by Shayla Black
“I can see from your expression that I’ve confused you.”
Kira swallowed. “A trifle. Not two days ago you offered me ten thousand pounds to leave James.”
“And your refusal was another sign of my mistaken assumptions about your character.”
“I see,” she murmured, though she saw nothing at all.
“I must insist that you allow me to spend a bit of time with you soon, to truly come to know you. And so you might come to see I’m much less nefarious than I’ve behaved.”
Spend time with the only man since Lord Vance who had intrigued her enough to notice him? A man who smelled so fabulous that inhaling ought to be a sin? It was a bad idea.
And yet…he alone stood between her and her future happiness as James’s wife. Even if gossip about her had circulated the country near and far, the quiet clergyman remained her best chance to find acceptance, a sense of belonging and community. Turning Cropthorne down would not be wise. Still…
“I’m not certain that is necessary—”
“Allow me to disagree.” His dark eyes were earnest, seemingly honest. “James asked me the day you arrived to be your friend. I discredit him by not honoring his request.”
Put that way, how could she deny him a chance to please her husband-to-be? And how pleased James would be if she were truly accepted into the family and the dissention ended. What a wonderful wedding gift to give him.
She sent the duke a smile. “In that case, I accept.”
* * * *
The next day, rain again fell. Deprived of the pleasure of steeping herself in the riotous colors of the garden, Kira took to the music room. Decorated in blues, white, and yellow, the room possessed a soothing harmony that matched its purpose. Curtains parted wide over large windows, allowing the gray daylight to filter inside, softening the room with diffused light and shadows.
She loved it here, despite the odd fact no one else did.
Wandering about the airy room, Kira soon found herself before the large pianoforte. She hadn’t played a note since she had foolishly gone away with Lord Vance; she had not felt any music in her heart. Today, however, it burst inside her. Maybe it was hope, now that her wedding was just over a fortnight away and Cropthorne said he would no longer oppose the match. Who knew? Happiness simply urged her to play.
Impulsively, Kira sat before the massive cherry wood instrument. The ivory keys lay before her in a precise, straight row. She raised her hands, then paused, drawing in a deep breath. What if someone heard her? A surreptitious glance over her shoulder proved the door remained closed.
With a shrug, she turned away and began to play, lightly at first. As the music swelled within her, she played with increasing intensity, letting the notes flow from her heart to her fingers. Kira played nearly everything she knew; a simple lullaby eventually led to Moonlight Sonata, then a Mozart aria. As she began the last, she sang.
The clear notes of the pianoforte coupled with her own soprano filled the room all the way up to the tall ceiling. The music swirled around her, richer than cream, both soothing and thrilling her. Kira threw back her head and began something new—a poignant folk song about a woman waiting for her love.
Kira played until her hands ached, her shoulders strained, even until perspiration broke out across her forehead.
At the last note, the music left her. Drained but happy, she took her hands from the keys and sagged over the instrument.
The sudden sound of clapping behind her jabbed her with surprise. Her heart jumped. Gasping, she whirled about and stood in one motion.
Cropthorne stood in the portal, propped against the doorframe, still applauding.
Mortified, she cast a hand over her chest. “Oh, your grace, I’m—”
“You’re wonderful.” A smile of surprise softened the hard lines of his face. “James did not tell me you possessed such enormous talent.”
Enormous talent? Certainly that was stretching the truth. Perhaps he thought flattery the best way to put their past difficulties behind them. That seemed logical, if underhanded.
Still, even his false praise made Kira look away in a fit of shyness. “James has not heard me. No one but my brother has.”
“Really? Why would you deprive the world of such a pleasure? Hearing you is a sublime delight.”
Even if Cropthorne was lying, he did so with great charm. Kira felt a slow flush creep up her cheeks. “I—I merely sing for my own enjoyment. I do not…”
Cropthorne drew closer, within steps of her, his eyes glowing with praise that looked astonishingly genuine. And he smiled, by the saints, so brilliantly, Kira’s stomach fluttered.
Though she knew it was foolish, she felt herself smile in return. “You’re very kind.”
“Nonsense. I’m honest,” he assured, sitting on the pianoforte’s bench. Then he patted the seat beside him.
Casting a wary glance at the duke, Kira hesitated. He actually wanted her to sit next to him? That close?
“Come now. Sit down. I’ll not bite. I won’t even growl.” He flashed her a wolfish grin. “At least not too much.”
Now the duke was teasing her? Kira had wondered if the man even possessed a sense of humor, but clearly he had just made a joke. Stunned, she sat beside him. Was this man the real Cropthorne? Kira no longer knew what to think.
He was too close for propriety, particularly since they were unchaperoned. Nervousness fluttered in her stomach, and she bit her lip in indecision. She ought not to heed his request, but balking seemed imprudent just when he had determined to be civil to her, if, in fact, he had.
Kira settled gingerly on the bench. Their shoulders brushed. Warmth radiated from his body, chasing the last of the rain’s chill from her. An inescapable awareness of his musky scent filled each time she drew a breath. Usually, Cropthorne was tall and dark and intimidating…but wearing a smile, he looked pleasantly handsome. No, that wasn’t right; he looked incredible. The duke was the kind of man who would break a woman’s heart if she let him, which Kira would not do. James was her future.
