Page 3 of The Duke’s Duet

Harper's fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted his cuffs, a betrayal of nerves he hadn't experienced since his first military command. Through the partially open door of the music room, he could hear the swish of expensive silk, the murmur of cultured voices, the quiet laughter of the ton at their ease.

His audience.

The thought sent a shiver of something between terror and rebellion down his spine.

Every instinct urged him to flee, to manufacture some excuse that would allow him to escape this public display. His father's voice echoed in his memory: "A Duke commands respect through dignity and reserve, never through exhibition."

But the old Duke was gone, and Harper's carefully constructed walls were about to crumble before society's searching gaze.

The Dowager Duchess appeared in the doorway, resplendent in deep purple silk that rustled with her every movement. The amethysts at her throat caught the candlelight, throwing purple shadows across her determined face.

"Brightwood, the Earl of Westfield has just arrived with his sister. Lady Harriet was most impressed to hear that you would be performing."

"Was she indeed?" Harper's voice emerged more sharply than he'd intended, his nerves making him forget himself for a moment. "How fortunate that my unexpected public display provides such entertainment."

"There is no need for that tone." His mother's voice held warning, but also an undertone of concern that made him feel ashamed of his outburst. "I came to inform you that Miss Piper awaits. You should escort her to the ballroom yourself - it will show the proper respect for her art."

Harper's retort died on his lips as he caught sight of Miss Piper through the doorway. The transformation stole his breath and scattered his carefully prepared arguments like leaves in an autumn wind.

Gone was the practical young woman from their earlier meeting, with her direct gaze and challenging words.

In her place stood an elegant performer in a gown of deep blue silk that caught the light with every breath she took. Her dark hair was swept up in an arrangement of complicated curls, with a few artful tendrils framing her face in a way that made his fingers itch to brush them back.

But it was more than the outer changes that caught and held his attention. She held herself differently now, radiating a quiet confidence that drew the eye and commanded attention without asking for it.

This was a woman who knew her worth, who understood her gift, and who would share that gift on her own terms.

As he approached, she turned, and their eyes met. The amber depths of her gaze held the same determination he felt, but also something more - a challenge, a question, a possibility that made his heart beat faster despite his best intentions. Whatever their differences, they would make this work. They had to.

"Miss Piper." He bowed over her hand, noting the slight tremor in her fingers that belied her calm expression. The touch, brief as it was, sent awareness shooting through him like lightning. "If you would permit me to escort you?"

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Her voice was warm and rich, even in those few words, and Harper found himself wondering how he had failed to notice that quality during their earlier clash. Or perhaps he had noticed, and that was why he had fought so hard against her approach to music - because he had sensed, even then, how dangerous she could be to his carefully maintained control.

As they entered the ballroom, a subtle hush fell over the assembled guests. Harper felt the weight of every eye upon them, could almost hear the whispers beginning. His spine stiffened automatically, years of training rising to meet the scrutiny. Let them talk - he was a Duke, and they could hardly criticise him for participating in a charitable endeavour. Yet even as he thought it, he knew that the ton would find something to criticise. They always did.

But then he caught sight of Captain Winters, standing proudly despite his cane, and something in his chest eased. The Captain's face showed only respect and gratitude, without a trace of the judgment Harper had feared to find. This was not about him, or about society's expectations. This was about doing what was right.

Lord Pembroke caught his eye from the front row and gave a slight nod of approval. His old friend's support helped steady him further, though the knowing glint in Pembroke's eye when he glanced between Harper and Miss Piper was somewhat unsettling.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Dowager Duchess addressed the assembled crowd, her voice carrying effortlessly through the space, "welcome to the first of our charity concerts in aid of our brave veterans. We are honoured to present Miss Melody Piper, accompanied by..." she paused almost imperceptibly, a pause that probably only Harper noticed, "His Grace, the Duke of Brightwood."

Harper settled himself at the pianoforte, breathing deeply as his fingers found their position above the keys. It felt different somehow, knowing that others would hear him play. The polished wood seemed to mock him, reflecting the crystal gleam of the chandeliers, the expectant faces of the audience.

This was the moment that his father had warned him about, the moment where a Duke might forget his dignity and become mere entertainment.

Miss Piper took her position, and he forced himself to focus only on the music before him. The first notes emerged from the pianoforte with mechanical precision, each exactly as written, each perfectly timed. Cold. Lifeless. His father would have approved.

