He forced himself to study the music sheet in front of him, unable to look at Lavinia. He didn’t want to tell her that he had been a major in the Royal Dragoons. They had been one of the most experienced British regiments on the battlefield that day, having seen active duty during the Peninsular War. But mistakes made that June afternoon had seen them suffer heavier losses than were necessary.
Memories of watching his men cut down in front of him still haunted Reid. The screams of dying soldiers pleading for help or crying for their mothers often crept into the quiet moments of his day. The overwhelming stench of mud stirred up by the rain and polluted by blood, shit, and dead horses could never be erased from his mind. He woke sometimes in the middle of the night having dreamed he was still struggling to make headway through the knee-deep festering mire.
From the first shot just after midday to when the guns finally fell silent, he had led his troops against a relentless enemy who at times he was convinced was intent solely on breaking his resolve. Hour after hour he had fought to hold the line, barely making an inch of ground. Then, when the battle had finally begun to turn for the allies, he found himself facing death as a French cavalry officer bore down on him, his sword swinging at Reid’s head.
To this day, Reid was convinced he had survived Waterloo purely by luck rather than any military skill on his part. Kendal’s shot to save his life had been nothing short of a miracle.
As he slowly released his hands from their tight grip, he promised himself he would not mention the war again after today. Lavinia had paid a heavy price, and as a widow, she was reminded of that every day.
“Waterloo was a terrible battle,” he said.
She shook her head. “Peter didn’t fight at Waterloo. We lost him in Portugal in ’11 during the Peninsula War. Jonathan was still a baby when his father died.”
Reid went numb with shock. Peter Jones had been dead for over five years. And Lavinia had been left to fend for herself and Jonathan.
He could not begin to imagine how hard things had been for her during the intervening years. “I am so sorry, Lavinia. I had no idea you had been alone this long,” he said, feeling the hollow of his words as he spoke.
“Yes, well, the war is over, and we have all had to mourn and move on. Not that we had any choice.” She rose from the piano stool and came to stand alongside Reid before she patted him gently on the arm. “It’s alright, Reid; I know you served in the same regiment. I should have said something earlier, but let’s not allow it to hang between us. From what I read in the newspaper, both Waterloo and Fuentes de Onoro were difficult battles, and the Royal Dragoons saw some of the worst of the fighting in both. I am just glad that you made it home safely.”
He silently nodded, humbled by her honest nature.
“Now, we can work on your technique a little later. Let us see how you go with getting your tongue around the Italian language.”
Chapter Eighteen
Reid stepped into the breakfast room just after eleven. He had been keen to make it home as soon as possible after his lesson with Lavinia, and thus avoid any awkward questions from the other Noble Lords, but this morning a heavy rainstorm had seen him delayed.
Any faint hope that the others might still be abed was dashed as soon as he walked through the door. At the head of the table sat Kendal. To his right was Owen. Even the hungover Callum had scraped himself off the floor and was sitting at the table.
Shit.
He adopted a nonchalant air and slipped into the nearest chair. With any luck the others would have just got out of bed and not noticed he wasn’t in the house.
“Who is she?”
Reid frowned at Kendal. “Who is who?”
Kendal gave a knowing smile. “The woman you have been sneaking out to spend every night with, that’s who. You didn’t think we wouldn’t notice you wandering back in the front door every morning just after the hour of ten, did you?”
Reid had been relying on his friends’ late night jaunts to keep his own early morning starts a secret. He did intend to confess to them about his singing lessons at some point, but he had hoped it would be closer to the time when he could reveal his new song and singing range.
“No, he’s been down the market first thing getting your fresh fruit for breakfast,” replied Owen.
Kendal was insistent on the daily delivery of fresh fruit to the house. It was apparently something his whole family were obsessed with—that and the general cleanliness of his room. The servants spent more hours dusting his room every day than the rest of the house for the entire week. “I suppose you think you are amusing,” he retorted.
“No, you are all wrong. It’s the luscious daughter of that piano tuner. She comes here every damn day, and so Reid decided he should get a piece of her. Can’t blame a chap for wanting to keep that quiet. I expect she is quite a ride,” said Callum.
Kendal rose menacingly from his chair, and after tucking his hair behind his ears, fixed Callum with a stare that would have most other men cowering. He walked around to where Callum sat in his usual disheveled state, then quietly took the seat next to him.
How many men in London society had underestimated the lightly built second son of the Duke of Banfield, only to find themselves waking up in a pool of their own blood? This was going to end with Callum on his knees, picking up his teeth from the breakfast room floor.
“Take it back,” said Kendal, low and threatening.
Callum lifted an eyebrow. Self-satisfied amusement sat clearly on his face. He had got a rise out of Kendal and was enjoying it thoroughly. “Don’t be ridiculous. She is a piano tuner’s daughter. Those sorts of girls are always up for bed sport.”
Reid got to his feet. “I have been having singing lessons.”
Silence. Deathly silence hung in the air. Reid quietly sat back down. Perhaps they hadn’t heard him. He could only hope that a divine miracle had suddenly occurred.
