Lessons From a Scarlet Lady (22 page)
“Alas, Bonaparte is far away. You, however, are right here.” Damien chuckled, just a small sound.
The trouble was, there
was
something about a pair of aqua eyes that made Robert do impulsive, irrational things like dash about in moonlit gardens, damn it all.
was
something about a pair of aqua eyes that made Robert do impulsive, irrational things like dash about in moonlit gardens, damn it all.
As guests began to take their seats, arranged in the corner of the huge room around the dais that held the pianoforte, he shook off his thoughts. He’d play the blasted set with Rebecca because he’d given his word, though he was glad she had suggested he practice it first. The piece was unfamiliar, but intriguing for all that.
The sheet music one of the footmen had brought him that morning was handwritten, transcribed no doubt, but the composer’s name had been left off when it was copied. He would make it a point to ask her after their little concert was over. The almost haunting quality of the notes had surprised him, for it was soft yet powerful, lyrical and moving. There was no question but he had never heard it before, and he had a wide repertoire, so it was puzzling. The style was unique, precise—brilliant.
“She looks extraordinarily lovely tonight, doesn’t she?” Damien’s question was quiet, speculative.
“Yes.” Robert hoped his voice sounded normal, but had a feeling it didn’t.
Rebecca entered the room with her parents, naturally. Arrested by her appearance, he stood to the side, for a minute unable to move. Her gleaming dark hair was upswept but only loosely, so a few strategic curls danced along the graceful line of her neck. Her gown was made of some silvery gauzy material, gathered fashionably under her full breasts. She walked demurely between her father and mother, and the latter said something to which she responded with a small nod. Then she walked up to the dais and sat down at the pianoforte and gazed expectantly around the room, finally spotting him standing there with Damien.
It was a little hard to be inconspicuous when holding a cello, even when hovering in a doorway. Robert inclined his head, not in acknowledgement of her arrival but in homage to her stunning beauty this evening.
She didn’t need to know that, did she?
Her tentative smile in return made him want to curse out loud, surely not a polite thing to do in a room full of his sister-in-law’s guests. But he had begun to admire her smile too much for his own good, like some sappy suitor who would pen volumes of odes and other doggerel to the luscious curve of those lips.
Time to get this over with.
He walked across the room and the individual conversations fell silent, some out of polite attention, but most, he guessed, out of surprise at his intent to perform. He glanced around, making sure all of the ladies were already seated, and took the chair provided.
He was close enough, devil take it, to smell a hint of her perfume.
Quickly he placed the sheet music on the stand, checked his bow, and glanced at Rebecca to indicate his readiness. Her slender hands lifted and she took in a breath.
And began to play.
About two bars in, he realized the depth of his earlier insult. She played like an angel, her touch delicate, and the beautiful notes made the small audience fade completely into the background. He waited for his part to begin, bow lifted, and when the first long note came from the strings of his instrument, soft and mellow, he had to admit he was transported to a place where no one else listened, no one else breathed the same air, no one else existed except for the woman next to him and the music they shared.
He hadn’t even realized the piece was near the end until the last quivering note died. Robert tore his gaze from the music in front of him and turned his head to see Rebecca still bent over the keyboard, very still, her face almost like someone in a dream. Then their audience burst into applause, flattering in its volume, and it was over.
He could now escape. It should fill him with joy.
It didn’t. He’d rather sit and play again.
Still, they hadn’t discussed more than one piece so he rose, graciously bent over her hand, and because he really couldn’t think of anything to say, left the dais to take his place in the audience.
To his dismay, the open chair was next to the youngest Miss Campbell. When he sat down, she fluttered her hands, and beamed. “Well done, Lord Robert. I had no idea you played so well.” She giggled. “I actually had no idea you played.”
God save him from giggling females. Robert smiled, listening intently as Rebecca began another piece.
He didn’t recognize that sonata either. Or the next. Near the end, she played some Mozart and Scarlatti, but most of her performance consisted of music he’d never heard.
All
of her performance was brilliant.
All
of her performance was brilliant.
After it was over and she rose, becomingly flushed by the enthusiastic response, it was time for them all to move to the dining room. He was forced to offer to escort Miss Campbell, who stood and looked at him expectantly.
