned towards him fully, their faces only inches apart. The lamplight caught in her eyes, reflecting the heat sparking between them. For a heartbeat, Adeline forgot her past. Forgot from what she was running. All that remained was the unbearable urge to close the distance between them.
Her breath mingled with his. She did not pull away. He leaned closer.
“Papa!”
Louisa burst into the room like a sunbeam, cheeks pink from running.
“There you are!”
She stopped short at the sight of them on the bench, though her bright eyes missed entirely the taut silence she had shattered.
“Oh! Adeline, how superb. Play the sunshine song,” Louisa implored. “Please, just once more.”
Adeline drew back, steadying herself with a small smile, fingers falling to the keys as if nothing at all had happened. Winston sat rigid, every muscle tight. Did his skin tingle as hers did where they had come together? The moment slipped through her fingers like smoke, leaving a sense of frustration and somethingperilously close to longing. Louisa clapped along to the lively tune, delighted and unaware.
Chapter Twelve
Winston woke with a start, the dawn light piercing through the curtains to spear his open eyes. His heart was pounding, and his breath shallow. The dream had already begun to dissolve into fragments. All he remembered was Adeline, her lips parted as though for a kiss, her eyes luminous in lamplight. Pale fingers trembled just above the keys of the piano. He had leaned toward her, impossibly close, until…
He cursed under his breath and swung his legs from the bed. To dream of her was one thing; to wake with the taste of longing still bitter on his tongue was intolerable. He was a man who prided himself on control, on keeping duty and discipline like a sword’s edge between himself and weakness. Yet one slip of a woman, a stranger still, threatened to undo it all.
I must remember that attachment is a weakness. I cannot afford to show weakness. Louisa cannot afford for me to be feeble.
His father had arranged Winston’s first marriage, and the wreckage of it lay heavy in the graves of Greystone. His first wife’s shadow haunted him still, a reminder that love, or something mistaken for it, could destroy more than one life.
What if Adeline suffers a similar fate? If I become attached or worse, if Louisa becomes attached, the result will be devastation.
The thought hollowed him with dread. Louisa could not afford such grief. Her infancy had spared her the grief that lay on Winston like a yoke. He could not allow her to be exposed to that risk. She would be happy and ignorant of death. He yanked the bell for his valet, pacing as he waited. He would not indulge this folly. Adeline Wilkinson was a governess only temporarily. Once Briarwood was restored, his mother would want her Lady-In-Waiting back. Better to avoid attachment now than grieve later.
By the time his valet entered, Winston’s mood was set. He was unyielding as granite.
I should take breakfast up here. Avoid Adeline.
The idea was firmly rejected as he dressed in silence, jaw tight. To hide there, to skulk away because of her, would be cowardly. He was Duke of Greystone. He would not be driven from his own table by any woman. The second, but most important reason that he could not hide away came through the door with her usual whirlwind. Louisa skipped in, a burst of energy and sunshine. She had always come for him each morning, her small hand slipping into his. It belonged there.
“Papa, come! You are dawdling. Cook says the rolls are hot.”
