Page 26 of To Ensnare a Duke

She bustles in, her face bright and happy as with most mornings. Once she sets the chocolate on the table, she goes about picking out my clothes for the day.

I take a sip, emotion clogging my throat. "I don't believe I apologized for the other day."

"Miss," she giggles, turning and flashing me a large grin. "I do believe we managed to escape with no harm done. I have not heard a word from the butler. Knowing him and his penchant for order, he would not tarry to perform some sort of discipline on me."

"So, you are well then?"

"Fret not, Miss. I am right as," she giggles and points to the window. "Well, rain, Miss."

I let my breath out in a whoosh and take another sip. "Still though, for my part in the events, I do apologize. It was never my intention for you to get into trouble."

"Cannot be helped, Miss. The stalls were far more crowded than usual. We were pressed in and about at every turn. I only regret that I was unable to keep you by my side. For that, I am truly sorry. I had one task, and it was one I failed." Her lips turn down for a moment as her fingers pause in their duty.

Blast. Now I feel worse again. Rising, I go over to her and grip her hand, giving her my brightest smile. "No harm. I am well. You are well. Portswell seems to no longer be on a rampage. Come, let us find some occupation for me."

Her smile returns, easing the tight band around my heart. "I have heard mention that you may have callers in the next few days and weeks. Perhaps brushing up on your skills would not go amiss?"

Just like that, all happiness evaporates. I don't want scores of suitors knocking down my door. I only want one. Unfortunately, he does not want me. A conundrum indeed. But still, I must play the part, looking every inch the eager debutant.

All the while, I'll bide my time, sneaking out unawares, until I find the key to unlock Portswell's lips. He will propose to me. Of that, I'm certain. But how to make him want to do it… That indeed is the question that pounds away at my skull at every turn.

Sunlight streams into the parlor, illuminating the furniture and instruments. Off in the corner, my aunt slumbers, her soft snores punctuating the sounds of the keys. How easy would it be to duck out and be free? Yet, after the latest infraction, I don't dare get caught unawares in the daytime anymore.

No. I must act like a good little omega and practice at things which have no real bearing on life. Honestly, what good does knowing music and art do? And needlepoint? Such a mindless time waster. If it were really all that important to be skilled at such things, the men would do them as well.

But they don't. They learn things like history, politics, and in some cases, even a trade. Slumping forward, I pluck at the keys, my heart not into the air I'm picking through. Outside, the world seems to bustle about, casting off the gloom of the morning to walk about with nary a care.

Granted, most of them are not people of stature like me. They can be free. I, with all the privileges my title affords me, am the one who's trapped. With a deep sigh, I turn to my sheet music and flip the pages until I find something better suited to my mood.

Squinting at the sheets, I pick my way through the first part of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, struggling every so often with the finger placings as I try to evoke the same feeling I'm sure is represented on the page. Though the notes are correct, it seems as if something is lacking.

"Is that any way to play such a masterpiece?" a grumbled voice booms into the room.

My aunt snorts and shakes her head, rousing as Portswell enters the room. He bows to us both before striding over to the pianoforte, his lips turned down into a deep frown. My heart flutters at the look of displeasure as it slashes across his face.

"And what, pray tell, is wrong with my playing? I hit every note with perfection. Surely you can't find fault with my performance of such a difficult piece."

A ragged sigh rips from his lips as he runs his fingers through his hair. Off to the side, my aunt nods off once more, seemingly uncaring of our interaction. For those who demand so much of propriety, they surely seem to only care when it's convenient to them.

If Portswell notices, he says nothing. Instead, he strides over and lays his hand on the instrument and peers down at me, his dark gaze stealing my breath.

"Perfection, perhaps, but only in a perfunctory manner. It lacks soul, emotion… life." He heaves another sigh. "But then, what would an innocent like you know of passion? It's been forcibly locked up with your chastity."

Heat rushes over my body, trailing up my face like fiery fingers. Is he, perhaps, making his overture? I seek his gaze, trying my best to understand the meaning behind his words.

"Then you could tutor me, Your Grace? Teach me this passion I lack. Or is that, too, for my future husband?" I shouldn't bait him like this, but in truth, he started it.

His eyes darken as he watches me, his expression turning nearly feral in the dim light surrounding us. "Do not tempt me, beguiling omega. I am not the suitor you should seek. Cast your aspirations onto a far more suitable match. One who can preserve your delicate dignity."

"I am far from delicate, Your Grace." My voice comes out in a harsh whisper as my lungs swell with each breath.

For a moment, he pauses, his body ramrod as he watches me. "How you drive me to distraction," he murmurs, running the pads of his fingers down my cheek. "How I long to break you open and shatter you at my feet."

I watch in fascination as his throat bobs when he swallows. Though I do not completely understand the ramifications of what he's saying, I note the blaze of lust in his eyes.

"I will not shatter," I manage to croak as my fingers slide off the keys.

"If I were to take you as my own, you would." Remorse lines his features as he pulls away. "You would break into so many pieces I would not be able to put you back together."