Page 5 of The Duke’s Duet

In the hushed darkness of midnight, Harper's fingers moved across the pianoforte keys, experimenting with the passage that had caused such heated debate during their rehearsal. Miss Piper's words echoed in his mind - "Music must breathe, Your Grace. It must live and feel..."

He tried the phrase again, this time allowing himself more freedom with the tempo. The notes seemed to float in the air, carrying an emotional weight he'd never permitted them before. It was... unsettling. Like opening a door he'd kept firmly locked for many years.

"Impossible woman," he muttered, though there was no heat in the words.

Instead, he found himself remembering the flash of passion in her amber eyes when she argued her interpretations, the graceful sweep of her throat as she demonstrated a particular phrase, the way her entire being seemed to light up when she sang.

The music under his fingers shifted without conscious thought, becoming something darker, more passionate. He recognised the dangerous path his thoughts were taking and forced his hands to still.

"Will there be anything else, Your Grace?"

Harper started at Simmons's quiet voice. He hadn't heard the butler approach - a sign of how distracted he'd become.

"No, thank you. Though..." He hesitated. "I trust that the household understands that my late-night practicing is not a topic for discussion?"

"Of course, Your Grace." Simmons's face remained carefully neutral, though Harper thought he detected a hint of sympathy in the old butler's eyes. "The staff are quite discrete about Your Grace's musical pursuits. As they have always been."

The gentle reminder of years of loyal service helped ease something in Harper's chest.

"Thank you, Simmons. That will be all."

Alone again, Harper closed the pianoforte lid with exquisite care. He should go to bed - he had business to attend to in the morning, duties that required a clear head. Yet he found himself wandering to the window instead, staring out at the moonlit garden while his mind circled endlessly around the problem of Miss Piper.

She was nothing like the women his mother usually paraded before him - no simpering debutante concerned only with fashion and status. Instead, she challenged him, pushed him, demanded that he be true to the music and, by extension, to himself. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.

*****

The next morning found Harper at his club, attempting to focus on the business matters that had piled up during his recent preoccupation with the concerts, and by extension, on the men he needed to spend time talking to.

The familiar surroundings of White's should have been soothing - the leather chairs worn to perfect comfort, the muted conversations of other gentlemen, the subtle scent of fine tobacco and even finer brandy. Instead, he found himself reading the same letter three times without absorbing its contents.

"Well, if it isn't our musical Duke!" Harper suppressed a groan as Lord Pembroke dropped into the chair opposite him. His old friend's eyes danced with barely suppressed amusement. "I must say, Brightwood, you've been the talk of the ton these past few days. Who would have thought you'd finally display your talents so publicly?"

"Hardly by choice," Harper replied drily. "Sometimes necessity dictates actions we would prefer to avoid."

"Oh? Was it necessity that had you watching Miss Piper so intently during her performance? Or perhaps it was necessity that made you follow her movements with such... appreciation?"

Harper set his papers aside with deliberate care, fighting to keep his expression neutral.

"I was merely ensuring that our performance met the standards expected of a Brightwood House event."

"Indeed?" Pembroke leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Then you'll be pleased to know that your... standards... were the talk of Lady Jersey's musical evening last night. Several young ladies were quite passionate in their praise of your performance. Lady Harriet was particularly enthusiastic."

The mention of Lady Harriet - one of his mother's favourite candidates for his future Duchess - should have interested him. Instead, Harper found himself remembering how Miss Piper's eyes had flashed when he'd suggested adhering strictly to the written tempo.

"The concert achieved its purpose," he said carefully. "The veterans' fund benefited considerably."

"Ah yes, charity. Such a noble cause." Pembroke's knowing smile suggested he wasn't fooled. "And the subsequent concerts will no doubt be equally... beneficial."

"If you have something to say, Charles, pray say it directly."

Pembroke glanced around, ensuring that they were private, then spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness.

"Very well. You're playing a dangerous game, Harper. Miss Piper may be a talented musician, but she's not of our world. The ton will tolerate your performing together for charity, but anything more would be... problematic."

"There is nothing more." The words tasted like ashes. "We are collaborating artists, nothing else."

"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.

"Shall we try the passage in question?"

As they worked through the music, Harper found himself increasingly aware of how Miss Piper approached each challenge. She would isolate difficult passages, working them over and over with painstaking attention to detail. Yet unlike many technically skilled performers, she never lost sight of the emotional heart of the piece.

When she struggled with a particularly complex section, her frustration was evident in the tight line of her shoulders, the way that she pressed her lips together. Without thinking, he rose from the pianoforte.

"Allow me to demonstrate something."

She stepped aside, and he took her position, acutely aware of her watching him. The passage in question was one he knew well - he'd practiced it countless times in the privacy of his study. Singing was another thing that he did well – and that his father had disapproved of him demonstrating more than a passing interest in. So it, like pianoforte, was something that he had studied in private. Now, forgetting himself in the music, he let his voice soar through the intricate runs, adding subtle ornamentations that he'd never dared display before.

Only when the last note faded did he remember himself. He turned to find Miss Piper staring at him, her eyes wide with something that looked suspiciously like admiration.

"Your Grace," she breathed, "that was... extraordinary. Why do you hide such talent? Why did you never mention to me that you could sing so well?"

The question struck him like a physical blow. Why indeed? His father's voice echoed in his memory – ‘A Duke does not perform like a common musician’ - but somehow, now, the words held less power than they once had.

"The technique is simply a matter of practice," he said, deflecting her questions.

"No." She stepped closer, her eyes intent on his face. "It's not just technique. You understand the music - truly understand it. You feel it, as I do. Why do you fight so hard against showing that?"

He should step away. Should remind her of their respective positions. Should maintain the proper distance between them. Instead, he found himself meeting her searching gaze.

"Perhaps," he said softly, "because feeling too deeply can be dangerous."

The words hung between them, weighted with meaning that went far beyond music. Miss Piper's eyes darkened with understanding, and Harper watched, fascinated, as a flush crept up her neck to stain her cheeks.

"Sometimes," she replied, her voice equally soft, "the most dangerous things are also the most worthwhile."

The air seemed to thicken, making it difficult to breathe. They stood too close - close enough that he could see the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes, could track the rapid pulse beating at the base of her throat. If he moved just slightly, he could...

A clock chimed somewhere in the house, shattering the moment. Harper stepped back, his heart thundering in his chest. What madness had almost overtaken him?

"We should continue with the rehearsal," he said, his voice rougher than he'd like. "There are several more pieces to review."

Miss Piper's face showed disappointment for just a moment before she schooled her features.

"Of course, Your Grace. Though..." She hesitated, then lifted her chin with that challenging look which he was coming to know too well. "I hope that you won't try to hide your true musicianship again. It would be a shame to waste such... feeling."

The way that she caressed that last word sent heat coursing through his veins. Dangerous indeed, he thought as they resumed their positions. But as they began the next piece, he found himself watching her move with the music, and wondering if some dangers might be worth the risk after all.