by Jane Charles
Mr. East placed a hand at her waist. His heat burned through the material of her gown, branding her skin. These sensation might be considered quite scandalous even if nothing untoward was happening.
He stepped, she followed, and soon, they were gliding and twirling from one end of the room to the other, without the benefit of any music other than what was playing in her mind. It was a beautiful waltz. One she wanted to write for him.
What was he hearing? Anything?
His brown eyes were darkening and locked on hers. They penetrated hers in a way she would have thought impossible, as if he could see into her soul. A part of her was uncomfortable, wishing to hide from what he may see, but she couldn’t break contact, no matter how much she willed herself to look away. She wanted to know him. His secrets and dreams. What was he passionate about? Would he kiss her?
Bianca blinked and quickly looked over his shoulder. Where had that thought come from? She didn’t even know the man. At least, not well enough to be contemplating kisses.
Goodness, she’d never thought about kissing anyone before, but she certainly wanted Mr. East to kiss her now.
This was wrong. So very wrong. He was not for her. Nobody was for her and she needed to remember that fact. He may wish to dance with her now, and perhaps there was an unexpected attraction, but if he ever learned the truth, Mr. East would never dance with her again and he certainly wouldn’t contemplate kissing her. He might even terminate her as his accompanist and that would never do. She needed this position and it was too dangerous to hope for something that in the end would lead to her destruction and send her back to the country to hide for the rest of her life.
Of course, kissing probably never occurred to him and it was all in her mind. But something about Mr. East made her want to kiss, and dance and compose the most beautiful music ever to be created.
“How many songs have you composed?”
She blinked back up at him, startled by the interruption to the silence in the room, as well as her scattered and alarming thoughts. “A few dozen, I believe.” She could barely recall her name at the moment and Bianca was hard pressed to remember the number of songs she’d written.
He smiled down at her, a slight quirk to one side of his mouth, as if he knew she was flustered. Could he know what he did to her?
Bianca cleared her throat. “Mostly waltzes, a few ballads. Whatever is in my mind at the time.”
“And words, Miss Valentine? Do you write those as well?”
“Sadly, no.” The music she’d always heard in her mind was just that - the music, just the notes.
“The song from yesterday, had the rhythm of a ballad. I thought perhaps there were words to go with it.”
A smile pulled at her lips. “My brother often tried to write the words and we collaborated a few times. I was hoping he would write them when he returned.” Tears misted her eyes. That song would remain as it was. Bertram wasn’t coming back. It would simply be music.
His eyes clouded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reminded you of a painful memory.”
Bianca forced a smile. “It is a sad memory, but I have many happy ones too.”
As they spoke, they danced slower and slower, pausing beside the piano. Mr. East did not let go of her hand or take his other from her waist. Should she pull back, curtsey as was proper? Probably. Yet, she couldn’t break the contact. She didn’t want to relinquish his touch. It warmed her and calmed something within, even though her heart was racing and breaths were a bit shallow. That could be explained away by the dancing, though she knew it wasn’t the case.
What was it about Mr. East that caused such odd sensations in her body? They weren’t unpleasant either, as if in anticipation of something wonderful, though she had no idea what that could be.
Mr. East seemed to study her for a moment, his brown eyes stormy as he leaned forward.
Her breath hitched. He was going to kiss her.
Chapter 5
It was exactly as Mark suspected. Miss Valentine was perfect in his arms and her steps matched his with grace, beauty, and naturally as if they were designed for each other. Could he have found his duchess already? Was it even necessary to continue with the ruse of playing at being a dancing master to find his wife amongst the unmarried ladies of the ton?
Though his gut pulled him toward her, and his desire for her was barely in check, Mark cautioned himself to move slowly. He still knew very little about the young woman. She was a miss by the name of Valentine and the sister-in-law of a marquess. He needed much more information before he set about a potential courtship. Yet, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to touch and hold her. He wished to hear her music every day while he watched the play of emotion on her face. But most urgent, the need to kiss her full, blushed lips.
Her pewter eyes darkened as she stared up at him. Her hand still in his with the other resting on his shoulder. They had stopped dancing, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her. Not until he tasted her lips. Mark drew in a breath, bent toward her.
“Bianca, are you here?”
Mark straightened and the two of them jumped away from each other as if burned, as a young woman glided into the room with another following. The second woman couldn’t have seen them, but the first one certainly had to have an idea of what Mark was about to do. A small smile quirked at the side of her mouth and her blue eyes danced with merriment, but she said nothing. She wasn’t even scandalized by what she had walked in on, but seemed to have found humor in the situation.
Miss Valentine’s face was crimson and she snapped up the music on the piano, putting the pages in order, when Mark was certain they hadn’t been out of order to begin with.
“We were wondering if you were even here. We expected to hear you playing,” the second woman said.
The first stifled a giggle behind her gloved fingers. If she announced what she had seen, it might be all over for Mark. It wasn’t well done of him to be alone with Miss Valentine in the first place. Then to dance with her. If the two women had been just a moment later, he would have been caught kissing Miss Valentine and possibly his fate would have been sealed.
