She knew nothing about him. Nothing except that he made her feel more alive, more daring, than anyone she had ever met. And now it was ended.
She could not bear the thought.
The servants at Lucy’s mansion knew Diana well enough to admit her without hesitation.
“Is Lady Pembroke in?” she asked.
“She is, madam,” Lucy’s butler said. “She is taking the air in the garden. Shall I escort you?”
“That won’t be necessary.” If, as she feared, she was going to burst into tears the moment she saw her friend, she would prefer to do so unobserved.
“As you wish.” The butler bowed her toward the French doors overlooking Lucy’s grounds.
Diana stepped out and took a deep breath of the late-spring air. Lucy would know what to do. A woman of her experience surely knew all about broken hearts.
Rounding the yew hedge, Diana heard voices. Lucy’s. And a man’s, painfully familiar. Sudden fear knifing through her, she crept forward.
“Damn it Lucy, I have to tell her.” Nicholas’s voice was strained. “It’s gone too far. She deserves to know the truth.”
“She’s not ready.” Lucy sounded resolute. “Think up some excuse—tell her you were unavoidably detained. But don’t tell her what you and I have been up to.”
Ice swept over Diana, comprehension settling cold and dreadful against her bones. Lucy’s talk of handsome piano tutors. Nicholas, here in her garden, using Lucy’s given name so intimately. His presence at the musicale last night, his familiarity with Lucy’s house….
Anger flared through her. The scoundrel! To use her so, when all along he had been Lucy’s lover. What a contemptible rake, to seduce Diana—here of all places.
She swept out from behind the hedge. “Unavoidably detained?” She raked her gaze over Nicholas. His eyes widened and he took a step toward her.
Lucy grabbed at his arm. “Diana. We were just speaking of you—”
“Yes,” she said. The word was coated in frost. “And what exactly were the two of you doing while my employee was supposed to be giving a piano lesson?”
Nicholas shook himself free of Lucy’s grasp. “Let me explain—”
“You should have explained before the musicale.” Her voice caught, snagged on memory. “But it seemed you had other priorities. Perhaps you had forgotten you had a music lesson to teach while you were ‘unavoidably detained.’ You’ve behaved most unprofessionally, sir.”
She fought to speak against the tightness in her throat. Nicholas reached for her and she pulled away. “I no longer need your services, Mr. Jameson. You are fired.”
Hot tears blurring her vision, she turned and ran. Dimly she heard Nicholas calling after her, Lucy remonstrating, but she did not pause. She rushed back to her carriage and flung herself inside, slamming the door before the footman could even approach.
It was far worse than she had suspected. And still a part of her had wanted to stay, to listen to his pleas. She was so unbearably weak. As the wheels rattled over the cobblestones, she dropped her head into her hands and abandoned herself to grief.
“Mama?” Samantha pushed open the parlor door. “Are you ill? I had cook make you some chocolate.”
She entered the room, carefully balancing a tray holding the silver chocolate pot and two cups. Diana mustered a smile for her stepdaughter and hoped her eyes were not too red from weeping.
“Thank you, dear. I am not unwell, just a bit tired.” Did heartsickness count as an illness? She did not think so. “Come, sit by me.” She patted the settee.
Samantha set the tray down and curled up close. Diana put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze—the reassurance as much for herself as for her stepdaughter.
“I have some unhappy news for you.” She heaved a breath. “Mr. Jameson will not be returning as your piano tutor.”
“Oh.” The girl’s shoulders slumped. “That is too bad. He was ever so charming—and smelled much better than Mr. Bent.”
Diana smiled—it was the only way to keep the tears from welling up again. “That he did.” She leaned over and rested her head against Samantha’s. All brightness was not gone from her life, no matter how dreary the day might feel.
“My lady.” The butler bowed at the parlor door. “Forgive me for interrupting. You have a caller. Are you at home?”
She straightened. Nicholas wouldn’t dare—not if he had a shred of sense. It had to be Lucy. One way or another, she would have to face her friend.
