by Ashley March
“—it’s fair to say that no city in all the world could compare to the cities and towns and lovely countryside here.”
“My cousin says that Charleston is close to the ocean. I’m not sure why, but I always believed it was much farther inland.”
“Hmm. You might be thinking of—”
“A hem.” A little louder.
“—Columbia. It’s near Charleston, but—”
“A hem.” Persistent little thing, wasn’t she?
A lex turned to Willa, his eyes wide. “Oh, Miss Stratton. I do apologize—I must admit I’d forgotten you were there.” He smiled.
Her gaze held threats. Dangerous threats.
“Please excuse us for a moment, Lord Hadaway,” she said to the man, rising.
“Of course, Miss Stratton.” He stood, too, and A lex straightened. “Good to meet you, Mr. Laurie.”
you, Mr. Laurie.”
“The same, my lord.”
A lex didn’t follow her. He watched as Willa maneuvered through a space between chairs on the opposite side, then marched back toward him, her gaze filled with a martial light. Linking her arm with his, she tugged him away from the center of the room and toward the wall. Unable to help himself, he admired her hair and the curve of her neck as she led him, much as he’d done before he knew who she was at the Winstead ball.
I despise her hair, her neck, and everything about her.
When they reached the far wall she immediately extricated her arm from his and whirled. “What do you think you’re doing?”
A lex raised his brows. “Conversing with your guests?”
“You are irritating me.”
He smirked. “Funny, that. I find the same thing happens to me when you’re anywhere in the vicinity. Perhaps you should leave London. No, better yet, perhaps you should leave England. Then I won’t irritate you, and you won’t irritate me. I think that’s an excellent idea.”
Her chin lifted. “I could send for the hotel staff and have you removed from Mivart’s.”
A lex rested a shoulder against the wall. “You could.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I believe I will.”
He grabbed her wrist as she started to turn away. She wasn’t wearing any gloves, and her skin was warm, silken beneath his touch. Some perverse part of him held on, knowing that this, too, would irritate her. “I did bring you a rose,” he reminded her.
“Let go of my wrist.” He’d been correct in thinking that it irritated her. Still, he didn’t like how his thumb had started to twitch with the desire to smooth along the inside of her arm. He let her go.
“Your maid said to bring you only roses,” he said. He glanced past her, to a row of vases lined up on the top of an escritoire. Yellow, white, red, pink—roses, one and all. “Is it that only certain types of flowers make you ill?” Her shoulders stiffened and she hesitated, as if uncertain whether to answer him. “Yes. Most do,” she said. “Roses don’t seem to affect me as much.”
“Oh?” He lifted his hand to the necklace encircling her throat. “Do all jewels but diamonds make you ill as well?”
She smacked his hand away and glanced toward her other guests. When she met his eyes again, she gave him a smug grin. “Pearls or diamonds. Either will do.” She strolled away—he preferred to think of it as running away—toward a group of men on the opposite side of the room, cloistered near the pianoforte.
A lex considered the pianoforte for a long moment. He tried to contain his evil smile. It was difficult, however, and he failed. Following her across the room, he opened his arms and spun around, raising his voice to be heard above the rest.
“Gentlemen, my lords . . . ,” he called, waiting until they all quieted. A lex nodded at Lady Carlyle in the corner. He bowed. “A nd lady.”
at Lady Carlyle in the corner. He bowed. “A nd lady.”
He could sense Willa’s anxiety and displeasure at his back. His smile widened.
Sweeping his arm with a flourish, he turned and gestured toward her. “It is my great pleasure to announce that Miss Stratton has agreed to now grace us with a piece on the pianoforte. I admit it required some begging on my half to convince her—”
“Mr. Laurie—” Her voice was panicked, breathless, her ocean blue eyes nearly pleading. He hadn’t expected such a quick surrender. It was a trick—a manipulation, surely. Next she would feign that her fingers were broken.
