At his deep sigh, Genevieve bumped his foot with hers. “Is this the sort of nonsense you have to put up with every time someone realizes who you are?” she asked with a perplexed frown.
“Of course. Who doesn’t want to meet the great musician?” Lucas said, waving away anything further from the waiter. They spoke in voices barely audible in the hopes they wouldn’t be overheard.
When music began to play, they looked up. One of the waiters had placed a gramophone on a now-empty table, and a piano concerto sounded throughout the room.
“Is this yours?” she asked after she swallowed a bite of chicken.
“No. And I don’t recognize the performer or care who it is, as long as the song drowns out what we’re saying. I must remember to tip that waiter for his thoughtfulness.”
Genevieve studied him closely as he finished his meal, a slight tension remaining in his shoulders even though he had relaxed considerably as the music continued to play. “Why should people treat you differently because of your talent?”
He raised startled eyes to her. “They always do—as though they can no longer see me. They see my fame or what I can do. Not the man beneath the talent. Nor do they have any regard for the harm their nonsensical babbling can do.” He attempted a grin but failed, appearing more as a grimace. “I’m sorry if they offended you, Vivie, by intimating you were anything less than my wife.”
Genevieve shook her head, as though the couple’s prattling was a mere nuisance. “There will always be those who comment on our age difference. You are fifteen years older than me.” She shrugged her shoulders before reaching her hand across the table and grasping his. “What’s important to me is that you’re Lucas. The man loyal to his family and friends. Yes, you are a musician. But that’s not all you are.”
His arrested gaze fell on her a moment, and a true smile lit his eyes. “Thank you, Vivie.”
She flashed him a teasing smile. “You owe me a ring.”
He laughed, earning a few curious stares from those in the dining car. “That I do.”
The gusty wind at the end of the railcar buffeted him, pushing Lucas back a step. Rather than lean against the railing, he propped himself against the back wall of the car, sighing with relief for a few moments of solitude. The crisp evening air with a hint of coal and woodsmoke evoked memories of former travels, and he momentarily forgot his surroundings as he reenvisioned journeys through Europe. The glorious opera houses with pitch-perfect acoustics where he’d had the good fortune to perform. The ballrooms with the glittery chandeliers, never-ending supply of champagne served by waitstaff meant to be invisible, and overdressed patrons vying for his attention. The abject loneliness as he returned to his suite of rooms each night. He glanced up, but the stars remained obscured by low-lying clouds. He tugged the scarf tighter around his neck but turned to reenter the railcar after a few minutes.
He paused at the entrance to their small compartment, his eyes closing with pleasure at the soft sound of her playing the violin—a haunting, mournful song that called to him, but one he was unable to name. He opened his eyes and pulled aside the curtain to see her arching her back as she played a note, her eyes closed as a tear rolled down one cheek. When the song ended, she sniffled, placed her violin in its case, and hid it away under the bed.
After another moment, he realized she had not wanted him to be aware of her playing. He was unable to ward off a grin at seeing her disgruntled glare as she stared at the mattress. “What’s the matter?” he whispered. As the hour grew late, conversations were more easily overheard.
“I had no idea we were expected to sleep together,” she hissed in a low voice, slapping her hands down on the double bed on either side of her hips.
“What did you think would happen?” Lucas asked. He turned to ensure the curtain was completely pulled and then sat next to her on the bed. After kicking off his shoes, he shucked his jacket and waistcoat. He rose, hanging them on a hanger and then sat again. “I like your nightdress.” He chuckled as she hit him on the arm.
“It’s not coming off.” She fingered the smooth satin of one of the long sleeves.
“I’m teasing,” he said, his smile fading at seeing her joy at their light banter fade with his words. “Vivie? Nothing will happen between us until you want it to. I promise.”
She stared at him intently, as though seeking a lie, before nodding. “I want the side by the wall,” she said, her legs nudging him to get up. She scooted under the covers and turned her back to him.