“Why?” Trust Owen to finally step in and ask the most logical question first. Where was he when Kendal had been about to commit bloody murder?
“Yes, why?” added Kendal.
“Because I need to be better. I am, at best, a passable baritone. As an army officer, I was nothing better than adequate. I spent most of my time trying not to get you and our men killed instead of taking the fight to the enemy. And now that Marco and his friends are stealing the ground out from under me, I have to do more. Good enough and satisfactory do not cut it any longer for me,” replied Reid.
He hated hearing the words come from his own lips. Not just the admission of his singing lessons but putting voice to his insecurities. The others were accomplished in their own ways, yet he had always felt inferior.
Owen met his gaze. He had been Reid’s second-in-command in the Royal Dragoons and seen firsthand the almighty mess that some poor decisions had caused on that day in Belgium. If anyone knew Reid’s private pain, it was Owen.
“So, the piano tuner’s daughter is still in play?” asked Callum.
“Shut the fuck up. Mercy is out of bounds. Do you hear me? If I find out that any one of you bastards have been near her, I will take to you with hellfire and fury,” said Kendal.
Callum leaned back in his chair. “Mercy. That’s a pretty name for a sweet little thing with such a full mouth. I wonder what her lips would be like wrapped around my . . .” He leisurely put his hands behind his head and continued to smile. He didn’t need to say what the others were now all thinking. Kendal had formed a tendre for the young woman and was staking his claim to her.
Reid could only hope Kendal didn’t make good on whatever sexual desires he had for the girl. There were plenty of experienced women in the ton who would be able to meet his needs; no one need go ruining a young woman just because they could. He would have a word with Eliza about keeping an eye on Mercy whenever she came to the house. And a quiet, but firm conversation with Kendal.
“Enough of that. So, Reid, what have you learned from your singing teacher? Does he think h
e can do something to improve you?” asked Owen.
Reid was grateful for Owen’s timely intervention. He would rather be dealing with the subject of his singing lessons than having to pull a rabid Kendal off Callum as he set to him with his fists. Not that Callum didn’t deserve a smack to the head for his efforts at stirring up trouble.
“Yes. He thinks I would be better suited as a tenor, and I am training to make the transition.” The sun would freeze over, and the world stop turning before he revealed to the others that the L in L. Jones stood for Lavinia.
To his mind, the relationship that existed between Lavinia and himself was on a deeper level than whatever Kendal might think he had with Mercy. Lavinia was not someone Reid would stand to be trifled with, nor would he permit any of his friends to make ungentlemanlike comments about her. He was determined to protect her.
“Bah!” snorted Kendal.
“Kendal is right. You won’t be able to successfully make that sort of change in the next few weeks. Why don’t you stick to what you are currently doing? The music is enough,” said Callum.
“Yes, why start making changes now?” added Owen.
Reid threw up his hands in frustration. It was fine for them—they had the talent and the training. Attempting to explain his overwhelming sense of inadequacy was obviously going to fall on deaf ears. “Thank you for your support, gentlemen. Now I know why I kept it a secret. My only regret is that I have told you. Perhaps it would have been better if I had gone and dallied with the piano tuner’s daughter,” he said.
* * *
Reid didn’t have time to continue the argument over the merits of him taking singing lessons. Unlike the others, he had an estate to run.
The rest of the morning and well into the evening was spent with his head deep in books of account and replying to worrying letters from his steward. Not only had his tenants been unable to pay their rent for the year, but now he was having to subsidize their food and permit them to chop extra wood from the local forest.
The eruption of a volcano in the Dutch East Indies the previous year had seen a cloud which blocked the sun hanging over much of Europe and Asia. Summer had never arrived, and the usual harvests had failed. His estate had not been spared the devastation. It was only due to his solid fiscal management that he had not gone majorly into debt.
“And you are bleating about not being able to sing,” he muttered.
He set his pen into the inkwell before blotting the paper. While the ink dried, he considered his options.
He could do as the others suggested and simply keep singing as a baritone. He would forever be a pale imitation of Marco and fated to suck from that well of disappointment until the summer was over.
No. Sod that.
Lavinia thought he had the potential to become a tenor. She was the professional in all this—the one person who did not have a vested interest in the status quo. He was going to keep up with the lessons, and he was not going to waste them. At the first opportunity, he would show the rest of the Noble Lords that he was more than what they thought.
And in doing so, he would regain some of the pride he had left behind in the mud of Waterloo.
Chapter Nineteen
“Breathe in from here.”
Lavinia held her hand at the bottom of Reid’s ribs, right in the middle and pushed in with her fingers. “This is where your voice comes from. Your mouth is simply the means to deliver it.”
During the earlier lessons, they had worked on developing Reid’s breathing techniques. He was already able to hold a note longer than before. Now he and Lavinia had to find a way to get him to lift the pitch of his voice.
It was harder than he had imagined it would be. The only compensation being that Lavinia was very hands on with her teaching.
Reid craved many things, and the touch of a woman was near the top of that list. The first time Lavinia had laid her hands on him during that initial meeting, it had taken all his willpower not to shiver as a thrill raced down his spine.