“Yes, I am receiving.”
“Very good.” He extended the silver salver, a vellum card centered on it. “Shall I show him in?”
“Him?” Her lips pressed tightly together she took the card. If it were Mr. Jameson…. “The Marquess of Somerton?” She stared at the unfamiliar name. “I don’t believe I know any such person. Please tell the gentleman I am not taking visitors today.” Particularly uninvited ones. She could not face another stranger in her house.
“Very good.” The butler departed.
“Thank you for the chocolate, Samantha.” Diana gave her stepdaughter another quick embrace. Really, she ought to bestir herself. There was no use sitting in the parlor when it held such memories of Nicholas.
“I’m glad it helped. Chocolate often does.” The girl jumped up and gathered the cups and tray, then paused and kissed Diana’s cheek before bustling out the door.
Voices filtered from the hallway, and then the butler was back.
“I am sorry, my lady, but the marquess insists he will see you. He vowed to toss me into the street if I stood in his way.”
Diana rose, then nearly folded back down on the settee when she saw who had followed the butler in.
Nicholas. The breath squeezed from her lungs while a wild, giddy clamor started up in her blood.
“Please go,” she breathed. No matter how much she wanted to remain unmoved, the expression in his familiar grey eyes nearly undid her.
He was carrying an exuberant bouquet of roses, which he handed to the butler. “See to these.”
Clever man—if he had given her the flowers, she would have flung them back in his face. As soon as the butler departed, she turned on Nicholas. Piano tutor, marquess—whomever he claimed to be today.
“How dare you?” Her ribs felt as though a band of silk were wrapped around them, pulled too tight. “To think, what we did under Lucy’s very roof! And then you come here, bullying my servants, and—”
“Diana.” He closed the distance between them and took her by the shoulders. Fool that she was, she could not move away from his touch. “I don’t think my cousin begrudges the use of her library. She has done far worse in my best carriage, with never a word of apology.”
“Your… your cousin?” She blinked up at him, her heart catching with a wild, irrational hope. “Lady Pembroke is your cousin?”
“Yes.” A mischievous light sparked in his eyes. “Lucy. My meddling plague of a cousin. The one who bribed Mr. Bent to take an extended holiday, then suggested I pose as a piano tutor and tempt you out of hiding.” He shook his head. “But it didn’t work.”
“No?” She had been tempted, all too easily. Even now she felt breathless.
He smiled at her—rueful and amused all at once. “My plan was to slowly draw you out. To, as Lucy put it, ‘help ease you from your widowhood.’ But falling in love with you made things bloody awkward.”
Falling in love? Happy tears tingled at the back of her eyes. The Marquess of Somerton? “But…you make an excellent piano tutor.”
His hands tightened on her shoulders and he drew her forward. “I assure you, I make a far better suitor.”
She went willingly, lifting her face to his kiss. A kiss that swirled her senses, even as it anchored her fully to herself. A kiss full of passion. Delight. Life.
~THE END~
OTHER WORKS by Anthea Lawson
Find all Anthea’s books on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/Anthea-Lawson/e/B002BM4O2K
&n
bsp; ~NEWEST RELEASE - SONATA for a SCOUNDREL~ Read on for a sample HERE!
http://amzn.com/B00FJNPJMW
The Muse...
Clara Becker is a supremely gifted composer--a talent of little to use to a woman in 1830s Europe. Her compositions only have worth when they are published under her brother's name, yet this deception barely enables them to scrape out a living in the poorest quarter of London.
Meets the Master...
Darien Reynard, the most celebrated musician in Europe, pursues success with a single-minded intensity. When he comes across Becker's compositions, he knows that this music will secure his place in history. Darien tracks the composer down and, with some difficulty, convinces the man to tour with him. Mr. Becker agrees, but with the most unusual condition that he bring along his sister...