After finding a pair of pajama bottoms, he climbed into their small bed and curled onto his back, away from her. “Good night, Genevieve. I hope you sleep well.” He cocked his head, awaiting a response, but heard nothing. Arching his head backward, he frowned.
Turning to his side, now with his front to Genevieve’s back, he traced a hand down her side. “Vivie? Are you crying?”
That earned a small rumbling movement from her. “No-oo.” She bit back a moan of distress as her voice croaked.
“Oh, Vivie,” he murmured, running his hand up and down her arm. “I can only imagine how hard today was for you. Leaving your family. Leaving Boston and everything and everyone you know. With me—someone you barely know.” He dropped his head, bumping it into the space between her shoulder blades. “Forgive my insensitivity.”
She shook, and he scooted closer, enfolding her in his arms. “Oh, my little Vivie,” he murmured. “Cry. Cry it all out,” he urged.
After many minutes, her shudders ceased, and the tension in her shoulders eased. She turned, allowing him to hug her to him. “You aren’t wearing a shirt,” she gasped as the soft hair of his chest tickled her cheek.
“Be thankful I’m wearing these pajama bottoms,” he muttered. “Shh, it’s all right. Let me hold you.” He ran his fingers through her long brown hair, pulling her tighter to him. “Everything will be all right.”
Her breathing normalized as she slipped into sleep, and he closed his eyes as he bent to kiss the top of her head. The faint scent of honeysuckle clung to her hair, and he breathed deeply. He relaxed as he held the sister of the woman he’d once loved while the train shifted, the repetitive clack-clack-clack noise acting as a sleeping tonic.
Genevieve awoke in the early morning light, freezing in midstretch as she realized she lay atop Lucas’s chest. She moved her head but stilled when her tangled hair caught in his fingers. She took a deep breath, inadvertently inhaling the faint scent of coal, woodsmoke, and musky male.
She stifled a shriek as the muscles below her moved in a sinuous stretch. “I hope I’m smelling coffee,” his deep voice rumbled. “And bacon.” After disentangling his fingers from her hair, he slanted his head to meet her startled eyes. “Good morning, Vivie. I could become accustomed to waking this way every morning.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on her forehead before relaxing back with a sigh. “I don’t want to get up yet.”
She poked him in his side, earning a giggle as she hit a ticklish spot. He curled up into himself, scrunching her against him. “Get up,” she whispered.
“Relax, Vivie. It can’t be late yet. No one is stirring, and our neighbor is still snoring loudly enough to wake your father in Boston.”
She poked him again, earning a grunt. “That’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not. It’s a darned nuisance.” He cracked open his eyes to meet her glower. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
“That’s entirely beside the point. It isn’t seemly for the porter to find us like this.”
He yawned, and his entire body moved with his stretch. His arms came around her shoulders again and pulled her close. “I can’t see why not. On the manifest it says we’re married. And, after last night, everyone will believe that we are, thanks to that chatterbox of a couple.”
His smile grew as he awaited her outburst with closed eyes. As time elapsed, he opened his eyes again and met her devastated expression. “Vivie? I wasn’t taking any chances with giving them your name on the p
assenger list. Besides, if we weren’t married, we’d have to sit out in the main area, upright all night long. I prefer to be comfortable.”
He flinched as she swatted his shoulder. “Is that all you can think about? Your comfort?” She kept her voice low, but the pitch expressed her anger and disappointment better than any shriek. “What happens if they somehow get word off the train? What if word reaches my father?”
Lucas sighed. “He’d have a hard time determining who I traveled with as I didn’t put even your first name on the manifest. And we have at least an overnight start. Besides, you’ve spent a night with me. I doubt he’d believe nothing happened, no matter what we told him.” His chuckle diffused some of her concern, and he settled into the lumpy mattress again. “Do you think they deliver coffee?”
