Don’t be silly. Just get the job finished, get paid, and leave.
Thinking anything else about this man was dangerous.
Kendal made no move to come toward her again. Mercy turned her attention back to the task at hand. “I shall just play a short piece of music to ensure that everything is in order. I always like to check my work.”
After taking a seat at the piano, she began to play; the melodic strains of Salieri’s, Piano Concerto in B Flat Adagio, filled the room. She loved this piece of music and it was such a rare moment for her to get the chance to not only play it on a beautiful piano, but also to do it in a room which had been built with the specific purpose of presenting the very best in musical quality.
Mercy couldn’t resist.
She knew this melody well and didn’t need to look at her fingers as she played. Lifting her head, she saw Kendal approaching.
You don’t intimidate me.
He stopped before he reached her and touched the piano; then walked slowly to the other end of it, tracing his finger along the edge of the glossy wood as he went. When he stopped a second time, he placed both his hands on the Cristofori and closed his eyes. His head fell gently back.
She kept playing, fascinated as he swayed in time with the music. She had never seen anyone become as one with the music as Kendal did. The melody seemed to fill his soul the same way it did for her.
Encouraged by his reception to the music, Mercy pressed on, but as she neared the part of the concerto that almost always tripped her up, her gaze dropped to the keys.
Don’t mess this up. Come on, you can do it.
She hit a wrong note, and his eyes flew open; their gazes met. Her fingers froze on the keyboard.
Damn.
She put hand to her face. Kendal calmly walked over to the keyboard and bent beside her. His fingers danced lightly over the keys, playing the same piece that she had just faltered on. She caught sight of a gold signet ring on his left hand. It had a rose in the center of it; the petals formed three separate circles which ran to the edge of the bezel.
“That part always trips me up too,” he said.
She didn’t answer him. Kendal was either being kind or patronizing; his own playing was divine.
He leaned over to reach farther up the keyboard and was now so close that the gentle inhales of his breath could be heard. His gentleman’s cologne filled her senses once more and she trembled as the hint of coriander, citrus, and cypress wood mixed with the warmth of his skin. A small voice in the back of her mind whispered.
Danger.
He looked up at her and smiled. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. That was never my intention. I just wanted to talk.”
Mercy swallowed deep and prayed that her racing heart would calm down. Kendal appeared genuine enough with his words, but she was still flustered. Everything about him had her questioning herself and what the devil she was doing here.
If she had been in better control of her senses, she would have got up from the stool and begun to pack away her instruments. Instead, she sat rooted to the spot, doing her best to get her breathing back to steady and calm. “Why would you want to talk to me? The sons of dukes and the daughters of piano tuners don’t normally converse.”
“True; but considering that you have been able to master one of Antonio Salieri’s rare piano concertos—well, almost master it—that tells me you are not just a simple piano tuner’s daughter. You are more complicated than that. I happen to find complex women interesting,” he replied.
When Kendal leaned in closer so that they were a mere inch apart, her heart beat even faster. If she turned her head just a touch, her lips would be on his cheek.
“I must confess that you, Mercy Wood, interest me greatly.” He righted himself and walked away.
At the same time, Mercy glanced at her hands; they were trembling.
While Kendal’s words weren’t the usual kind of pickup line, she had heard from men seeking to gain her favor, they still carried the same intent. He may well be wrapping his intentions up in pretty words and sweet music, but in the end, the game was always the same. Get her alone and try to pressure her for sex.
“Well that should do for the day. Your piano is fine, Lord Grant. I will see you tomorrow.” Mercy pushed back the piano stool. She rose and hurried over to the instrument bag.
“Oh,” he replied.
She put the tuning hammer into the old leather satchel and closed up the clasp. Mercy lifted the bag and held it tightly clutched to her chest. It formed a barrier between them, the message clear. She was raising her drawbridge, protecting herself.
Kendal’s gaze drifted to her hands and he frowned. Then his eyes met hers. A soft, kind smile appeared on his lips. “You never have to be afraid of me, Mercy. I won’t ever do anything to harm you; I am not that kind of man. I simply wanted to get to know you, hence my reasons for asking about your home.”
Oh, dear. Have I just insulted a paying customer?
She had made him feel uncomfortable. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if he decided to cancel their arrangement and find someone else to tune the piano. And if that happened, not only would her father be none too pleased, but her chances of getting new boots would be gone. “I live above an Italian grocery emporium in Mint Street, South London, not far from the King’s Bench Prison,” she offered.
“That is a long way to come each day. Do you tie up your horse and cart in the rear mews?” he said.
A horse and cart were well beyond her family’s meagre means. “I walked here, via Westminster Bridge. It takes about an hour on a good day.”
“Oh,” he said and frowned.
Mercy averted her gaze. It was bad enough coming to the home of someone who had position and wealth, but having her own poor circumstances open for their perusal was not something she was comfortable with. She doubted Kendal had ever known a day in his life where he had to think twice about where his next meal came from. Or who was going to wash his clothes.
