The weekly changing of the guard at the nearby King’s Bench Prison had just taken place and those coming off duty were keen to drink themselves into a stupor. Added to that were the sailors from two merchant ships which had arrived in port this afternoon, they too had made straight for the Tipsy Toad as soon as their ships had berthed.
With the crush of paying customers in the place, it would have taken an axe to remove the large grin from Stan’s ruddy face. The clink of coins being handed over always made him smile.
Mercy was just trying to get through this evening and not think about a certain duke’s son. The memory of that kiss was, however, making the task a near-impossible one.
I thought people were only in jest when they said a good kiss could make your toes curl.
She was certain that her feet were still not set back to rights. And while the kiss on the cheek had been sweet, the feel of his lips on her mouth had almost stopped her heart. When he’d looked into her eyes, she had been held spell bound. She couldn’t have refused that kiss even if she had wanted to.
Thank god her father had taught her the basics of how to tune a piano without having to give the task too much thought. Once the rest of the Noble Lords had arrived into the ballroom at Follett House, she had been forced to rely on muscle memory to return the Cristofori into playable shape.
She had at least been blessed with one small piece of luck when she’d gotten home. Henry Wood had been too tired to enquire as to how her visit to Follett House had gone. He had given a small nod at the pile of coins on the kitchen table then settled down to eat his supper. “A few more trips to Windmill Street, and you should have enough to get yourself those boots. Lord Grant has become quite the windfall. What a fortunate spot of luck,” he had said.
Now, hours later, as she sat entertaining the patrons of the tavern, Mercy was having second thoughts as to whether Kendal was indeed a boon in her life.
Nothing good can come of letting your passionate heart decide things for you. Girls like you don’t have that luxury.
Falling for someone like him could only make things difficult. Adding complications to an already problematic existence was something she didn’t need. Refusing a perfectly respectable marriage to Anthony Sperry had caused enough rows with her father—she could just imagine how things would go if Henry were to discover his daughter was seriously considering an affair with a lord.
After picking up the tankard that Ann had just placed on the table next to the piano, Mercy downed a large gulp of ale. She normally made one drink last the whole evening, but it was only nine o’clock and she was already well into her second.
Her mood sank further as Anthony walked through the door of the tavern, a pretty young miss on his arm.
“Yet another new girlfriend,” she muttered.
Her former lover showing off his latest lady was the last thing she needed tonight. People still enquired as to when she and Anthony were going to marry.
And they are coming this way. Fan . . . bloody . . . tastic.
She painted a smile to her face as Anthony approached and waved to her. The woman beside him looked down her nose at Mercy. The unspoken challenge was clear—stay away from her man.
No need to be staring daggers at me, sweetheart. I have been there and done that already.
“Mercy, how are you this evening? This is Flo,” said Anthony.
The girl’s mouth turned to a frown. “Flora,” she corrected him.
“Oh, yes. Flora, this is Mercy Wood; she lives upstairs from my shop,” said Anthony.
Flora’s frown deepened. Mercy would have loved to get Flora alone for a minute and reassure her that there was no need for her to be concerned.
I am no threat to you. You should be more worried about the fact that he cannot remember your name.
Mercy nodded. “Hello, Flora. Welcome to the Tipsy Toad.”
As Anthony and his beau took their seats nearby, Mercy reached once more for the tankard of ale. Flora glared at her and Mercy turned away. If Anthony’s girlfriend was going to keep that up every time Mercy looked in their direction, it was going to be a long night.
She caught the eye of Ann who was back behind the bar.
Better set up a third one of these for me, darlin’. I feel the need to get numb.
But before she got too deeply into her cups, Mercy had people to entertain.
“Come on, me lovelies, what song would you like to hear next?” she cried. The roar of the tavern patrons had her laughing.
Farewell to you Spanish Ladies, it was . . . again.
Chapter Eighteen
The minute she stepped into the ballroom at Follett House the following morning, Mercy stopped. A number of alterations had been made. The piano was now situated closer to the center of the room, away from the fire and the window. She smiled at this, pleased that Kendal had obviously listened to her advice.
The other changes in the room had her sighing softly. A low sofa and an armchair had been placed in front of the fireplace, making quite the cozy little space. The rest of the room was now colder. She screwed up her nose at this, then remembered it had been her idea.
The sight of the sofa gave her pause. Kendal had said he wanted for them to kiss again; she could only pray he didn’t intend to take things any further.
Of course, he won’t. Not in a ballroom.
“Ah, good morning, Miss Wood.”
She turned as Lady Eliza Follett entered the room, Kendal following close on her heels.
Mercy immediately dipped into a respectful curtesy. “Lady Eliza.”
Eliza nodded in Kendal’s direction. “Lord Grant here tells me that you are now undertaking the tuning of the piano, not your father. Is that correct?”
“Ah. Um. Yes,” replied Mercy.
Eliza did not look pleased at hearing this news; she shook her head then turned to Kendal. “Would you give Miss Wood and I a moment of privacy please, Kendal?”
