Raising her chin just a touch, she nodded once, and they both raised their fingers to rest on the keys. “One, two, three…”

They began to play, just as they’d rehearsed, the notes perfectly timed with each other, their fingers moving in familiar patterns along the keys. It was not a complicated piece, particularly for a duet, but for amateurs at the art, it was enough of a challenge to takeon without being especially intimidating. It would sound lovely to the hearers, provided they did the job right, but it would not compete with those who were truly skilled.

It was a flowing rendition of “The First Noël,” one of her favorites, and Adelaide took care to emphasize the melody in her part, just as Julia had reminded her. When it would pass off to Basset, the task would be his, and he had never failed to play it well before, yet at this moment, she feared the outcome.

She held her breath as her fingers danced carefully along the instrument, her hand brushing his as that hand waited a moment for its turn.

He crossed his arm over hers and began the melody he would carry for a time, and she released her breath slowly as relief sank into her stomach. She kept her left hand where it was, silent for the moment while he played, her right hand continuing on in delicate notes to accompany him.

There was something magical in the brushing of his arm over hers, though it was hardly intentional. Despite his sleeve and her own, her skin began to ignite beneath the layers, each pass sending heat farther and farther up her arm. She was suddenly acutely aware of the breadth of his shoulders, the limited space between them seeming to close with each heartbeat. His heat radiated from the closeness, wrapping itself around her despite the fact that he continued to play the instrument before them rather than move closer.

Her leg sat flush against his on the bench, and the realization that she could feel the natural tension of its strength caused a strange burning at the back of her neck and in her throat. Her mouth went dry as sensation slowly rippled its way from her hip to her knee, each connection searing her skin, even with the layers of skirt and petticoats between them.

How would she ever manage to finish the song when the only thing in her mind was the impeccable physique of the man sitting beside her?

Panicked, her eyes leapt to the page, desperate to recollect their place in the number, even as her fingers continued in their memorization of her part.

She needed to focus on the music. On this performance. On proving to her husband that they could, in fact, work together and create something beautiful.

Something joyful.

Something…