Mistress of Melody

by Anthea Lawson

  “Not that is has done me any good, being more recently daughter to a half-Rom stablehand.”

  “Couples, face your partners in a small set,” Lady Agatha called. “We shall teach the ladies the British Grenadier.”

  Geordie stepped a pace away and turned to give her a bow.

  “Louisa, you are there, next to your sister,” Morgan said, going to stand beside Geordie.

  “In this dance, the men are on one side, facing their partners,” Geordie said. “But for some sets, we go opposite—lord, lady, and so on.”

  Since it was unlikely she would ever need to know the difference, Jessa merely nodded.

  “Walk the paces, before I begin to play,” Lady Agatha said from the piano. “Geordie, do you recall it?”

  “Of course. You did not waste your money on dancing masters for nothing.” He grinned at Jessa. “Firstly, you must imagine we are in a line of perhaps a dozen couples. Now, you and I will walk separately down the outside of the lines—yes, like that. Turn and come back up.”

  “How will we know when to return?” Jessa asked, going back to her place.

  “It is with four counts of the music,” Lady Agatha called. “Now go again, but down the middle.”

  Geordie offered his arm, and he and Jessa paraded past Morgan and Louisa, and another set of imaginary couples. When it was time to turn, she went the wrong direction, and nearly collided with her partner.

  “Normally, we will just turn in place,” he said with a smile.

  “This is a rather boring dance,” Louisa said. “So far, I have done nothing but stand here.”

  “At least half of dancing is simply standing about, marking the time,” Morgan said.

  “Well, that is not dancing at all.” She set her hands on her hips. “The Rom do it much better.”

  “Once you have danced a few sets, you’ll be glad of the chance to catch your breath between figures,” Geordie said, escorting Jessa back toward the front of their imaginary line. “But now, Miss Louisa, you and Morgan enter the dance.”

  When he and Jessa drew even with the other pair, Geordie stopped and released her arm. “Now, we cast off—Jessa, you’ll take your sister’s arm and turn about, so that you are now below her in the line. Here, watch as Morgan and I demonstrate.”

  The two gentlemen turned in time, and Jessa and Louisa did their best to emulate them.

  “I still think this is the most boring dance ever invented,” Louisa said.

  “It is not so bad, if you are the active couple,” Geordie said. “Now, extend your right hands into the middle, so that we all touch. That is a right-hand star.”

  Jessa’s hand fell beneath Morgan’s, and she suddenly realized why gloves were essential at balls. The feel of his bare palm above her fingers was too intimate, too warm and distracting.

  “Walk, walk,” Lady Agatha directed. “That is how you turn it about. Good, now switch hands, and directions.”

  They pulled their right hands out, and repeated the motion on the left. This time, Jessa was careful to place her hand on the very top, just above her sister’s.

  “Halt,” Geordie said, once they were back to their respective places. “Now, face us again, and we will walk forward, passing right shoulders in the middle.”

  Louisa, who had a less-than-perfect memory of which was her left side and which her right, walked directly into Morgan. He deftly whirled her out of the collision and set her on her feet.

  “That is better,” she said. “I would like more twirling, and less standing.”

  “If you can endure this dance a bit longer,” Morgan said, “perhaps Aunt Agatha will have pity and play us a waltz.”

  “All in good time,” the older woman called. “Now, once more across, to your home places, and the figure is complete. Are you ready to begin again? I shall play an introduction.”

  The second time through, the dance was rather more entertaining. It certainly helped to have music guiding their steps. Partway through, Lady Agatha instructed them to change, so that Louisa and Morgan had the more active part. The sound of her sister’s laughter made the entire endeavor worthwhile for Jessa.

  Lady Agatha brought the music to a close, and they all took a moment to catch their breath.

  “If we were at a proper ball, I’d offer to fetch you a cup of refreshment.” Geordie grinned at her.

  “That way, the gentlemen can remove themselves and thus appear to be unaffected by the exertion of dancing,” Lady Agatha said, rising from the piano bench. “Don’t think we are unaware of the subterfuge, my boy.”