A lex quashed the faint pulse of doubt and wagged his finger at her. “I’m afraid you can’t back out now, Miss Stratton. A promise is a promise, after all.” A t the side of the room, someone began to clap. “Take pity on us and play a piece, Miss Stratton.” He glanced toward the voice; it was Lord Hadaway, the man with the cousin in Charleston. A lex began clapping as well, and soon the entire room was clapping with enthusiasm—all of the suitors, including Uxbridge, Lady Carlyle, even the maid . . . all but Willa herself, who stood frozen at the center of attention. Her gaze drifted around the room, a bead of perspiration showing at her temple. Then her eyes locked on A lex and she smiled. A ll trace of panic and fear disappeared.
“I’d be delighted to play a piece for everyone, Mr. Laurie. However, I fear you neglected to tell them that you promised to play on the pianoforte with me.” She tilted her head, matching smile for smile. “A nd as you said, a promise is a promise, isn’t it?”
A lex held up his hands and started to back away. “Now, Miss Stratton, I would never—”
Strolling forward, she grabbed his hand. It was as if an iron manacle had clenched around his wrist. He hadn’t even realized her hand was large enough to span around his wrist. But it probably wasn’t; she crushed the bones well enough that her hand was just the right size, her fingers just long enough to keep him prisoner. A lex gave his wrist a little shake. Not even the slightest shift; she wouldn’t budge.
“You will play with me, Mr. Laurie,” she said in the same tone of voice in which he’d heard men issue death threats. “Now.”
“But of course, Miss Stratton.” With his free hand he waved toward the pianoforte, then when her gaze shifted he strode forward, tugging her along so he wouldn’t be the one pulled by her. He sat down upon the bench and she released him. A lex grinned and patted the empty space when she hesitated to sit. “Come, Miss Stratton. I won’t bite.”
“I might,” she muttered, and with all grace gone, plunked down on the seat.
The men’s voices filled the room with a buzz as they watched A lex and Willa rifle through the music sheets the hotel staff had left at the pianoforte.
“How about this one?” he offered, handing her a sheet covered with what looked like a maze of dots and dashes.
“Tchaikovsky?” she hissed, slapping it aside. “I can barely manage ‘Three Blind
“Tchaikovsky?” she hissed, slapping it aside. “I can barely manage ‘Three Blind Mice.’”
A lex nodded solemnly and reached over to pluck the rest of the music sheets from her hand before she mangled them in her anxiety. “‘Three Blind Mice’ it will be, then,” he said. “A re you ready? I’ll signal for everyone to quiet.” Her ocean blue eyes flashed with scorn. “You realize this was a ridiculously childish thing for you to do. You will never succeed—”
“Have I embarrassed you yet?” he asked, looking down to examine his trimmed fingernails. Frowning, he rubbed his thumb over his index finger, then blew. A t her silence, he slid a glance at her.
She appeared as if she’d like to slam his head against the keys. “Even if you do, I would never admit it. You, Mr. Laurie, are a bully.”
“I told you I would win, Miss Stratton, and I mean to keep my promise. Now let us play.”
She straightened her spine, then adjusted her skirts—a motion that amused A lex to no end, as it caused her entire torso to wriggle—and finally stared straight ahead, ignoring him. A lex stood. “We are ready to begin,” he announced.
The room quieted at once.
Sinking to the bench, A lex placed his fingers on the keys—all but hi
s middle fingers resting on the ivories; those he splayed lazily on the black bars at the back. He looked over at Willa. “You go first.”
Willa didn’t usually notate things about herself in the third person, but if she were to do so now, it would be: Rage radiated from her every pore.
“I could refuse to play,” she whispered into the silence, conscious of the weight of her guests’ stares on the top of her head. For heaven’s sake, Uxbridge was there.
A lex didn’t respond. Somehow, she knew that no matter what she chose to do, he wouldn’t relent until he was satisfied in making a fool of her. Better to get it over with and laugh with her suitors afterward.
Willa banged out the first note, then the second and third.
Three blind mice.
A gain.
Three blind mice.