“Lady Patience, Lady Penelope, I wasn’t expecting to see you here today,” Miss Valentine finally said, not looking either of them in the eye. Was she embarrassed or ashamed? Supposedly, he was only a dancing master, so she was probably more ashamed to be caught in a near compromising situation with a man who all would assume was beneath her. Miss Valentine’s sister had married a marquess and he had yet to know her connection. Though, why a lady would work as an accompanist was odd, unless her family had fallen on difficult times.
He studied her face, the curve of her jaw, the dot of freckles on her nose. She was older than most debutantes. Had Miss Valentine foolishly put herself on a shelf? Was that why she was here instead of preparing for the Season?
The two ladies frowned at Miss Valentine, their dark eyebrows drawing in over their blue eyes. “Lady?” They asked in unison.
“Bianca, you’ve known us since we were children and have never addressed us as such.” One of the ladies laughed.
Bianca! Miss Valentine was Bianca Valentine. Mark played the name in his head. A lovely name for a beautiful woman.
“We are not in the country any longer,” Bianca reminded them.
The other lady’s lips turned up and her eyes danced with merriment. “Yes, but our brother married your sister, making us very much related. There is no need for such formalities.”
Bianca returned the smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Rosalind told us what you were about, and she is rather distressed that you’ve taken a position when she wished for you to enjoy the Season, so we thought we’d visit and see what is really going on.”
So she was someone who should be shopping and anticipating balls instead of working.
Together they turned to Mark. “Are you going to introduce us?” The first one asked.
“Pardon me.” Bianca rushed forwa
rd. “Lady Patience Johansen, Lady Penelope Johansen, this is Mr. East, the dancing master.”
So, these were two of Felding’s younger sisters, and neither one fresh from the schoolroom either. They were almost as lovely as Miss Valentine. Mark bowed. “It is a pleasure.”
“The two of you could have waited.” Another woman appeared in the door. She had the same black hair, but green eyes.
“Lady Sandlin, may I introduce Mr. East.”
Again, Mark bowed toward the lady. Lord Sandlin was a friend of Felding, and the fellow had married the oldest of the marquess’s younger sisters. He just hoped the gentlemen had not accompanied the ladies or his plans would be destroyed before they began.
“Why are you really here?” Bianca asked them with suspicion.
“Noah.” Lady Sandlin rolled her eyes. “He wanted us to make sure nothing was amiss. He was going to come himself, but we insisted on us checking on you.” She glanced up at Mark out of the corner of her eye. “And we were curious.”
“We’re happy to assure him that you are doing exactly what you say.” Lady Penelope grinned. “Almost, at least.” She was the one who had nearly caught them kissing. What if she mentioned it to Felding? The man was liable to call Mark out. Well, he’d call out a dancing master or make him leave the country. Once he realized the man almost doing the kissing was Roxburg, an entirely different plan would be put into place.
Bianca frowned. “Felding does not trust me?”
“Oh, it isn’t that,” Lady Patience was quick to assure the young woman. “He’s very protective and knew nothing about this position other than what you told him.”
“And he sent you to spy on me?”
All three of the ladies blushed.
“You can assure him all is well and he has no cause for concern.”
Lady Penelope quirked a disbelieving eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Then we shall be going. I believe students are beginning to arrive.” Lady Sandlin moved toward the door.
“One is already here.” Lady Penelope smiled up at Mark. He would need to keep an eye on that one. She could ruin Miss Valentine, or she could be an ally for his cause. Before she could make up her mind, he intended to bring her over to his side before any damage could be done.
“Make that two students.” Lady Patience shared the same look at her sister.
“The two of you have had lessons previously,” Lady Sandlin admonished. “You both dance beautifully.”
“I’m sure we are out of practice,” Lady Penelope assured her.
By the look of doubt in Lady Sandlin’s eyes, she did not believe her sisters. Finally, she sighed. “I shall send the carriage back for you.”
* * *
What had Penelope seen? As Mr. East had not actually kissed her, it couldn’t be too damaging, could it? Yet, by the mischievous expression on Penelope’s face, Bianca feared her friend may be reading far more into the situation.
At least they hadn’t come in a moment later because Bianca was fairly certain that Mr. East was about to kiss her, just like she had hoped.
Oh, why did they have to be here at all? And why would Felding wish to check up on her? He may be her brother-in-law, but that didn’t mean he had a right to interfere. Besides, she had five older brothers and didn’t need Felding suddenly wishing to protect her too.
Penelope and Patience probably intended only to snoop around with Phoebe and then be gone, until they met Mr. East. No lady in her right mind could ignore such a fine specimen in the room. If she were a lady preparing for a Season, she might just take lessons no matter how many she’d had in the past.
A stab of jealousy ripped at Bianca’s heart. As soon as the gossip made the rounds of how handsome the new dancing master was, ladies, young and old, would probably flock here. Bianca knew that neither Patience nor Penelope had any intention of engaging a dancing master, yet, here they were. Not that a courtship would ever develop with any of his students. Most, if not all, of the parents would have an apoplexy if their daughter set their sights on someone so far beneath them, but that wouldn’t necessarily stop the ladies from entering into flirtations and she’d be trapped, watching the interactions day after day.