Kendal frowned, but took his leave.
Once he had gone, Eliza ushered Mercy over to the new sofa and chair arrangement. “Please, have a seat.”
Mercy sat on the edge of the sofa. What had Kendal told the lady of the house? What if he had informed Lady Eliza that he had kissed her and that she was not trustworthy enough to be in the house? Servants and tradespeople with loose morals were not welcome in the better homes of London.
If she did get thrown out, what would she tell her father? Only just this morning she had stopped by the cobblers and enquired as to the price of a new pair of boots and how long it would take for them to be made up for her.
“Now, I just wanted to have a word with you regarding the gentlemen of the house,” said Eliza.
Mercy swallowed a lump of dread and prepared herself for the worst. “Yes.”
“I want to know that you are comfortable being here without your father. I have known all the Noble Lords for most of my life, but that is not to say that sometimes they have not behaved in a socially acceptable manner. Especially when it comes to women.”
Mercy gritted her teeth. Lady Eliza Follett wasn’t afraid of having Mercy in the house; she was worried that one of the men might try to toy with her.
It was a timely reminder of the two worlds they lived in. One, the rarified and privileged world of the ton where a young woman’s reputation was her everything—the other, her world. A world where many of her friends had gone to their wedding-night bed well versed in what was to happen.
“Lady Eliza, I am fine. The members of the Noble Lords have been nothing but gentlemen when it comes to dealing with me,” she replied.
Her words were the right ones, if the change in Eliza’s face was any indication. She visibly relaxed, then smiled. “That’s good news. I am pleased to hear it. But just let me know if you notice the slightest hint of inappropriate behavior. These things are always best nipped in the bud. And of course, if at any time you feel unsafe, please come and either find me or ask for Mister Green. Are we clear on that point?�
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Mercy nodded. “Yes, Lady Eliza.”
Eliza got to her feet. “Excellent. I shall let Lord Grant know he can come back in.” Her gaze settled on the furniture and she put a finger to her lips. She looked as if she was going to remark about the sofa and chair, but then seemed to change her mind.
After Eliza had gone, Kendal returned. He ushered Mercy toward the piano and stood back while she retrieved her tools from the bag. “What did Eliza want?”
Mercy busied herself with checking the piano strings; she was worried that Lady Eliza might decide to come back. “She was concerned that one of you might try and get friendly with me. I was surprised, but pleased. It’s nice to know that another female might have my safety in mind.”
Kendal immediately came close to her. When Mercy went to step away, he took a hold of her sleeve. “I, too, have your safety in mind. I would never do anything to take advantage of you.”
“So, you say, but you did kiss me, and more than once,” she replied.
He huffed; frustration evident in his manner. “I kissed you because you asked. That is not taking advantage.”
Mercy nodded. Perhaps yesterday had just been a one-off and he regretted it. If that was the case, she had better get things straight right here and now. “Lord Grant, if what happened yesterday was a momentary lapse of judgement on both our parts, please tell me so, and we shall never speak of it again.”
He shook his head. “Not on my part it wasn’t. I thoroughly enjoyed it and would do it again the second you asked.”
This was a dangerous point for them both; if they moved past it, there may well be dire consequences. Every social dictate told her she was making a terrible mistake, that getting involved with a man so far above her social standing could only end in her ruin.
But when Kendal reached out and gently brushed his hand along her cheek, Mercy closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath.
“You are all I can think about,” he whispered.
“That’s funny, because I can’t get you out of my mind either.”
When Eliza had asked him to step out of the room, Kendal had thought to protest. Then, realizing that she’d wished to speak to Mercy, his blood had run cold. What had Mercy told the rest of the servants? Had she come back and spoken to Mister Green and informed him that Lord Grant had behaved poorly toward her?
As he’d waited outside in the foyer for the two women to finish their discussion, he held onto the memory of his and Mercy’s kiss the previous day. He hadn’t forced her to kiss him, and she hadn’t tried to fight him off, hadn’t tried to pull away.
No. She had been as invested as he was in the kiss, holding tightly onto the lapels of his jacket and ensuring that he could not escape.
And now that Mercy understood that he was serious about her, he had an overwhelming need to get things between them set in stone. To get her agreement on how they stood both now and how they viewed their future.
“I have barely slept a wink thinking about us. The Noble Lords played a wedding ball last night and all I could do was search the crowd for any trace of you, hoping that by some divine miracle you would appear.”
He moved in close and touched a butterfly kiss on each of her eyelids. As he drew back, she opened her eyes. Kendal smiled. The warm brown hue of Mercy’s eyes was enticing, but it was the tiny flecks of gold which held him captive.
“Kiss me, Kendal,” she said.
He brushed the pad of his thumb over her plump, red lips before leaning in and placing the softest touch of a kiss on them. Her velvety sigh went straight to his heart. “More?” he asked.
“Please.”
As he took her mouth with his, Kendal sent a silent prayer to heaven that Owen would decide on a second cup of coffee for his breakfast. Anything that kept the rest of the Noble Lords from the ballroom right now would be a godsend.
