Page 16 of The Duke’s Duet

"Then why have you been staring at that same letter for the past quarter hour? And why do your fingers keep tapping out the rhythm of that piece she sang?"

Harper stilled his betraying fingers, cursing inwardly at his lack of control.

"You're imagining things."

"Am I? I saw how you played together, old friend. I've known you since Eton and Oxford - I've never seen you so... alive."

The observation struck uncomfortably close to home. Harper had felt more alive during that performance than he had in years, as if something long dormant had awakened in his soul. But such feelings were dangerous - he had responsibilities, duties, expectations to fulfil.

"The music was... satisfactory," he said stiffly. "Miss Piper is a skilled performer, despite her somewhat unconventional approach."

"Satisfactory?" Pembroke laughed. "My dear fellow, I've seen more restrained performances in opera houses in Paris! The way you responded to each other, the passion in the music..."

"Enough." Harper's voice held an edge that made several nearby gentlemen glance their way. He moderated his tone with effort. "Your imagination runs wild, Charles. There is nothing between Miss Piper and myself, beyond a professional arrangement for these concerts."

"If you say so." Pembroke rose, his expression sympathetic. "But perhaps you should tell that to your face when you speak of her. You're not nearly as unaffected as you pretend to be."

Left alone, Harper stared unseeing at his correspondence.

Pembroke's words had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Was he truly so transparent? Had others noticed his inappropriate fascination with Miss Piper?

The thought was deeply troubling. He had spent years crafting his public persona - the proper Duke, serious and responsible, focused solely on his duties to his title and his family. He could not allow one passionate performer with amber eyes and a voice like warm honey to destroy that careful facade.

No matter how much his heart yearned to hear her sing again.

*****

The afternoon sun slanted through the music room windows, catching the dust motes that danced in the air and turning them to gold. Harper watched, privately fascinated, as Miss Piper bent over her score, making yet another tiny notation in the margin. Her dark hair caught the light, revealing hints of auburn that he'd never noticed before.

She had arrived for their rehearsal precisely on time, armed with sheaves of music that already bore evidence of careful study. Now, an hour into their session, he found himself increasingly drawn to the way that she approached each piece - not just with technical skill, but with an almost scholarly attention to detail.

"Here," she said, tapping a particular passage, seemingly unaware of how he'd been studying her. "The composer's note suggests melancholy, but if you look at the letters he wrote during this period, he had just become betrothed. Surely that colours the emotional interpretation?"

Harper moved closer, oddly pleased by this evidence of her research.

"You've studied his correspondence?"

"Of course." She glanced up, and he caught his breath at her proximity. "How can we truly understand the music if we don't understand the man who wrote it? His joys, his sorrows, his hopes..."

Her voice trailed off as their eyes met. Something electric crackled in the air between them, making Harper acutely aware of every detail - the faint flush rising in her cheeks, the way that her lips parted slightly, the subtle scent of lavender that clung to her skin.

He cleared his throat and stepped back.

"Your dedication to your art is... admirable."

"But you still disagree with my interpretation?"

"I..." He paused, surprising himself with the realisation that he didn't disagree. "Actually, your argument has merit. Though perhaps we might find a middle ground between strict tempo and complete emotional abandon?"

The smile that lit her face was like sunrise breaking through clouds.

"Your Grace, I do believe that's the first time you've admitted I might be right about anything."

"Don't become too triumphant, Miss Piper. I merely said your argument had merit, not that I surrendered completely to your musical philosophy."

"Yet."

The tiny word held volumes of meaning, accompanied by a challenging lift of her eyebrow that made his pulse quicken. To cover his reaction, he moved to the pianoforte.