The duchess took a step in his direction. “All I’m trying to say is that complicated is not insurmountable. But only if you decide to overcome it.”
“Yes,” Derrick said softly, for there was nothing else to say.
She shook her head. “Don’t mind me, Mr. Huntington. I’m a romantic at heart and I like you. It makes me a bit more meddling than perhaps I should be.”
He forced a smile for her to ease her mind. “That you like me means a great deal, Your Grace. It’s obvious you’re an excellent judge of character. And I do appreciate, once again, all of your assistance and that of the duke.”
She held his gaze a beat, then inclined her head. “I should leave you to your work. If you’ll excuse me.”
He gave a slight bow. “Good day, Your Grace.”
She slipped from the room, leaving him alone once more. He moved to the window and stared out again at the stables and the training yard and the endless green grass of the grounds, but he hardly saw any of it now. Not when there was so much weighing on him. Selina’s glove. Selina’s heart. Selina, Selina, Selina.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, contemplating the complication of his life after meeting her, but eventually he was drawn from his reverie by the sound of music in the distance. He jerked his head toward the door. The music room was on the opposite side of the big house. So where was the sound coming from?
He closed his journal, tucked it in a drawer so that Barber wouldn’t find his list, and set out down the hall toward the sound. A few twists and turns, and he found a door that had been left ajar. The music came from behind it.
He pushed it open a fraction and drew in a breath. It was a small parlor, unused if the dust cloths over the furniture were any indication. The only thing uncovered was a pianoforte in the corner. Selina sat at it, her fingers moving over the keys gently, then passionately, then softly as she played a song he didn’t recognize.
He stood mesmerized for a moment, his hand dipping into his pocket, finding her incriminating glove. He stroked his fingers over it like he was caressing her skin.
How had it gotten in that room? What had Selina done? Or was this some kind of way to frame her? But to what end? What purpose?
She crashed her fingers over the keys again, and he felt the passion of her playing through every nerve of his being. He stepped closer and cleared his throat. “Selina.”
She jerked her head up, her fingers smashing on to the keys in a discordant note as she noticed him standing there. She leapt to her feet with a gasp of “Oh!”
He held up a hand. “Oh no, please don’t stop. You play beautifully.”
Color filled her cheeks and she broke her gaze from his as if she were shy. He’d never seen that little look from her before. Selina was normally so brave, so bold, so unapologetically herself.
“I suppose it is one of the few ladylike pursuits I have any grasp of,” she said, breathless and still not looking at him.
He paced a little closer, looking around. “What is this room?” he asked.
That blush deepened. “I believe it might have been the private parlor of Robert’s late mother. The last Duchess of Roseford.” Derrick raised his eyebrows and she bent her head. “Yes, I know she would hate me being here.”
“Why is that?” he pressed.
She shrugged. “I’m her husband’s by-blow. She would have surely despised me. Certainly she wouldn’t have wished for me to play her pianoforte.”
“Then why choose to play here?” he asked. “Why not go to the more public music room?”
“Because I didn’t want to exhibit,” she said with a huff of breath. “And that room is all about people hearing you play and watching you. Judging you. I just wanted to play for myself. For…for…”
“For what?” he pressed, reaching out to take her hand. It was softer than the damned and damning glove in his pocket.
She let out a shuddering sigh. “Atonement.”
He drew back a fraction. “What do you have to atone for?”
Her lips parted and she shook her head. “I don’t know. My existence? My life? My boldness?”
He let his eyes come shut for a moment. Whatever was troubling Selina, it was opening a door for him as an investigator. He ought to take that door without hesitation, but with her there was nothing clear-cut. He wasn’t just a man bent on finding the truth about the Faceless Fox. Not anymore. He was this woman’s lover. He was becoming more than that with every moment he spent with her.
The truth of that nearly set him back on his heels, but he managed to keep himself calm and in line. He had questions for her. And yes, those questions would help his investigation, perhaps. But he wanted to ask them for far more personal reasons. He wanted to ask them because he wanted to know her and understand her and protect her from whatever might come in a day or a week or a month.
“Selina,” he whispered.