She was as welcoming and loving to him as she had been the previous morning, opening her mouth and tenderly stroking his tongue with hers. There was a sense of knowledge about the way she kissed, but it lacked the hardness that he was used to experiencing with the glossy matrons of the ton.
He placed a soft trail of kisses from her lips across to her neck, stopping at one point to playfully nibble on her earlobe. The sexy giggle she gave him when he blew hot air into her ear turned his cock instantly rock-hard.
This girl was beyond anything he had ever known. All sense and reason went out the window the moment he was close to her. There may well be a terrible fallout from all this, but his heart told him Mercy Wood was the woman of his future. “I know this is quite sudden and unexpected, but I will protect you. Do you trust me?”
The question registered on her face and it gave him pause, but within seconds she smiled and nodded. “Yes. Though we must be careful. If Lady Eliza is already wary of me being here without my father, rest assured she will be keeping a close eye on us. We should think long and hard before moving forward if we are to progress matters between us. Though, I am not saying you have my agreement to anything.”
There were still a number of weeks left in his time at Follett House, time during which he and Mercy could develop their relationship. In deciding on the path that they both wished to take, on the eventual outcome.
“I must confess that I think of little else other than you and what we could become,” he replied.
Kendal was determined to get Mercy’s agreement for them to be more than just friends—to become lovers. There was a spark between them that neither could deny.
Timing was crucial at this stage of their relationship. If he pushed too hard, she might become wary of his motives and pull away. He wanted her in his bed, wanted to know every inch of her body. But this was not going to be an affair where Mercy was left shattered and alone at the end. He had to play the long game and get her to trust him. To win her heart.
He drew back, creating a respectable distance between them. If anyone was to walk in the room right now, they would only see two people conducting a conversation about a piano—everything appearing above board and proper. “We had better get the piano looked at, then I want to spend a little time with you working on your keyboard technique.”
She scowled. “I know how to play.”
“Yes, but there is a difference between being able to get a tune out of a piano and making magic. I want to teach you to become a master of the music, not just its servant.”
Mercy laughed. “Kendal, you have the most incredible sense of self-worth I have ever met in a man. Is there even an inch of humility about you?”
Why should I be humble? I have a gift and I am not afraid to use it.
He could understand where she was coming from; his reputation as being an egotistical nightmare was well-known. And also, well deserved. There were few people who could see past what appeared to be his outward manic behavior, even fewer who recognized that it was actually passion.
“When it comes to music . . . no, I can’t see the point of trying to be humble. I know music. I have seen the heart of it, and it possesses my soul. I will not deny my talent.” All humor had fled from him. What he felt for Mercy filled him with light and merriment, but when it came to music, to his muse, he was deadly serious. At times it was almost like a religious fervor, but he had shied away from that concept, fearing it ventured close to blasphemy.
No matter how many different ways he had approached it, he had never quite succeeded in putting what he felt into words. But there was something about Mercy that told him she didn’t need to hear it, that she had some sense of the power of a soul-touching melody.
“No one should ever dare question that you are bound to the music; it is self-evident. Well, at least to me,” she replied.
He smiled, encouraged to go deeper, and explore Mercy’s own love for life’s harmony.
“Can I ask you something? When you play the piano, are you always present in the room?” he said.
It was an odd question but the look on Mercy’s face told him she k
new what he meant. “There are times when I feel like I am not me when I play. I mean, I am still at the piano, but it’s like I am watching over my own shoulder. Is that what you mean?”
Emotion welled up in him; tears threatened. She did understand. “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. It is like you leave your own body.”
Kendal had finally met someone who had experienced what he felt when he played. Someone who could identify with him and the power of music. Where have you been all my life?
He followed Mercy as she moved toward the piano. She pointed at the piles of manuscript paper lying about the floor. On the top of the nearest stack of papers was a pair of gold scissors.
“Have you written anything that you would want me to hear?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, it’s all utter rubbish. My muse has abandoned me and departed for foreign climes.”
Mercy gave him a look which told him she didn’t believe a word of it, then bent and picked up one of the sheets. She began unfurling the paper, but he leapt forward and snatched it out of her hands, screwing it back up into a tight ball.
He threw it under the piano where it rolled out of sight. “That is private. No one gets to hear my failures.”
“Don’t you want me to look at your work? I could give you some constructive pointers on it,” she replied.
“You write music?”
Mercy gave a long huff of disgust. “You disappoint me, Kendal. I would have thought you could spot a fellow composer. But, unlike yourself, I don’t happen to believe in muses. I’ve personally never felt the presence of one.”
It was rare to meet anyone who would admit being a frustrated composer. The thought had not even crossed his mind when it came to Mercy. Yet again, she was challenging his preconceived notions of her. “I’m sorry. I keep reading you wrong. Though I don’t know how you could even attempt to write music if you don’t have a muse. I have never been able to do it alone.”
Kendal: Regency Rockstars Page 9