Set against the glittering backdrop of 19th century celebrity, Sonata for a Scoundrel is the newest full-length historical romance novel from RITA-nominated author Anthea Lawson. “Mesmerizing and addictive...” -Library Journal, Starred Review
Want more Regency stories & novellas from Anthea Lawson?
Maid for Scandal – A light Regency short story that skirts the edge of impropriety... Miss Anna Harcourt foolishly disguises herself as a maid to be near the man she thinks she loves, but little does she know how far this charade will lead her - or how close to scandal.
~Two months on Amazon’s Top 100 Regency Romance Bestseller list~
Buy now at Amazon
http://amzn.com/B00CEOVRJ8
Five Wicked Kisses — To pay a debt, Juliana Tate must accept five kisses from the Earl of Eastbrook ... but she never suspects how wicked each kiss will be.
Sensuality level: Medium Hot - suggestive situations, kisses.
Buy now at Amazon
http://amzn.com/B006V7WODC
To Wed The Earl – Miss Miranda Price detests her neighbor Edward Havens, the rakish Earl of Edgerton, but when he catches her breaking into his library at midnight, secrets are revealed that will change the course of their lives… forever.
Buy now at Amazon
http://amzn.com/B008RHJGTE
The Worth of Rubies – A Victorian Short Mystery -- Noble ladies are falling victim to a string of brazen public jewelry robberies, but the inquisitive Miss Isabelle Strathmore suspects more is afoot than mere theft…
Buy now at Amazon
http://amzn.com/B00B3OWCOE
A Countess for Christmas - Miss Cecilia Fairfax dreads the upcoming holidays. Between caring for her elderly father and managing a household barely out of mourning, she has no time for the softer things in life.
Of all the blessings of the season, sometimes the most unexpected is love...
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COLLECTIONS:
Kisses and Rogues – Anthea’s first four short stories and novellas , together in one sweet-to-spicy collection.
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NOVELS:
In the mood for a novel? Victorian-set romantic adventure awaits!
SONATA for a SCOUNDREL (see above) http://amzn.com/B00FJNPJMW
PASSIONATE
A finalist for the prestigious RWA RITA award, this Victorian-set novel takes the reader on a romantic adventure from the ballrooms and parlors of London through the Mediterranean to the exotic valleys of Tunisia. Fans of Julia Quinn and Connie Brockway will enjoy this witty foray into the outer edges of civilization — and propriety"A lush, exotic tale of romance and adventure." - Sally MacKenzie, USA Today bestselling author
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ALL HE DESIRES
Self-exiled on the Isle of Crete, an English doctor with a troubled past meets the one woman who can bring him out of the shadows and into the light.
“…deftly combines danger, desire, and a deliciously different Victorian setting into a sexy version of Victoria Holt’s classic gothic romances.” - Booklist Reviews
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About the Author
Anthea Lawson, called "a new star of Historical Romance" by Booklist, has won readers with her combination of spicy love scenes and elegant prose. Her first novel, PASSIONATE, was a Best First Book finalist in the prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA awards.
Anthea also writes award-winning YA Urban Fantasy under the pen name Anthea Sharp. http://antheasharp.com/
Visit Anthea’s website at www.anthealawson.com, find out about upcoming releases and reader perks by joining her newsletter at http://www.tinyletter.com/AntheaLawson friend her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter. See you there!
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Or read on for an excerpt from Anthea’s newest novel!
Excerpt of SONATA for a SCOUNDREL
Set against the glittering backdrop of 19th century celebrity, Sonata for a Scoundrel is the newest full-length historical romance novel from RITA-nominated author Anthea Lawson. “Mesmerising and addicitive.” -Library Journal Starred Review
CHAPTER ONE
The Maestro Arrives!