The time had come for her to put some distance between them, reestablish the boundaries that would keep her safe. “Well, I must be leaving. Thank you for your time today, Lord Grant.” She stepped to one side of Kendal and headed for the door, sighing with relief when he did not make an effort to follow.
As her fingers touched the handle of the door, he finally spoke. “Safe travels home, Mercy. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
She closed the door behind her and hurried toward the servants’ entrance. Once she got out into the rear lane behind Windmill Street, Mercy stopped. She placed a hand to her breast, the heavy pump of her racing heart thrummed through her fingers. Kendal affected her in more ways than she wanted to admit.
She moved to one side as a sleek black carriage, with servants in full red and gold livery uniform on the top, came toward her in the narrow laneway. With her back pressed against the brickwork of a nearby building, Mercy was granted a close view of the coat of arms on the side of the carriage door. In the middle of the shield was a giant gold rose, the same as the one on Kendal’s ring. Beneath the shield was emblazed the name Banfield.
After the carriage had passed her by, it drew into the rear mews of Follett House. Mercy nodded. The gods of favor had sent her a message, clearly reminding her of where her place was in the world. The likes of Kendal rode in fine carriages, while she went on foot.
She raised her gaze to the heavens. “Thank you for the timely notice. He is the son of a duke. Mercy Wood, you dare to go down that road and we all know where it ends. You having your heart broken and him finding a new piano tuner.”
She turned and began to walk away, heading back toward Westminster Bridge. Her father would no doubt fully expect to see Kendal’s coin on the table when he eventually returned home. “Shit,” she muttered.
In her haste to get out of Follett House, she had forgotten to get her money.
Chapter Seven
Kendal sat at the piano for a long time after Mercy
had left. He tinkered with the keys but found his mind too distracted to play any real music. Finally, he stood and, pushing the leg of the lid out of its notch, gently closed it. Hopefully he would be able to find a clear head again by the time he and the other Noble Lords were due to rehearse later in the day.
Mercy’s visit had left him with a flow of thoughts that was a disconcerting mix of self-loathing and bewilderment. He had hoped to charm her, perhaps engage in a little light banter. Yet all he seemed to have accomplished was to frighten her.
“You idiot,” he muttered.
Little wonder she had been on edge. She probably had a lifetime’s experience of fending off slimy clients who were trying to have their wicked way with her.
He didn’t pose that kind of threat to her; he would never do anything to a woman without her express permission. The Grant sons had been raised to understand the value of the female sex and their right to say no.
But in her eyes, he had obviously presented a clear and present danger. He raked his fingers through his hair, working out some of the knots when he got to the ends.
“Why did you ask her where she lived? And what was that about the horse and cart? Are you insane?”
His experience with the fairer sex, aside from the women of his family and household servants, was mostly confined to the hardened wayward wives of the ton. Talking to a woman who wasn’t actively trying to bed him or vice versa was harder than he had expected it would be. He had made quite a hash of his first attempt.
After hearing her play this morning, Kendal was keen to deepen the connection between him and Mercy. He had never met a woman who could master the piano as well as she did.
How many other women do you know who have any idea as to who Salieri was, let alone know that he composed several concertos? And how many of those women would be brave enough to actually play his music?
None. He put his hands together and held them to his lips. Mercy Wood was a breath of fresh air in his life. And while there might be one or two technical issues with her finger work, there was no doubt in his mind that she felt the music. If he had to make a trade-off, passion was far more important than proficiency.
Mercy Wood had an innate fervency for music, which no number of bum notes could hide.
“You dolt,” he chastised himself again.
The first time he had encountered a woman with a genuine gift for music and what had he done? He had frightened her off. She had all but run out of the ballroom.
Fuck. It will be a miracle if she returns. Or if she does, her father will be in tow.
He could only pray that if Mercy did come back, he might somehow be given a second chance to start things over with her.
“Has your luscious piano tuner gone?”
He looked up as Owen wandered into the ballroom, cheeky grin firmly in place.
“Her name is Miss Wood, as you already know. And I would appreciate it if you spoke about her in a more respectful manner,” he replied.
Owen’s eyebrows both rose. He slowly shook his head. “Kendal. Kendal. Don’t be an ass. The girl is not of our class. I know your papa is looking to get you wedded and bedded, but I don’t think the Duke of Banfield has that sort of girl in mind for your bride.”
Kendal rose from the piano and walked to where Owen stood. He should take his friend to task over his comments, but Owen was right. Meddling with Mercy was not a good idea. He should stick to music.
“Speaking of brides, when are you planning on seeing Lady Amelia Perry?” he replied.
“Touché,” said Owen. His father was also pushing his son to take a wife but had gone that one step further and actually secured a fiancée for him. A girl Owen had never met, but who came with a sizeable dowry and impeccable lineage.
“Miss Wood has already left for the day. And you can rest assured I don’t plan to toy with her. I just happen to find Mercy somewhat fascinating,” said Kendal.
