Page 28 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“I wonder,” Cecelia said.

Once again a chord crashed through the room, vibrating with both volume and emotion. Softer notes chimed in behind.

“We are not to hear the usual insipid ballads, it seems,” James said.

“Is that Beethoven?”

“I have no idea,” he replied. “It is certainly—”

Another dramatic chord cut him off.

“Striking,” James finished. He mimed pounding on a keyboard.

A woman nearby frowned at them.

“We shouldn’t talk while she’s playing,” said Cecelia.

“She is making it impossible to do so,” he answered over another raging trill of music. “My luck seems to be quite out.”

Feeling something similar, Cecelia set herself to listen. The alternation of crashing sounds and softer trills continued. It was the signature of the first piece, it seemed. Cecelia tried to accustom herself, but the loud bits kept making her start. Perhaps that was the idea. Or perhaps Miss Yelverton simply enjoyed rattling her audience.

She played for an hour, a series of pieces all at a high pitch of feeling. Oddly though, her passion seemed to reside only in her hands. Her expression remained distant, her body stiff, throughout the performance. When she finished, she rose and dropped a perfunctory curtsy in response to the applause, which was enthusiastic in some parts of the room and merely polite in others. Then she stepped away from the instrument.

“Beatrice Yelverton is a talented musician,” said Cecelia. Her ears were ringing. The music had been better suited to a large concert hall than a private drawing room.

“Indeed,” replied James.

“You cannot complain…criticize her skill.”

“Did I make a peep of complaint? On the contrary, I commend her…ferocity.”

The word was actually quite apt. The girl had played as if the music was an enemy she must subdue. “I can see why some people speak of attacking a piece,” Cecelia said.

“Exactly.”

“You would admire that.”

“I do. I approve of people who seize what they want.” He bent closer to her with a suddenly searing gaze.

Cecelia blinked, startled. She’d never seen him look that way before. Not at her. Demanding, possessive. As if he wanted to sweep her up and carry her off, right now. And damn the consequences. A sharp response leapt in her, ran through her like a flame. She wanted…hadwanted so much. She’d resigned herself to a narrower life, but his gaze promised all she’d imagined and more. It made her reel. She was leaning toward James, she realized. His lips were mere inches away.

Cecelia became aware of the murmur of conversations around them. Guests had begun to move about, seek refreshments. They had become an island in a sea of empty chairs, subject to interested glances. She felt bared before them, perilously exposed. This was James. How often had she seen his selfishness, his disregard for others? Years of it. She could not take such a risk. She stood. “Uh, perhaps a glass of lemonade,” she managed.

He rose to stand beside her, so very handsome, so…riveting. “Oh, are you warm?” he said.

She was. And she knew that her cheeks had flushed bright red.

“You look…warm.”

His voice caressed. James, who could be so cold, had set her afire.

He leaned closer. “We must…”

“What did you think, Miss Vainsmede?” boomed a deep voice on her other side. Prince Karl came up to join them.

Cecelia was caught wondering what it was that she and James must do. What hethoughtit was. What she could dream it might be.

“I was most favorably impressed,” the prince continued. “I did not expect to hear Beethoven’sSonata Pathétiquehere among the English. And quite affectingly played. I have complimented Miss Yelverton.”

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