Her effect had not lessened in the intervening time. Reid had developed a strong aching desire for her touch. He toyed with the idea of deliberately making mistakes during their lessons so that she would then lean in and place her warm, soft hands on his body once more. He was being utterly pathetic about her and he knew it.
Every time she came close, Reid would breathe in deeply through his nose to get a lungful of her scent. Her perfume was faint in its statement, and he suspected she was adding oil to it to stretch the bottle to the last drop.
I wish you had kept the money I gave you and spent it on yourself.
With her hand now placed on his stomach, Reid wished his tailor had made his fine linen shirt out of a lighter fabric. A thinner material would afford him a truer sense of the warmth of her touch. Though even without it, his blood was heated as his heart pumped hard in his chest.
“You appear a little flustered this morning,” said Lavinia.
Flustered. Thank fuck the others cannot see me now; they would laugh their arses off.
The irony of him wishing to defend the innocence of the piano tuner’s daughter, while at the same time harboring wicked fantasies of what he would like to do to his singing teacher, was not lost on Reid. If Mercy was out of the field of play for Kendal, so should Lavinia be for him. And yet . . . “Possibly a touch of a cold coming on,” he lied.
She removed her hand and stood. He blinked away a combination of disappointment and relief. The longer she held her hand on him, the more difficult it became. A raging erection was the last thing he needed.
“Right. We need to move fast if we are to catch it before it catches you. Pardon the pun.” She brought over a large bowl from the small makeshift kitchen and set it down on a nearby table. A second trip to the kitchen had her carrying back a kettle, which she used to fill the bowl with steaming hot water. “Take a seat, Reid.”
He should have stopped her and confessed that he was in fact in disgustingly good health, but the stern look which sat on her face told him it was better to go along with things.
As he sat down, Lavinia pulled the bowl across the table, placing it in front of him. “Lean forward so that your face is over the bowl. Don’t touch the water, because it is hot. I boiled the kettle to make a cup of tea just before you arrived.”
As he moved into position, Lavinia tugged a thin blanket over his head and shoulders. “Now breathe. The steam will help to keep your passages moist. One of the greatest enemies of a singer is a dry nose and throat. You need to keep the mucus wet in your system. That means no alcohol, no cigars, and plenty of ginger tea.”
The thought of moist mucus had Reid’s stomach turning. “You mean I have to live like a monk in order to be able to sing?”
She patted him gently on the back. “No, just while you have a cold. But then again, if you wish to make your singing a success, then yes, alcohol and tobacco are not your friends and should be avoided.”
Reid suddenly wondered why he couldn’t have taken up the new-fangled banjo as his contribution to the group. He had heard that they were all the kick in the United States of America. Strangling an instrument seemed so much easier than having to train his vocal cords. And he wouldn’t have to give up drinking. “How long do I have to do this steaming for?”
Her patting turned to a long rub, which Reid began to enjoy far more than he should. If he had been a cat, he would have purred.
“A little while. Just until you feel comfortable,” she replied.
The growing presence of his thickening cock told Reid it would be some time before he was comfortable enough to move from the table. Along with the physical discomfort he was now feeling, Reid was beginning to wonder if he would ever be completely relaxed when he was with Lavinia.
While he only spent an hour every day with her, she was still front and center of his thoughts for the rest of his waking hours. Her long black eyelashes were the last thing he thought of as he drifted off to sleep alone in his bed each night. Her lus
cious curves were the star of his lust-filled dreams.
He found himself wanting Lavinia to be more than just a moment in his day. For her to be an integral part of his life.
You could offer her a role as your mistress.
He could have slapped himself for having even entertained such a tasteless idea; when it came to Lavinia, he wanted nothing but the best for her.
But if he gave her everything within his power, it would mean a life far removed from the one she knew. A nobleman would be a fool to even consider making a widowed singing teacher his wife.
As Lavinia continued to rub his back, Reid began to wonder if perhaps he’d had it wrong all along. He had been the fool in caring what others thought of him. A brave man would throw caution to the wind and claim what his heart desired.
He desired Lavinia.
Chapter Twenty
Several days later, the Noble Lords were in the drawing room of a house in Curzon Street; the scene for another of their musical performances. Eliza had been doing well in securing them further bookings.
Reid and Callum were sitting and talking, waiting as the guests slowly made their way into the room and took up their seats. Kendal loitered close by at the piano. His hair was tied back with a dark blue velvet ribbon. It was the first time Reid had seen him wear his hair out of his face for a performance.
Owen however was nowhere to be seen.
“Not a drop,” said Reid.
Callum scowled. “What do you mean, not a drop? How is that even possible?”
If Callum’s drinking wasn’t such a problem, Reid would have chuckled at his friend’s response to the revelation that Reid had not had any alcohol for three days.
Since receiving Lavinia’s instructions over his non-existent cold, he had successfully avoided every glass of whisky, brandy, or wine he was offered. Eliza had checked his forehead when he had refused a nip of brandy at supper the previous night, asking if he had been afflicted with a malady.
Reid: A Regency Rockstars Book Page 10