Then, to make matters much worse, he found himself seated next to Rebecca’s mother at the long table. Lady Marston’s disapproval of him was so thinly veiled he should have found it amusing, but somehow it irritated him intensely. She did grudgingly compliment him on his performance, the disbelief in her tone probably an echo of what he would hear once when he returned to London.
When he said something about Rebecca’s extraordinary talent, she looked dismissive and waved a hand. “A pastime, of course. All proper young ladies should be able to play adequately.”
“Adequately?” The word came out in a strangled protest before he could help it. Maybe it was the glass of wine he’d just downed in a single gulp. “Madam, she’s remarkable as well as beautiful. The composer would weep with joy if he’d heard his work so eloquently executed.”
He would have done well not to speak so vehemently, but the woman’s detachment annoyed him. Rebecca’s mother looked at him with sudden cool speculation in her eyes, as if suddenly seeing him not just as a young man with a dubious reputation, but maybe an active danger. He had to wonder what her husband had—and hadn’t—told her.
She murmured, “Thank you, my lord. I’ll convey your appreciation of her skills on the pianoforte to my daughter.”
In other words, Robert must
not
tell Rebecca in person. What the devil did he expect, Robert asked himself. Even if he and Sir Benedict had a cordial acquaintance, half the eligible bachelors in London had asked for her hand and been turned away. Her parents were obviously selective, and so they should be. Rebecca Marston offered anything a man could want in a wife. Beauty, poise, accomplishment. Then there was that unconsciously seductive smile . . .
not
tell Rebecca in person. What the devil did he expect, Robert asked himself. Even if he and Sir Benedict had a cordial acquaintance, half the eligible bachelors in London had asked for her hand and been turned away. Her parents were obviously selective, and so they should be. Rebecca Marston offered anything a man could want in a wife. Beauty, poise, accomplishment. Then there was that unconsciously seductive smile . . .
If
a man wanted a wife.
a man wanted a wife.
It hardly mattered. He didn’t. Not now, not at his age, not when his life was all his own.
He
didn’t
.
didn’t
.
Did he?
He’d been too sinfully handsome, too close in such limited company, too
him
. Rebecca could still hear the lilting strains of someone else playing her music for the first time, see the sensitive touch of his long fingers on the strings of his cello, the intense look of concentration on his face, the sweep of his bow.
him
. Rebecca could still hear the lilting strains of someone else playing her music for the first time, see the sensitive touch of his long fingers on the strings of his cello, the intense look of concentration on his face, the sweep of his bow.
Someone
else
playing her music. Not just someone else. Robert. However difficult the situation of her infatuation might be, at least she would always have the secret joy of hearing him play her notes, of him joining her in something so personal, so intimate; in a sense, she felt as if they were lovers.
else
playing her music. Not just someone else. Robert. However difficult the situation of her infatuation might be, at least she would always have the secret joy of hearing him play her notes, of him joining her in something so personal, so intimate; in a sense, she felt as if they were lovers.
For it was clear he loved music. It had been there in his face, in his mesmerizing blue eyes, in his posture and the beautiful way he’d played.
Had she sensed it in him from their first meeting? Maybe this soulful, unlikely communion is what had drawn her to the notorious Robert Northfield in the first place.
Before their performance she’d been infatuated. By his good looks, his intoxicating smile, the air of confident, sensual male.
But through her music . . . her second love . . . now she was truly lost.
The volume sat in her hands, still unopened. Rebecca perched on the edge of the bed in her nightdress and robe, a low lamp burning for reading light. She gingerly touched the thin leather cover of
Lady Rothburg’s Advice
and lifted it, then randomly selected a passage from the middle of the book. If there was a chance at a possible true romance, this might be it.
Lady Rothburg’s Advice
and lifted it, then randomly selected a passage from the middle of the book. If there was a chance at a possible true romance, this might be it.
. . . isn’t so much ticklish as acutely sensitive. Cup the sacs of his ballocks gently in your palm and lightly touch the skin behind them with a stroking finger. I promise a most gratifying reaction to this caress. . . .
