Free When a Duke Says I Do by Jane Goodger

ballroom on the third night after her return from the Wrights’ house party, allowing her heart to hope that Alexander would be there. Instead she felt a now-familiar pang of disappointment. No, it was more than that. It was pain, raw, physical pain.
    It didn’t matter that he was merely an artist’s assistant. He had become something more to her and to have him purposely avoid her was—unendurable. She needed to see him, to explain how sorry she was that she had allowed that kiss. It was wrong of her, wrong of them, even if it had been the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. What she’d thought had been a beautiful kiss she now remembered with a bit of shame. Engaged girls did not wander about their houses in the night and kiss men who were not their intended. She should not have allowed it, should not have encouraged it. It could never be more than a dalliance, a spoiled girl’s infatuation with a man she could never have. Thought of like that, she was completely in the wrong.
    Still, no matter how she chastised herself for her foolishness, she pined around the house, hovering outside the ballroom door just on the hope she might glimpse him. And he, no doubt, was simply relieved that the house’s naughty little heiress had finally left him alone. Even as she tortured herself with such thoughts, she knew, deep down, that Alexander didn’t think of her so.
    She wished they could go back to how they’d been, simply two lonely souls finding friendship. But that kiss, the one she’d so fervently wanted, had been such a terrible mistake. Why her heart should feel so empty, she didn’t know. Certainly, she wasn’t in love with Alexander. That was impossible. But she knew she missed him, knew the thought of never spending an evening talking and laughing with him left her feeling hollow and more than a little wretched.
    She sat at the piano and tapped at a single note, sighing out loud, sounding very much like what she was: a young woman in the throes of her first infatuation. She began to play a song that captured the grief in her heart, another Chopin piece that never failed to make her throat close on tears even when she was not already feeling sad.
    As she played the Tristesse , she closed her eyes, letting the music flow from her fingers, losing herself, until she realized she was crying. Abruptly, angrily, she stopped and dashed away the tears.
    “That was beautiful. Chopin would be proud.”
    She gasped, and smiled, seeing Alexander standing at the entrance of the closest French door.
    “I don’t know why I’m playing such a sad song,” she said. It was so clearly a lie, she let out a watery laugh. She’d been looking at him, but turned to stare blindly at the piano keys. “Why have you stayed away, Alexander?”
    “I think you know,” he said, his voice low. How she’d missed the sound of his voice. “I shouldn’t be here now.”
    Elsie twisted her hands in her lap and smiled uncertainly at him. “I’m glad you are here, for I need to apologize to you. I have been putting you in a terrible position, forcing you to entertain me when you should be working.”
    “I could have told you to leave. Even that first night. The fault is mine. I knew it could only lead to a bad end.”
    Alexander watched silently as Elsie moved her hand back and forth upon the ivory keys, almost a caress. Lamplight bathed her in a golden glow that made her seem impossibly beautiful. Her long hair, pulled back loosely from her face, seemed almost afire in the light even as her face was cast in a shadow. She literally took his breath away.
    Alexander had never been drawn to a woman the way he was drawn to Elsie. He wasn’t a stupid man, or one driven by his baser needs. But as he’d lain abed earlier that night, he’d let his mind wander to the ballroom where he knew she would be. He vowed he wouldn’t touch her, though God above knew he wanted to. But he simply needed to see her, to listen to her voice, to