Bianca straightened the music. Why did she care anyway? It wasn’t as though she even knew Mr. East, not really. They were both here to do a job and she needed to keep herself reminded of that fact. Even if he wished to form an attachment, he would dismiss her as soon as he learned the truth so it was best to avoid any complications.
She would play, he would flirt and dance, and when the Season began, she would concentrate on playing for ballet students. The Season was only five weeks away, how hard could it be?
But, could she ignore him as she wished? Something changed in her the moment they met. Perhaps observing him with the others would help her understand why he was the first person who made her want to play her own music again. He stirred something inside that she hadn’t felt before. She’d spent last night at the piano in Felding’s home composing, not going to bed until long after the servants had retired. She should be exhausted, but she felt exhilarated and couldn’t wait to come in and play the music on this beautiful piano this morning.
“Open your heart. Your soul. You’ve mourned too long, Bea. Find love.”
Bianca blinked and looked around. This was the second time she’d heard Bertram since coming to London. Was it wishful thinking that he was still there? Or, was she simply going mad? It was if he was standing right next to her. She heard him clearly, but it was impossible.
How long was too long to mourn? Each day did get easier to get through and she thought her tears had long dried up, until yesterday. But, even if she did go on living, she couldn’t pretend that something precious wasn’t taken from her on that battlefield on June 15th, like it had happened to so very many people.
The room began to fill with daughters and mothers, earlier than she expected.
“I apologize,” Mr. East announced. “I should have thought to have chairs brought in.”
“Oh, it’s not inconvenient,” mothers answered quickly. The daughters said little. They simply stared at Mr. East. Older women tittered behind fans and Bianca could easily guess at the topic of discussion.
Mr. East disappeared and then pulled a small table into the room, then retrieved four chairs. One he put on one side of the table and then arranged the remaining three on the other side. “I shall like to speak with each one of you and set a schedule,” he announced. The first mother ushered her two daughters to the table and took a seat.
“Ah, Miss Valentine. I did not expect to see you in London.”
Bianca startled to find Lady Jillian Simpson standing beside the piano. “Lady Jillian.” She gave a slight curtsey and wondered why the young woman was here. This was her second, or maybe third season. She was the daughter of a duke. Certainly her father had already engaged the best of the best dancing masters for her.
“Mother thought it best that I evaluate my skill with someone new.” Lady Jillian nodded to a woman with stern eyes and a set mouth, and who held herself as regal as a queen. Of course, Her Grace was a duchess, after all. That was about as close to royalty as one could get without being born into it.
“Is all of your family in London?” Lady Jillian asked with a lift of her brow.
Bianca’s family was also Lady Jillian’s in that the two shared the same great-grandparents, not that Lady Jillian would ever acknowledge the connection in private, let alone public. “I’m staying with my sister and Felding.”
Lady Jillian sniffed and her eyes hardened before they softened again. Felding, her brother-in-law had come within days of being betrothed to the young woman. Bianca never learned exactly what happened to end the potential marriage, but she was glad for whatever it was since Rosalind became his bride, and her sister has never been happier.
“And an accompanist, I see.” There was a slight haughtiness to her tone, which Bianca ignored. Lady Jillian was probably still bit
ter that she’d lost Felding to Rosalind.
Penelope and Patience joined her at the piano while the room continued to fill with young women. Many of them were not so young. Certainly they had already received dancing instructors. “I’m surprised there are so many young ladies here,” she finally said out loud.
“I’m not,” Penelope answered.
“I don’t understand.” Was it always like this? Did ladies take lessons at the beginning of each Season regardless of how many times they’d participated in one?
“Of course you wouldn’t, Miss Valentine,” Lady Jillian answered drolly. “They are all preparing to make their best impression on His Grace.”
From the corner of her eye, Bianca caught Mr. East glance over at them and lift his eyebrow.
“His Grace?” she asked. Though she didn’t know any dukes and very few titled men, Bianca assumed there was more than one His Grace attending the Season.”
“The Duke of Roxburg,” Lady Jillian clarified.
He was the one Felding had mentioned. “I wasn’t aware he was in town.”
“What would you know of the matter?” This time Lady Jillian didn’t even attempt to hide her condescending tone.
“Felding mentioned him coming into his title the other morning.” A smile pulled at her lips. “They were friends at one time, I believe.”
Lady Jillian straightened and pinned her with a look. “What does Felding know of Roxburg’s arrival?”
“Nothing. Or he hasn’t shared anything with me. You might wish to ask my sister.” Bianca smiled sweetly.
Lady Jillian’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a moment before she relaxed. “It is not necessary. I’m sure all of London will learn the moment he disembarks his ship.”
No doubt that would be true. She’d read more speculation about when and if he would arrive in the past week than any other topic covered in the newssheets.
“You are setting your cap of Roxburg?” Penelope asked Lady Jillian.
“Of course. We would be a splendid match.”