In a mere two days, that pre-eminent virtuoso of the violin, Master Darien Reynard, will grace the stage at King’s Theatre. Ladies, keep your smelling salts close to hand, for Master Reynard is renowned for leaving a swath of swooning in the wake of his performances…
-The London Engager, November 1830
The melody threading through Clara Becker’s mind stopped, snipped by the angry voices penetrating the study door. She sat back in the cracked leather chair and put down her pen, the musical notes wavering on the page before her tired eyes. The ache in her shoulders and hand—distant when she was caught up in composing—now pulsed distractingly, vying with the landlady’s shrill tone to fragment her concentration.
“If you don’t deliver the rent tomorrow, you’re on the street. Out, I say!” The landlady’s voice was nearly a shriek. “You’ve been late one too many times, Mr. Becker. I’ve a mind to send my sons over tonight to pitch you out!”
“We will have the money,” Papa said, his cane thumping the floorboards for emphasis. “But now, you must leave.”
The fire in the small hearth had burned down to nothing but sullen embers. Clara covered her ears with her chilled hands and hummed under her breath, trying desperately to recapture the music. If she did not finish this piece, they were ruined.
“Please, Mrs. Tench.” Her brother Nicholas spoke, a pleading edge to his voice. “By tomorrow afternoon you’ll have two months’ rent in hand. You know we’ve always managed before.”
The voices faded, thank goodness. Nicholas was moving the landlady toward the front door. Clara let out a breath and closed her eyes. The door slammed, and blessed quiet filled the house. It was a strained silence, but it was enough.
The music sprang into her mind once more, bright strands of melody flung against a somber background. She took up her pen and bent to the page, letting the notes inside her head transport her to a distant, splendid place. A place far away from the reality of their cramped lodging, the worry that shaded her days, the hoarded coals that barely kept the chill of November from biting to the bone.
There was nothing now but the notes unfolding. She sang the refrain under her breath, the dip and scratch of her pen keeping a steady rhythm. Time fell away, until she inked in the final double bar.
Finished. Clara pulled her frayed shawl tightly about her shoulders. The music was complete, the window in her soul shuttered, and she felt like ashes; the dun and dross left by a consuming fire.
She could hear Papa and Nicholas at odds again. Despite their attempt to whisper, her brother’s voice rose in counterpoint to her father’s gruff tone. She rubbed at her forehead. Papa would win the disagreement, in this as in all things. Though she appreciated Nicholas’s support, it would be easier for her to compose if the house were not so often filled with unhappy tension. Still, argument was better than that terrible month when Nicholas had not spoken at all.
She blew lightly across the
page until the ink no longer gleamed, then gathered the rest of the manuscript. The chair scraped across the floor as she stood, and the arguing voices stilled. Clara was not surprised to pull the door open and find both her brother and father waiting. Their faces were filled with anticipation, though in Papa’s case it took years of familiarity to identify any change in his usual dour expression.
“Finished,” Papa said. It was not a question. He did not wait for her nod, but gestured to Nicholas. “Give it to your brother, so we may hear it.”
Nicholas gave her a smile, as weak as the light from the single lamp in the room. A lock of his overlong blond hair fell across one eye as he glanced toward the piano.
It was not as though she were incapable of sitting at the instrument and performing the music herself. As children of a music master, both she and her brother were accomplished pianists. But Papa felt it best that Nicholas play the music as soon as she had finished the composition. It was a ritual now. Nicholas would play it, and the music would no longer be hers.
She hesitated, as she always did. Papa cleared his throat and she forced the pages forward, the notes that had been a part of her soul released into her brother’s keeping. The sheets of music shook, ever so lightly, as she released her grasp.
Her throat was dry as parchment. How long had she been in the study? Certainly it had been just past luncheon when she began, but now the curtains were drawn against the heavy night, the sounds of the city quiet around them. It must be very, very late.
Perhaps her father and Nicholas had been arguing about letting her stop, letting her rest.
She could not have, in any case. The music had her in its grip. And even if she’d had to scrape and fashion each note with laborious patience, she would have finished her composition before morning broke, cold and hard, over the smudged rooftops of London.
The Piano Tutor - A Spicy Regency Short Story Page 3