He grunted as she propped herself on his chest. She smiled at him with a challenging glint in her eyes. “I didn’t say that I hoped you’d deliver it,” he muttered. “I have a suffragist sister and cousins.”
“That doesn’t mean you are of the same mind-set.”
His expression softened as he saw through her attempt at teasing him to hide her true question. He ran his fingers over the side of her face, his smile broadening when she didn’t shy away from his touch. “I believe as they do, although I’m sure I prove a disappointment at times. As all men do.” He grinned at her. “It seems one night abed with me has rid you of much of your recalcitrance around me.”
She blushed and pushed herself up and off him. “Forgive me. You must think me a …” She heaved herself away and maneuvered until she sat on the edge of the bed, her hair hiding her face as she studied the floor of their small compartment.
Lucas sighed, rearing up to lean on one elbow. He reached forward, clasping her hand. “I fear you’ll never finish the sentences most important to you and leave me to interpret them as I will. Which is a dangerous proposition for a man with my imagination.”
She tilted her head, her furrowed brow highlighting her confusion.
“What is it you fear I’ll think, Vivie?”
“I don’t want you to believe I sought any of Mr. Carlisle’s attentions. That I liked them,” she said on a rush.
When he laughed, her cheeks flushed, her gaze skidding away as she stood.
His grasp of her arm prevented her from leaving. “Stay. There’s nowhere you can go without racing into the hallway in your nightdress. I doubt you want others to see you as you are.” His hold eased as she flopped onto the mattress at the foot of the bed. He doubled over until he laid on his stomach, placing a hand next to her leg but not touching her. “Vivie, how can you think such preposterous ideas?”
“They aren’t preposterous to me,” she snapped, keeping her voice low lest any of their stirring railcar mates overheard them.
His humor faded at her distress. “Is this the sort of nonsense your father would say?” At her embarrassed nod, his amusement fled. He moved to a kneeling position on the bed and caressed the side of her face. He murmured sounds of distress when tears glistened on her eyelashes. “I’m sorry your father wasn’t the man you wished he were.”
He gave her arm a slight tug, and she fell sideways into his embrace. He changed his position so that he sat cross-legged with her in his lap. “I know what it is to be a disappointment to my mother. And to be continually disillusioned by her inability to care for me as I am.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s not a reflection of you, Vivie, but of them.”
She sighed into his chest. “Even though I know that, it doesn’t take away the feeling that I’m inadequate. That, if I were somehow different, things would have been better.”
Lucas huffed out a grunt of disagreement. “Do you believe your sister to be inadequate?” He reluctantly released Vivie as she squirmed to free herself from his embrace.
“Of course not. She’s everything I’m not.” Genevieve rose, her long hair trailing down her back. She faced away from him with her hands on her hips and a subtle tremor shaking her.
The soft rapping on the wood outside their compartment jolted Lucas. “Yes?” he asked. He rose, sticking his head beyond the curtain to confer with the porter. After a short conversation, he returned to find Genevieve readying her clothes for the day. “The porter has reserved the washroom for your use.”
Genevieve nodded and brushed past him, exiting into the hallway. She followed the porter to the washroom, thanking him before she shut and locked the door. She studied her disappointed eyes in the mirror and resolutely promised herself that she would avoid further discussion of Parthena with Lucas.
Chapter 2
After switching trains in Chicago following an overnight stay there, Lucas and Genevieve were bound for Minneapolis. As on the previous train, word of his presence had spread, and he continued to present Genevieve as his wife. He grimaced as he considered their misfortune when the chatterbox couple continued their travels on this same train.
Lucas stared at the passing scenery as the hints of a composition teased his subconscious. He doodled on a piece of paper, his gaze unfocused as he attempted to find an inner peace that would allow the music to emerge. The elusive scent of summer filled his senses as Genevieve’s honeysuckle perfume wafted over him. He closed his eyes for a moment before bending his head over his sheet of music paper and composed. His fingers flew over the page as notes flowed in his head.
