Page 37 of The Duke’s Duet

"Was it? Because I've attended hundreds of musical performances in my life, and I've never seen anything like what passed between you two on that stage. It was raw, real, passionate - everything that proper society pretends doesn't exist." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "You laid your hearts bare in that music, both of you. And now you're surprised that people noticed?"

Harper stared unseeing at the newspaper before him, remembering Melody's face as they sang together, the way that her eyes had held his, full of trust and something deeper that he dared not name.

The thought that their performance might damage her reputation made him physically ill.

"What would you have me do?" he asked finally. "Cancel the remaining concerts?"

"Good God, no. That would only confirm their worst suspicions." Pembroke sighed. "But perhaps... some distance might be wise? Limit your interactions to purely professional matters? And for heaven's sake, no more duets that make half the audience wonder if they're witnessing something they shouldn't."

The suggestion made perfect sense. It was exactly what a responsible Duke should do - protect both their reputations through careful propriety and emotional distance. Yet the mere thought of retreating behind those walls again, of denying the connection they'd forged, felt like contemplating voluntary amputation.

"She doesn't deserve this," he said quietly. "To have her reputation questioned, her artistry reduced to gossip fodder..."

"No, she doesn't. But she's a professional performer - she must have known the risks when she agreed to the duet." Pembroke studied his friend's face. "Unless... Brightwood, tell me you haven't let yourself develop real feelings for her."

The silence that followed was answer enough.

"Dear God." Pembroke ran a hand through his hair. "You have, haven't you? This isn't just artistic appreciation or physical attraction. You're actually falling in love with her."

"I don't know what I'm feeling."

But even as he said it, Harper knew it for a lie. He knew exactly what he felt for Melody - had known since their voices first joined together in perfect harmony. He simply hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge it until now.

"You need to end this," Pembroke said softly. "Before it destroys you both."

Before Harper could respond, Lord Rutland's voice carried across the room.

"Most irregular, wouldn't you say? A Duke performing love songs with a common musician? In my day, such a thing would never have been permitted."

Harper's chair scraped back as he stood, his movement sharp with barely contained fury. Pembroke's hand shot out to grasp his arm.

"Don't. You'll only make it worse."

"He called her common." Harper's voice emerged as a growl. "She has more genuine artistry in one note than that pompous fool has in his entire being."

"And defending her honour will only give credence to the worst rumours." Pembroke's grip tightened. "Think, man. Think of her reputation if you challenge someone over this."

*****

Harper stood at the window of his study, watching darkness gather in the garden beyond.

He'd fled his club shortly after Pembroke's warning, unable to bear the whispers and significant looks any longer. But even here, in his private sanctuary, he found no peace.

His mind kept returning to the duet, to the way that Melody's voice had twined with his, to the perfect harmony they'd created together.

The soft sound of the door opening made him stiffen. Only one person would enter without knocking - his mother had always claimed that particular privilege.

"I thought I might find you here." The Dowager Duchess' voice was carefully neutral. "You missed dinner."

"I wasn't hungry."

He didn't turn from the window, though he saw her reflection approaching in the darkened glass.

"No? Or perhaps you're avoiding the conversation you know we must have?"

That made him turn.

His mother stood in the centre of the room, elegant as always in deep purple silk, the amethysts at her throat catching the last light from the windows. But it was her expression that caught his attention - not anger or disappointment, but something more complex.