Owen fixed him with a look which said he didn’t believe a word of what he had just heard. “Mercy, is it? I thought it was Miss Wood. Well, it is your funeral. But I am here to tell you that if you cross a line with her, Eliza Follett will have your guts for garters. Rules about messing with servants and trades are there for a reason. Fool around with the wicked wives of London society, but don’t stoop to ruining innocent girls,” replied Owen.
“Alright, I heard you. I have no plans to make advances on the chit and attempt to seduce her. It’s just that she . . .”
“She what?” Owen’s tone was hard, challenging. The man was a practiced seducer of women. Duplicity and sweet words were his currency. He could spot a lie a mile away.
Kendal thought for a moment. How could he put Mercy into words that made sense? He didn’t even know what he saw her as being. It was more that she did something to him.
Listening to her while she played a complicated concerto had been like watching the clouds part on an overcast day and seeing the bright sun break through. It changed the entire landscape, bringing hitherto hidden things to light.
The days of his life up to now all seemed to fade into the background. It was as if a line had been drawn. The time before he had heard Mercy play sat on one side of that mark, then on the other came today and all the days of his existence which were yet to come. She was a revelation.
“I don’t know what she is—all I know is that Mercy is like no woman I have ever met before.”
Owen lifted a hand to Kendal’s brow. “Hmm. I think you are coming down with something. And if I am not mistaken, it’s what we in the lothario business call a small crush. The best cure I know for that is an evening out in society, followed by a night in an experienced woman’s bed.”
Owen’s cure for any ailment was sex. Kendal pushed his hand away, huffing at the notion of him having any sort of feelings for Mercy. “Don’t be ridiculous. The chit comes here to tune my piano—that is all.”
But even as he said the words, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered softly.
But what if she could be more? What if this girl holds the secret to your future? Would you want her?
Chapter Eight
Owen’s suggestion might have been a good one, but Kendal’s night was already planned out for him. The dreaded weekly supper with his parents loomed. His father had sent the family town carriage around to Follett House earlier in the day just to make certain that Kendal would not try and avoid his obligations.
At Banfield house, his sister, Ophelia, greeted him. “Ah, the long-lost prodigal son returns.”
He sighed. “I have only been gone a matter of days. You can’t have already forgotten me.”
She gifted him a sisterly kiss on the cheek before slipping her arm in his and guiding him toward the dining room door. Inside, his parents and older brother were already seated.
“About time, boy. I am starving,” cried the grey-haired duke from the other end of the table.
Kendal was smart enough not to make mention of the fact that he was only a matter of twenty minutes late, and that if his father had actually been hungry, he would not have waited.
“Sorry. We had rehearsals and Callum wasn’t well,” he replied.
The duke gave the merest of nods to Kendal’s veiled comment about his fellow Noble Lord. Callum’s drinking problem was an unspoken, open secret among the families of his friends.
Kendal suffered his mother’s hug before taking the chair next to his brother, Philip. Lord Phillip Grant, the Marquess of Hartley, sipped at his wine, and coughed once, then a second time.
It was Kendal’s cue to ask after his brother’s health. “Do you have a touch of a cold there, dear Phillip?”
Phillip sighed long and low, at which Kendal caught the eye of a nearby footman and beckoned him over. As the footman approached, he pointed frantically at his empty wine glass. If he was going to get through this evening, he would need a couple of good glasses of his father’s Burgundy under his belt and quick smart.
His brother was slouched in
his chair, the fingertips of one hand resting in elegant fashion on the table. Phillip looked all set for yet another one of his grand speeches. “Yes, I have been most unwell this week. Why, it was only today that I managed to get out of bed and take lunch with Randolph at my club.”
Kendal and Ophelia exchanged a knowing glance.
“You should see a doctor,” said Ophelia.
The Duchess of Banfield shot her a look of great displeasure. Kendal picked up his wine glass the instant it was filled and downed a good mouthful. Supper at home when Phillip was in one of his woe is me moods was never fun.
Phillip either didn’t see his mother’s face or he chose to ignore her, and he pressed on. “I have been to all the best physicians in London. They say there is nothing they can do for me.”
That’s because there is nothing wrong with you other than the fact that you are a lazy sod. If you spent half the amount of time you waste in consulting with charlatans and quacks on helping Papa actually run the estate, we would all be better off.
Kendal would dearly love to speak plainly to his brother’s face, but the bloody repercussions wouldn’t be worth it. Phillip was the heir to the Duchy of Banfield, while he was merely the spare. Someday his brother would marry and have children and he would be pushed even further down the line. The name Kendal Grant was forever to be a miniature musical score in the history of the family.
“You have my deepest sympathies.” He reached for his glass again, eyeing the wine decanter on the sideboard as he did. Give it another half an hour and he would be asking for it to be refilled.
“Kendal, how are the Noble Lords going? I hear your first performance was quite a success?” asked Ophelia. She could always be relied upon to step in and change the subject at the opportune moment. Her timing was like her footwork when dancing—perfect.
“It went well. Reid has decided to take on the role of baritone. Owen, of course, is his usual solid self on the violin, and Callum is able to handle the flute,” he replied.
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