When he hit a wrong note, he scratched it out, backed up, and restarted. His free hand tapped on his thigh, as though playing the piano one-handed. He circled various musical notes, an arrow showing where to move them to another part of the composition. His frenetic activity continued unabated until the song softly ended in his head.
He dropped his pen, stretching his cramped fingers and arching his back. He reached his arms toward the ceiling in an attempt to soothe aching muscles. As he massaged his hands, he looked across at Genevieve and grimaced at her curious stare. “Sorry if I forgot you for a few minutes.”
“A few minutes?” She shook her head incredulously and nodded her head outside.
Lucas frowned to see it was fully nighttime, and the electric lights were on in their compartment. “Did I miss supper?” He rubbed his stomach as it growled.
She nodded. “I’m afraid you did.” She bit her lip. “I wasn’t sure what to do. It was as though you were in a trance.”
“I’m sorry. You must fear you’ve bound yourself to the village idiot.” He felt the warmth as a red flush climbed his neck, and he looked toward the floor as he continued to massage his hands.
She laughed. “Far from it. I had heard you play and thought you talented. I never realized how extraordinary you are. To become lost to everything as you compose.” Her smile broadened. “It must be an exhilarating feeling.”
He met her gaze with an embarrassed shrug. “It’s who I am. I’m no more special than anyone else.”
“But you can create beauty. Out of nothing but your imagination. It’s beyond anything I could have envisioned.”
His hand massage moved to his wrists. “You play the violin. You understand what it’s like.”
She rolled her eyes. “I read the music of some other man’s genius and attempt to perform it as he would have hoped it were performed. I’ve never written music.”
He cocked his head to the side as he beheld her. “Is it because you have never had the inclination to compose or because you were discouraged from it?” When she remained silent, he nodded. “I think, when they’ve tried to extinguish the fire of your passions, that only makes them burn more brightly.”
She looked away, gripping her hands. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” she murmured.
He smiled, reaching forward to chuck her under the chin so she’d meet his gaze. “I’ll teach you.” At her startled gaze, his smile broadened. “But you have to promise me something.”
At her wary nod, he chuckled. “Yes, I can see that, many times, you’ve had promises made to you and then snatched away. You must promise me that, if you start to f
eel I’m encouraging you to compose what is my vision, rather than yours, you’ll tell me.”
Her eyes shone with excitement before she lowered her gaze. “Thank you.”
“It will be my great pleasure. I wish there were a piano on this train so I could play what I wrote to see if it is any good.” At her look of disbelief, he laughed. “Not everything I write is worth listening to.” His stomach grumbled again, and he instinctively rubbed at it.
She laughed and rose, pushing at his shoulder so he remained seated. She moved to the curtain and disappeared for a moment. When she returned, the porter delivered a plate with a cold repast, and she carried a cup of water in one hand and a mug of beer in the other. Lucas smiled his thanks to the porter, barely waiting for the porter to depart before attacking the food before him.
“I convinced them to set aside food for you. It’s highly irregular, but I advised them that it was in their best interests not to offend you as you were quite famous, and they wouldn’t want to have bad publicity.”
At her blush, he paused in devouring his meal. “What else did you promise?”
“I mentioned that, if your composition was any good, you could possibly mention you’d composed it while riding their train.” She bit her lip, watching for his reaction.
He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, that’s fantastic. If it is any good, I can only hope they’ll grant me free travel in the future. You’re a treasure, Vivie. Thank you.” He grasped her hand, raising it to kiss it.
After he’d finished eating, he said, “We must discuss something, Vivie.” He swallowed the last of his beer and sighed with contentment. “We arrive in Minneapolis tomorrow. I would like us to marry there.”
She paled. “I see.”
He canted forward and gripped her hands again. “What do you see?”
“I like our friendship.” She met his gaze with a terror-filled one. She flinched as he stroked a finger down her cheek, causing him to frown.
Escape To Love: Banished Saga, Book 6 Page 2
