Having arrived at the manor after the tavern’s smoke and stale air, Wolfcrest felt somehow different. The house felt warmer and softer. When he entered the foyer, he got a whiff of lilacs and roses.
Does Daphne ever rest, or does she spend day and night furnishing this place with fresh vases of flowers?
He might have drunk some whiskey, but he wasn’t entirely ready to sleep. He wanted motivation that required no further thought. So, he strode toward his study but before he could reach the room, he heard something coming from across the main hall.
It was music.
It was not just any kind of fumbling and pattering over the keys. No, the sound was beautiful and haunting, carried by hands that were skilled and passionate. Yet, there was also melancholyin the tune. It ran deep through the melody. He could feel the despondency resounding in his chest.
No, this was no maid practicing a simple song she’d heard somewhere. It was someone who had trained on the pianoforte and was revealing much of her heart on the keys with practiced grace and perfection.
All his plans flew out the window. He paused and listened, following the source. The strains of sound drew him to the music room, which had been mostly abandoned recently. Its door was slightly ajar.
Quietly and surreptitiously, he opened the door just a little bit more to peek inside.
There, oblivious to his presence, sat Daphne at the piano forte. She wore a robe over her simple, dove-gray night gown. Her hair was mostly loose over her shoulders with only a few strands left pinned in place. Just as he had dared to envision earlier, his wife had allowed some of her long locks to fall out of place. He was entranced by the way the soft curls draped over her shoulders and caressed her neck.
She was completely lost to the music, her back ramrod straight but her head slightly bowed. Her fingers moved over the keys with ease, hitting the notes of a complex nocturne.
Mournful and emotional, it was not the sort of concerto a mother would have had her daughter trained to play for Society.
Adrian leaned against the doorframe, watching her fingers move across the keys. The way she let herself be lost in the music, so free, so unguarded, was mesmerizing. He knew she carried restraint like armor most of the time, yet here, every note betrayed emotion she never allowed anyone to see.
When the final chord lingered, he stepped inside quietly. “That was… remarkable.” His voice, soft and full of appreciation, broke the spell.
Daphne spun toward him, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide. Adrian noticed how quickly the flush of exertion fled her cheeks, leaving her pale. “You startled me, Your Grace! How long have you been there?”
“Long enough,” he said, eyes fixed on her, “to know you’ve been hiding a talent far more powerful than you let others see.”
“I have not hidden it,” she protested, cheeks warming. “I would have told you that I played earlier, but you never asked.”
He stepped closer, tilting his head, watching her like one might watch a flame: both alert and fascinated at the same time. “Hm… Why do I get the feeling that whenever something is personal, you fail to mention it unless forced to do as much?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s nothing. Just practice. A piece I know well.”
He shook his head. “Nothing? You poured yourself into it. Every note… it betrayed a depth of feeling I have not seen you show before. Yearning, courage… You think I would not see all these things? You think I could not hear all the desperation funneled into that performance?”
Daphne’s chest rose and fell more quickly now. Her composure was cracking, and a part of him wanted to lean closer, to see if she’d crumble or meet his gaze.
“You believe you know me after hearing just one song?” she asked, voice quiet, almost incredulous.
“I know enough to want more,” he murmured. “I want to see the fire you hide, even behind discipline and propriety.”
Her pulse was betraying her. He watched the slim line of her neck and saw how the thin skin convulsed as she tried to swallow. She was a paradox: fiercely controlled yet exposed in ways most would never notice.
Her fingers fidgeted at the knot on her robe. “It’s not so simple. You know nothing of what it is to live a life fenced in by rules, by expectations.”
“I know what it means to throw caution to the wind and disregard the rules,” he said, letting his hand hover just near her shoulder.
The lightest brush of his fingers would be plenty to send a shock of arousal flooding through his veins. Just being this close to her had already changed the air between them.
“You think yourself disciplined, untouchable, but even the most controlled flames can burn, Duchess. And I…I want to feel that fire.”
She bit her lip, drawing his attention immediately down to her lovely lips.
“How… I—I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, voice soft, unsteady.
“Then say nothing,” he murmured. “Just feel.”