Pausing, she studied the keys, trying to remember where to place her fingers next.
A deafening silence greeted her as the music stopped. The rage built inside her like a pot brought to boil. She was going to boil over soon. She would kill him.
See how they run.
Willa glanced over at A lex, who of all things was now whistling along as she played.
See how they run.
She lowered her hands to her lap and stared at him. He didn’t move. “It’s your turn,” she whispered furiously. “Play the rest.”
turn,” she whispered furiously. “Play the rest.”
He shrugged. Then, drawing a breath, he lifted his wrists into the air and—
Played Beethoven.
No, he was Beethoven. He was the passion in the music, the emotion, instilling overwhelming awe into his audience.
A fter the first several bars of the Moonlight Sonata Willa gritted her teeth.
A s it continued—on and on and on—she peeked over the top of the pianoforte and peered around the room. Some of her suitors held teacups dangling from their fingertips; Uxbridge’s brow was raised in salute.
No one spoke. They were hushed in reverence. For A lex.
But she had shocked them into silence, too. Horrified silence.
A nd then, at that very moment, at the decidedly unfulfilled age of six and twenty, Willa Stratton died.
Unfortunately, she didn’t die as she hoped she would. She sat there for what seemed like an eternity and waited for the music to be over, staring ahead at the glossy black of the pianoforte—for she couldn’t bear to look at him.
A t last, it ended.
A yawning silence followed the echo of the last note and then, almost as one, his audience burst into applause.
Willa slowly rotated her head toward him. One degree at a time. Slowly.
A lex met her gaze with a grin.
“You might as well have played Tchaikovsky,” she said icily.
He shrugged. “I can’t read music.”
“You can’t—” She stopped. Narrowed her eyes. “You mean to say that you learned Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata by memory?” This last came out as a screech. Unfortunately. Fortunately, however, the applause continued and covered the moment when her voice reached the pitch of a bird’s squawk.
“When we first moved into Holcombe House,” he said. “It took me a few days, but I liked the piece and wanted to be able to play it for myself.” Willa studied him carefully, observing the triumph in his dark brown gaze, the smug curve of his lips. A ttempting to ignore the heat of his thigh settled against hers on the bench. “I do not like repeating myself,” she said slowly, “but it seems appropriate to say it again.” She paused, attempting to summon the entirety of her disdain to resonate with each syllable. “I find you—”
“Delightful. Glorious. A mazingly talented.”
“—trying. Extremely trying. God should have sent you to Pharaoh instead of frogs or locusts. It would have been much more effective.”
“I shall refrain from pointing out the obvious fact that I wasn’t born at the time and instead accept your statement as a compliment. One hopes that this means I have succeeded in driving you away?”
“No.” She smiled sweetly. “It means I’ve decided to become your personal plague in return.”
He truly was too close. She could feel not only his leg against hers, but his hip as well, and his shoulder, too. His face was angled toward hers, near enough that as well, and his shoulder, too. His face was angled toward hers, near enough that she could see the distinction between the black of his pupil and the dark mahogany of his irises. She imagined she could even feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek as they stared at each other, and she was quite aware of the short distance between his lips and hers. If they had been any other man and woman sitting side by side quietly while her callers waited for them to stand, Willa was certain they would have been suspected of hiding amorous touches behind the pianoforte.
A s if he read her thoughts, he murmured in a dark, contemplative voice, “Do you suppose this would make Uxbridge jealous?” A nd then he placed his hand upon her thigh.
Chapter 9
Willa lurched from the bench, jostling the keys in a discordant chorus as she went. Everyone stared. She cleared her throat. “Thank you very much, gentlemen, for calling on me today. I apologize, but I will have to leave very shortly for a previous appointment.”
“Who is the fortunate man, Miss Stratton?” asked a bright, curious voice beside her.
Willa ignored A lex and continued. “I must retire to my chamber now to prepare, but I look forward to seeing each of you soon.” She was flustered, her composure ruined. She, who had told herself she would never run from A lex Laurie, was in full-fledged retreat.