Then Miss Piper began to sing, and Harper's world tilted on its axis.

Her voice was extraordinary — rich and powerful, yet capable of the most delicate expression. But more than that, it was alive in a way that made his careful playing seem like a pale shadow of what music could be. She pushed against his rigid tempo, trying to draw more emotion from the piece, and he found himself struggling to maintain his controlled interpretation even as something deep within him yearned to follow where she led.

The tension between them vibrated through the air like a plucked string. He could sense the audience's collective unease, could feel their attention shifting from appreciation to concern. This would not do. They could not afford to fail — not with so much riding on the success of these concerts. As they approached the middle section that they had discussed earlier, Harper made a swift decision which would have horrified his father. He would bend, just a little, just enough to meet her part way.

As he allowed more flexibility into his playing, he felt her respond immediately. Her voice soared through the melody with newfound freedom, and suddenly they were creating something entirely unexpected. The music flowed between them like a conversation without words, each adapting to the other's interpretation until they found a middle ground that somehow elevated the piece beyond either of their original concepts.

Against his will, Harper found himself drawn into the performance, caught up in the pure joy of creating music with someone who understood it as he did. His careful masks began to slip as his fingers moved across the keys with increasing confidence.

He forgot about the audience, forgot about his father's disapproval, forgot everything but the way that Miss Piper's voice wrapped around his accompaniment like silk around steel.

When she took a particularly daring liberty with the tempo, his hands followed without conscious thought, supporting her interpretation as if they had rehearsed it a hundred times. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing phrase, until he could almost anticipate her next breath, her next subtle variation.

As the piece built towards its climax, Harper found himself stealing glances at her, entranced by the way that she seemed to glow from within, transformed by the music they created together. A strand of her hair had come loose from its careful arrangement, curling against her neck in a way that made him long to...

When the final notes faded, there was a moment of absolute silence. Harper held his breath, his heart pounding as if he'd run for miles. Then applause erupted, far more enthusiastic than mere politeness would demand. He turned slightly to see Miss Piper's reaction and found her looking at him with an expression of surprised respect that probably mirrored his own. More than respect – there was a spark of something dangerous in those amber eyes, something that made him want to forget who and what he was.

There was no time to dwell on it, however, as they moved directly into the next piece. This time, he found himself less resistant to her interpretation, allowing his own hidden passion for the music to emerge. Each piece they performed grew stronger than the last, their initial antagonism transforming into something that felt dangerously like intimacy.

During the brief intermission, Harper rose from the pianoforte to get a glass of water, his hands shaking slightly from more than mere exertion. The Dowager Duchess intercepted him before he could reach the refreshments.

"Well done, Brightwood," she murmured, pressing a glass into his hand. Her knowing look made him uncomfortable. "Though I detect some... tension between you and Miss Piper?"

"We have differing views on musical interpretation, Mother."

He tried to keep his voice neutral, though the heat in his cheeks betrayed him.

"Yet you seem to be finding common ground." Her eyes held that penetrating look he remembered from childhood – the one that always saw too much. "The audience is quite captivated. Though perhaps not as captivated as you appear to be."

Before he could form a suitably cutting response, Simmons appeared to inform them that the intermission was ending. As he returned to the pianoforte, he caught sight of Miss Piper deep in conversation with Lord Pembroke. Something hot and unfamiliar curled in his chest at the sight of Pembroke's appreciative gaze following her movements. The feeling only intensified when she laughed at something his friend said, her face lighting up in a way that made her beauty almost unbearable.

Pushing the unwelcome emotion aside, Harper settled himself for the second half. This time, when his fingers touched the keys, he felt none of the earlier resistance. Instead, he found himself anticipating Miss Piper's interpretive choices, matching his accompaniment to her style while still maintaining the essential structure of the music. It was like a dance, he realised, one where they were learning the steps as they went along.

When they reached the final piece — the most challenging aria in their program — Harper felt an unexpected surge of confidence. As Miss Piper's voice soared through the complex passages, he supported her with a delicacy that would have astonished his old music master. The piece built to its climax, their collaboration now so complete that it felt almost effortless. Almost intimate.

The last note hung in the air like a star, perfect and bright, before fading into silence. This time, the applause began immediately, accompanied by calls of ‘Bravo!’ from several corners of the room. Harper rose and bowed, then turned to acknowledge Miss Piper, who curtsied deeply, her cheeks flushed with triumph. Their eyes met across the space between them, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

There was something in her gaze that called to him, that made him want to cross the distance between them, propriety be damned.