Rebecca snapped the book shut with a low gasp, the knock on her bedroom door making her jump. She glanced at the ornate clock on the mantel of the fireplace and wondered who might be wandering the halls at this hour as she hurriedly shoved the book under her pillow. Her maid had already been dismissed, and so she tightened the belt on her dressing gown and went to answer it.
Thank goodness, it was only Brianna, still clad in her elegant evening gown. “I rather hoped you’d still be awake.”
“Yes, I was reading.” Rebecca gave a self-conscious laugh and relaxed. She’d never thought before of touching a man’s genitals—other than Greek statues, she hadn’t even
seen
a nude male—and good heavens, was the rest of the book like that?
seen
a nude male—and good heavens, was the rest of the book like that?
“I see.” Brianna’s mouth twitched in knowing amusement. “That accounts for your somewhat guilty look, I suppose. May I come in for a moment? I promise to not stay long.”
“Of course you may.” Rebecca stepped back in invitation, always glad of her friend’s company. As girls, they had often stayed over at each other’s homes, and, in the summer especially, were inseparable. At times they took their lessons from their governesses together, which was a great advantage for Rebecca, for it had been Brianna’s governess who had a family background in music and had taught her not only to play, but also some music theory and the more technical aspects. After she had exceeded Miss Langford’s store of knowledge, Rebecca had begged for a music teacher of her own. Her parents had been more than happy to find one and indulge her love of what they considered something every accomplished young lady should be able to do. It wasn’t until she began devoting hours upon hours every day to not just playing but composing music that they became alarmed.
Young women should be able to play a pretty tune, but only men
composed
music. That was her parents’ attitude. It was an intellectual task and hardly suitable for the upper echelon of society. Composers were like painters and sculptors. These might be artistic endeavors, but still for the working class.
composed
music. That was her parents’ attitude. It was an intellectual task and hardly suitable for the upper echelon of society. Composers were like painters and sculptors. These might be artistic endeavors, but still for the working class.
Brianna came in and perched on the edge of the bed, looking very much like the mischievous girl Rebecca remembered from her youth, with that expression on her face that meant they had gotten away with something that might not have met with parental approval. “Well, how are you feeling? It was a triumph. Everyone adored your performance this evening. They talked about it all through dinner, and more than one person asked me to beg you to play for us again.”
“Is this part where you say ‘I told you so’? I suppose you are entitled. If it wasn’t for you, you and Bella would remain my captive audience of two.” Rebecca went over and gave her friend a quick, fierce hug. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. How many hostesses can say the talented Rebecca Marston played for their country house party and was a smashing success?” Brianna smiled. “It is a true coup. I am the one who owes you. Besides, how on earth did you ever get Robert to agree to play too? That event will go down in the history books. I imagine the two of you will be besieged with requests once the word gets about London.”
The two of you. Like they were a pair. It was an illusion, but Rebecca liked the sound of it.
She sank down next to Brianna and laughed. “I used an age-tested method. Guilt. He made the observation—one I secretly agree with—that some young ladies should never be allowed to desecrate music in public. When I explained to him
I
would be performing, he was appalled at his blunder. I shamelessly extracted his agreement to a duet as penance.”
I
would be performing, he was appalled at his blunder. I shamelessly extracted his agreement to a duet as penance.”
“Well, I thought it was spectacular.” Brianna squeezed her hand. “Perfect. Colton assures me Robert likes to keep his musical talent a secret, so I thank you for your little spot of blackmail.”
“He’s very good.”
“Indeed. It isn’t what one would expect from a man with his . . . well, let’s just say his reputation centers more on his talents in other areas,” Brianna said dryly. “There is more substance to him than meets the eye, as this evening proves. He is very good friends with his brothers, and you can tell he is fond of his grandmother. He teases her constantly, and she dotes on him in her own dignified way.”
The last thing Rebecca needed was for someone to extol his virtues. She switched the subject back to her music. “I would be happy to play again, but I shall probably have to promise my parents to confine myself to Mozart and Bach. I am not sure if he realized how many of the pieces I’d written, but my father knew some of them were mine. I caught a hint of disapproval across the dinner table.”
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