Lord Uxbridge strolled forward and took both of Willa’s hands in his. “Your company, as always, Miss Stratton, is a pleasure.” She noticed he didn’t say anything about her ability to play the pianoforte. “I look forward to seeing you at the Pattersons’ tonight.”
“I do, too, my lord.” She forced a smile. She would need to wear her best gown to make him forget this visit. When he turned away, she made straight for Sarah, who appeared serene and unruffled in the middle of the sitting room—whereas Willa felt like a ship that might capsize at any moment.
“Don’t let Mr. Laurie leave,” she whispered to Sarah, then strode into the adjoining bedchamber and closed the door. She went to her bed, sank down upon the mattress, and inhaled deeply.
She wanted to cry.
But instead, she made herself think of the pianoforte and laugh.
The mirth began like tiny hiccups at first, then grew to unbelieving chuckles that she fought to contain lest the departing guests hear her on the other side of the door. Dear God. She’d just played “Three Blind Mice” for a roomful of lords and heirs to lords. Not even the entire piece!
But as easily as she encouraged it, her amusement faded as his image returned to her mind once again.
A lex Laurie.
He of the cheerful grin that hid a wicked heart—of course, not quite so wicked as hers—and of a persistent charm that carefully concealed his deviousness. He’d finally mounted his attack, but little did he know that his touch to her thigh was much more disastrous than the embarrassing trick with the pianoforte.
A few minutes later a knock came at the door; then Ellen appeared. “Lady Carlyle sent me to tell you all of the gentlemen are gone but for Mr. Laurie.” A Carlyle sent me to tell you all of the gentlemen are gone but for Mr. Laurie.” A pause. “Miss, are you all right?”
Willa sat up and tucked the hair that had strayed from her bun behind her ears.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, Ellen.”
“Your—” Ellen tapped her head. “One of the clasps is falling out.”
“Oh.” Willa reached up and patted her hair until she found the dangling clasp.
She took it out, then used it to pin back the hair that had come undone. “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” she said as she peered into the mirror nearby. Not for him, at least. “A s long as I’m presentable.”
“You look beautiful
as always, miss.”
Willa grinned as she strolled past her maid. “I do believe it’s impossible to like you any more than I already do, Ellen.” She opened the door and stepped into the sitting room. A lex and Sarah were sitting on a sofa together, their heads bent close as they both stared down at her palm, held between them in the brace of his hand.
“Do not tell me you are a palmist as well as a grand pianist.” Sarah jerked her hand to her lap, blushing. A lex stood and strolled toward Willa, squaring off a pace away. “I’m not accustomed to being ordered about, Miss Stratton, but I confess to being curious. You asked me to remain?” Willa looked at her companion. “Sarah, would you mind—”
“No, of course not.” Rising to her feet, she disappeared into her chamber through the other door leading off the sitting room. A nd Ellen had remained in Willa’s bedchamber.
They were alone. She inhaled. Exhaled. Nearly bit her lip through.
If she wasn’t assured of how much he despised her, she might have been afraid of exposing herself and risking her vulnerability. But it was precisely because he despised her that she could say it, knowing he would never look further than the surface of her words.
“It wasn’t very nice of you to send her away,” he said.
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t touch me like that again,” she said at the same time. “I find it offensive and improper.”
He raised a brow. “We’re concerned about propriety’s sake now?” Willa regretted saying it, after all. She’d meant him to accept her request, not to explore it in depth. Instead, she latched onto his other comment for rescue. “Lady Carlyle is my friend. She understood my intentions to speak privately. On the contrary, she knows I am nice—everyone believes I am nice except for you.”
“Oh, I believe you’re nice.” There was something in his voice . . . The mistake wasn’t what they spoke about, but in asking for him to stay behind, in being left alone with him for the first time since Italy. “You’re very nice,” he continued.
“Beautiful, intelligent, charming. You’re everything a man could want, Miss Stratton.”
