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“Who taught you?”

Was this some kind of trick? Lillian hesitated, as she pondered over the duke’s question, before eventually deciding the truth would reveal little of her background.

“My mother,” she answered, tilting her head so that she was looking the duke in the eye.

“Your mother,” he echoed, his expression unreadable.

After a moment of silence, which Lillian could not decipher, Thorncastle shrugged and offered her a grin.

“Might I trouble you to play something for me?” he asked. “There is one in the library, as I’m sure you know.”

Lillian, who had barely explored any of the house, nodded her head. “Of course,” she said, rising to stand. “Lead the way.”

The duke snatched his tumbler of brandy from the table and led the way from the parlour room to the library, which looked out upon the garden. The room was well lit, despite being unused, and a fire glowed in the grate.

The walls were lined with mahogany bookcases, which were empty of books. By the window stood a pianoforte, a Broadwood of gleaming mahogany.

Lillian walked towards it and pressed a few keys, quietly considering the notes as they broke the silence of the room.

“It has been recently tuned, I believe,” she said, as she pulled out the stool and settled herself down to play.

Thorncastle came to stand behind her; though he was silent, she was acutely aware of his presence.

“There is no sheet music,” she noted, as her fingers played out a few scales.

“That can be remedied tomorrow,” the duke answered. “Just play what you remember.”

What she remembered.

Lillian closed her eyes as she recalled her mother, who had passed when she was thirteen. Her memories of her were usually hazy, but in the quiet of the library, they were bright and brilliant.

Her soft voice, her long elegant fingers, her delight when Lillian mastered a complex piece - it was all so clear.

To Lillian’s surprise, she found herself close to tears. Determined not to betray herself before the duke, she squared her shoulders and urged her hands across the keys of the pianoforte.

Though she stumbled a few times and hit the wrong key - or completely forgot whole sections of a piece - Lillian was quite pleased by her performance. Without being urged, she began another piece and another, until she realised she had been dreamily playing for almost an hour.

“Forgive me,” she said, as she crashed back down to earth. “I quite forgot myself.”

She had also forgotten him, but did not think the duke would appreciate being told this.

She turned and her eyes found his. Her stomach flipped nervously, for she could not understand the dark tempest which brewed behind them.

“You play very well,” the duke offered, his tone formal. “I shall have some sheet music sent here tomorrow. Goodnight, Miss Smith - thank you for indulging my need for music.”

Goodnight? Was he leaving so soon?

Despite her earlier fear, Lillian felt a crashing wave of disappointment, as she realised the night would not end with Sebastian cradling her in his arms.

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she answered, disguising her hurt with a tone as formal as his own.

Thorncastle acknowledged this with a half-amused quirk of his cruel mouth.

“Until tomorrow,” he said, taking her hand and placing a chaste kiss upon the back of it.

Lillian did not trust herself to reply, such was the hurt and anger she felt, so she merely inclined her head and remained silent, as the duke left the room.

CHAPTER EIGHT