Determined to ease the air between them for James’s sake, she teased, “I’m not certain I would recognize you if you did not growl at least a little.”
His smile was ironic. “Quite so. I do have a reputation to maintain.”
“About that, I have little doubt.”
Kira smiled. Again, Cropthorne showed he was good for more than growls and scowls. A week ago, she would never have believed it.
“Truly, you did sound wonderful.” The admiration in his eyes warmed her. “Where did you learn to play and sing?”
Explaining to him would entail talking about her mother, of her happy memories before the sudden flight to Persia—and then the shocking rejection. She could scarcely speak of such things to her own brother, but the duke… He may be more agreeable now, yet discussing her past and her mixed heritage would only remind him of the reasons he initially disapproved of her.
She shrugged. “I learned a bit here and there. I practiced a great deal. Music is one of my greatest passions.”
The duke’s eyes darkened. Though the music room door was not shut, somehow she felt as if they were alone. The sensation was unusual but not unpleasant. In fact, it was even a little heady.
“Your joy of music shows,” he murmured. “Perhaps if I cajole you nicely, I can persuade you to help me sound slightly better than a dying animal?”
“You cannot sing?”
“Not a note,” he confirmed. “Unless you stretch your definition of the word a great deal.”
“But a dying animal, your grace? That cannot be.”
“Please, call me Gavin,” he corrected.
The surprise must have shadowed every nuance of her expression, for he immediately explained, “If we are to be family, I see no need for formality. Do you?”
What he suggested was very casual, but also very promising. Perhaps he genuinely meant to welcome her into the family. If so, she dare not refuse.
“Ga
vin,” she murmured.
“Thank you, Kira.”
His countenance looked for permission to address her by her given name. She granted his request with a hesitant nod.
He edged closer. Kira could not remember a time she was more aware of a person’s closeness, particularly a man’s. As he drew near, all of her senses danced with life. Puzzled, Kira looked away, yet she still knew when he took each breath. The mix of musk and bay rum clinging to him beguiled her somehow. The warmth he radiated drew her.
“Splendid,” he replied as if nothing was amiss. “Now, how do you sing with such a beautiful voice? It’s…”
Gavin seemed to be searching for a description. Kira held her breath as she waited, not certain why his opinion mattered.
“It’s like hearing an angel.” His smile lifted the corners of his full mouth. “Mamas have been parading their daughters under my nose for years, lauding their talents, but I’ve never heard anything quite so magnificent.”
“Magnificent? Oh, your grace—”
“Gavin,” he reminded her.
“Yes, um… magnificent is much too strong a word, I assure you.”
“If you never let anyone hear you, how would you know?”
Kira paused. She had no idea how to answer him.
“Could you just admit that I might be right?” he murmured.
“Thank you.” Kira still doubted that magnificent described her, but if he believed it, why try to change his mind? His attentive gaze told her that he appreciated her talent, such as it was.
“So, can you teach me to sing a bit? I hate butchering Christmas carols every year.”
“I shall try.”
Smiling, Kira glanced at Gavin. Again, the masculine grandeur of his face fascinated her. He truly was a most arresting man. It was fortuitous, indeed, that Lord Vance had taught her to be immune to such things.
A few Christmas carols and a folk song later, Kira had to conclude that Gavin had not lied about one thing: he could not carry a single note. Not at all.
“I sounded terrible, didn’t I?” he asked with a wry grin.
Kira bit her lip, looking for a tactful reply. “Perhaps with more practice—”
“No, I accept my shortcomings, my very bad voice among them. Besides, I would rather hear you.”
The avid gaze he sent her with those infinite dark eyes warmed her all over.
“You flatter me far too much.”
“Perhaps you appreciate yourself far too little.”
Kira swallowed, wordless. Did he believe that, as Darius did? Did he know how badly she wanted to believe it too? His solemn expression said he did.
While she sat silently, he stood and reached for her hand, bare because she could not play in gloves. The heat of his skin and the intimate contact stunned her.
“Thank you for a lovely lesson,” he said into the silence. “I’m sorry to be such an awful pupil.”
“You—your effort was commendable.”
He laughed, the deep sounds of it resonating in the room. “You are most tactful.”
Finally, he bent and kissed the back of her hand. The shocking contact of his firm mouth on her bare skin jolted her. A wave of heat bit into her belly.
“Will you play for me again soon?” he asked.
His gaze was so direct, so warm and disconcerting, Kira could only nod.
“Splendid.” A smile lit up his face. “Now I shall have something to look forward to. Until then, Kira.”
Cropthorne left the room in a stride that bespoke both confidence and grace. And she said not a word as he left. Indeed, what could she say? She had no notion if she should trust him or if he understood her even the smallest bit. But if he did… oh, the thought pleased her far more than it should.
* * * *
“You and Gavin seem to be speaking with greater ease these days.”
Kira lifted her gaze from a book of horticulture to find James standing before her in the garden, green grass swaying about his ankles. Damp air hovered in a sky filled with fat gray clouds. The weather portended more rain, and she’d wanted a few moments alone before the tempest to enjoy the garden and the solitude, to clear her mind. After four straight days of meeting the duke in the music room and being the sole recipient of his praise and attentive conversation, she felt oddly restless.