"Brightwood!" His mother's voice shattered the moment. "Captain Winters wishes to speak with you."

*****

Melody stood in the small antechamber off the ballroom, pressing her hands against her heated cheeks. Her heart still raced from the performance, from the unexpected thrill of creating music with someone who, despite his rigid approach, clearly understood its power. Despite all her initial misgivings, despite their clash of styles, something magical had happened on that stage. Something dangerous.

She could still feel the way that her skin had tingled every time she caught him watching her, the way her breath had caught when he finally let go of his rigid control and truly played. The music had flowed between them like a living thing, building connections that had nothing to do with proper behaviour and everything to do with the way her heart had leaped every time their eyes met.

The door opened, and she turned to find the Duke entering. He had lost some of his marble-statue perfection during the performance - his cravat was slightly askew, and a lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead. The sight made her heart skip in a way that had nothing to do with musical appreciation and everything to do with how much she longed to reach up and brush that wayward lock back into place.

"Miss Piper." His voice was cool again, all traces of their musical connection apparently forgotten, though something flickered in those storm-grey eyes when she met his gaze. "I must speak with you about your... interpretation."

"Must you?" The words emerged more sharply than she'd intended, frustration rising at his attempt to rebuild the walls between them. "I would have thought the audience's response spoke for itself."

"The audience's enthusiasm does not excuse taking such liberties with the music."

But his voice lacked conviction, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as her.

"Liberties?" She stepped closer, forgetting for a moment that he was a Duke and she merely a music master's daughter. "What you call liberties, I call breathing life into notes that would otherwise lie dead on the page. You felt it yourself - I know you did. When you finally allowed yourself to truly play..."

"That is precisely my point." His grey eyes had turned stormy, and he took a step toward her. "You pulled me into your interpretation, forced me to abandon the composer's intentions—"

"The composer's intentions were to move people's hearts! Or did you not hear the tears in Lady Harriet's voice when she thanked me? Did you not see Captain Winters brush his eyes? Did you not feel it yourself, when you finally let go of your precious control?"

"Emotion without discipline becomes mere sentiment."

But he had moved closer still, close enough that she could see the flecks of silver in his eyes, could catch the subtle scent of sandalwood that clung to his coat.

"And discipline without emotion becomes mere mathematics!"

Her voice had dropped to barely more than a whisper, though whether from anger or from their dangerous proximity, she couldn't have said.

They stood too close now, the air between them charged with something that had nothing to do with their artistic differences. Melody's breath caught as she realised how improper this was, but she couldn't seem to step away.

The Duke's gaze dropped to her lips, and for one wild moment she thought he might...

"I see that you two are discussing the performance."

They sprang apart as the Dowager Duchess entered the room, and Melody dropped into a curtsey, her cheeks burning, while the Duke stepped back so hastily he nearly collided with a chair.

"Mother, we were merely—"

"Analysing your artistic differences?" The Duchess's tone was dry, but her eyes were sharp as she looked between them. "Well, you shall have ample opportunity to resolve them. The audience was quite enchanted by your performance together. So much so that I have already received several inquiries about the next concert."

"The next..."

Harper's voice faltered, and Melody's heart lurched at the thought. More performances with the Duke? More opportunities to draw that hidden passion from behind his mask? The idea was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Indeed. I have just assured Lady Jersey that you will both be performing at all remaining concerts in the series."

Melody watched the Duke's face as he struggled with his response. Something fierce and beautiful had emerged in him during their performance, something he clearly both yearned for and feared. She found herself holding her breath, waiting to see which side of him would win.

He turned to her suddenly, those storm-grey eyes intense.

"Miss Piper, would you be willing to endure more of my... rigid interpretation?"

The question held layers of meaning that made her breath catch.

"Only if you are willing to endure more of my... liberties, Your Grace."

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes - a heat that had nothing to do with music and everything to do with the way they stood, still too close for propriety. Then his careful mask slipped back into place, though not quite as perfectly as before.

"Then I believe that we must practice. Extensively."

The words were proper enough, but his tone sent a shiver down her spine that was equal parts anticipation and fear. This partnership would either be her greatest triumph or her complete undoing.

She watched him leave the room, his straight spine and measured stride a study in control, even as the memory of his passionate playing belied that careful facade. What would it take, she wondered, to make him forget his precious control completely? And more importantly, what would happen to her heart when he did?