But the contentment on James’s face reminded Kira why she subjected herself to Cropthorne’s stunning smile, the masculine spice of his scent around her. James deserved harmony.
However, the reality of speaking more easily with Gavin Daggett made her feel both flushed and agitated. Even the husky timbre of his voice made her shiver. Her reactions were most bewildering.
Kira hid her unrest with a smile. “Indeed.”
“I am quite pleased.” James’s words were genuine, as evidenced by his smile. “May I?”
At his gesture to the bench upon which she sat, Kira nodded and scooted to her right. The wind whipped through the dark curls framing her face; the air grew heavier. Rain neared. James sat beside her, and she closed the book with a reluctant sigh. Solitude could wait, she supposed.
“You know,” he said, “I had very much feared that once Gavin heard Lord Vance’s terrible gossip, he would not accept you into the family.”
Kira still was not convinced that he had, but she kept that tidbit to herself. No need to upset James. “Really?”
“Indeed. Gavin abhors scandal of any variety. But when it comes to his door…” James sighed and shook his head. “He has too much experience with vicious tattle to find any of it pleasant.”
The very rigid Cropthorne embroiled in a scandal? Intrigued, she sat a bit closer to James. “I had no idea his grace had ever behaved in a way that caused tongues to wag.”
“He did not, not really. Oh, I suppose he had a few youthful pranks and indiscretions. Men of his wealth and stature do.”
“And you don’t object, Mr. Howland? How very odd for one of your profession,” she teased.
He drew his round face into hard lines of mock sternness. “If you ask me that question in church on Sunday, I will, of course, deny I said any such thing.”
“But?”
His face turned thoughtful. “But Gavin is different. His father’s scandals shook him when he was just ten. I don’t remember anything since I was only toddling then, but my mother says the family endured some dark days. She can scarce speak of it without a fit of the vapors. My cousin was taunted a great deal in school thereafter, I gather. And Gavin’s mother died shortly after the…incident.”
Her heart reached out in sympathy to the young boy who had endured such difficulty through no fault of his own. To have his father humiliate the family, then to suffer his mother’s passing—she could imagine that would be a terrible time for him.
“What manner of scandal did his father cause?” she asked.
James averted his gaze. “It’s hardly worth speaking of now in any detail, as it happened almost twenty years ago. I suppose a few elder society gossips recall snippets of the event, but it’s Gavin who will not forget.”
“I see.” But she didn’t. What could be so hideous that James refused to speak of—and Gavin could not ignore?
“In fact, Gavin’s every move seems designed to be perfect.” James shrugged. “Soon, I believe, he will even have the perfect fiancée.”
A fiancée? That jolted Kira. Cropthorne had never mentioned a woman, much less indicated he might be paying his addresses to one. The notion unsettled her.
“Truly?”
“Lady Litchfield is a beautiful widow, young and well connected. Her breeding is impeccable. She is the toast of London.”
Naturally. If any man could find and wed the perfect woman, it would be Cropthorne. That fact made her inexplicably irritated, probably because she was terribly aware of her own faults. She would never be considered perfect in any way. Because of her birth and her rumored behavior, she was likely to remain an outcast, at least until she and James wed.
Still, she saw something in James’s expression that belied his words.
“You don’t like this Lady Litchfield?”
He shrugged, hesitated. “She is lovely and agreeable. But I—I don’t know. Somehow they seem ill suited. Others think she will be perfect for Gavin, however, and we must allow that they know far more about these things than I.”
Before Kira could reply, a cool drop of water landed on her hand, then her chin. She looked up, only to be doused by another series of plump raindrops all over her face.
James jumped to his feet beside her. “Come inside, Miss Melbourne. Out of the rain!”
Tucking her book beneath her shawl, Kira latched onto his arm and ran with him to the kitchen door. When they reached the portal, she slipped inside, then dismissed herself to change into something warm and dry. But even in her lovely room, James’s words reverberated in her head.
Cropthorne had lived through a scandal, as had Aunt Caroline, and apparently a shocking one to have affected him so deeply. To some degree, Kira comprehended why he had objected most vociferously to her marriage to James. As the duke had explained at the start of their truce, he was protecting his family. Now she understood why he believed that necessary.
From her window, Kira cast an unfocused gaze out over the rainy garden. Her heart still raced. If Gavin was willing to accept her now, perhaps that meant he believed in her innocence, that she could actually trust him. It was possible he even appreciated her as much as he claimed.
The possibility was dangerously thrilling.
* * * *
“I must be away to London,” Darius informed James after dinner that evening.
The quiet clergyman lifted his questioning blue gaze. “London? You abhor the place.”
Darius nodded. He did hate London. Too many people, too much bustle, too many seductions and deceptions, and a town filled with people who possessed nothing but the time to conceive such plots and the heartlessness to carry them out. People like Lord Vance.
“This is a matter of some urgency, not to mention delicacy,” Darius said finally. “I would prefer Kira know as little as possible about my mission.”