  “I am thirsty,” Louisa said.

  “Luckily, I have prepared for such an eventuality.” Lady Agatha pulled the bell rope beside the door. “Refreshments will be arriving shortly. Lemonade and ratafia for the ladies, a brandy for Geordie. And plain water for you, Morgan.”

  She sighed heavily, and Geordie raised an eyebrow at his cousin. “You could drink wine, you know, if you’re still refusing brandy.”

  “Water shall suffice,” the earl said. “I had wine at supper.”

  Jessa could not help but notice that he seemed completely recovered from the dancing. Her cheeks felt flushed, and her breath still came a little short. This life of a lady of leisure was turning her far too soft.

  Another reason to leave it behind.

  Betts brought in a tray of refreshments, and Louisa happily quaffed her glass of lemonade. Geordie fetched Jessa a cup of ratafia, and she gave it a dubious look.

  Noticing her hesitation, Lady Agatha smiled at her and lifted her own cup of reddish-brown liquid. “My secret recipe. Wine, marc brandy, and a generous amount of almond sugar. Do try it.”

  Jessa raised her cup, the scent of alcohol and almonds stinging her nose. She took a sip, and the beverage warmed her mouth and throat. The flavor was not unpleasant, if one’s tastes ran toward sweet liqueur.

  “It is the best ratafia I have ever tasted,” she said.

  Lady Agatha gave a hearty laugh. “I’ll wager it’s the only ratafia you’ve ever tasted. Now drink up, and we shall have a waltz. Switch partners this time, for Louisa and Geordie are better matched in height.”

  Jessa took another swallow of Lady Agatha’s brew and tried not to glance at Morgan. Half of her burned to be held again in his arms, but the wiser part of her soul protested. Every step she took toward him would make her leaving all the harder. Better she distance herself now, and not give in to the traitorous yearnings of her heart. The Earl of Silverton would never be hers, despite their midnight rides and stolen kisses.

  Lady Agatha sat again before the piano and began playing a simple melody, with accompanying chords in three-quarter time. Geordie took Louisa’s hands and counted aloud, showing her how to pattern her steps after his.

  “Miss Lovell?” The earl held out his hand.

  “I am a trifle weary,” she lied. “Certainly Louisa and Geordie may dance again, but I am better suited to observe, I’m afraid. I will just finish my ratafia.”

  “Nonsense.” The earl plucked the cup from her hand. “You will waltz with me, Jessamyn.”

  The sound of her given name on his tongue made heat flash through her, as though she had drunk an entire bottle of ratafia instead of half a cup. Despite her resolution to keep her distance, her feet carried her forward. Morgan took her right hand and slipped his arm about her waist. Her heart gave a tremendous thump, and she tried not to inhale too deeply of his spicy scent. Oh, she was a pitiable fool, to be so smitten with the earl.

  “Put your other hand on my shoulder,” he said. “Good. Begin on the right foot—now.”

  Before she could untangle her tongue enough to ask questions, he swept her into the dance.

  Fortunately, she had seen couples waltzing before. The alternating steps—one two three, one two three—were not difficult. The turning was a bit more complicated, as she tried to anticipate which direction they were going to pivot.

  She stumbled over his foot as she turned the wrong direction.
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  “Easy,” he murmured. “Lean back into my arm, and the dance will go more smoothly.”

  “Why, my lord, one might think you actually desired to waltz with me.” Despite her tart words, she allowed herself to relax into his embrace.

  “I do desire you.” This close, his voice thrummed through her as he pulled her closer.

  Jessa swallowed and averted her eyes. Thank goodness the piano and the sound of Louisa’s laughter masked their words from the others.

  “And yet,” she said, “you turned me away.”

  He had been right in one thing—clasped against him, it was easier to follow the shifts and turns of the waltz. Morgan spun and whirled them away from the glowing candlelight and into the boundary of the shadows. Their thighs brushed, and his bare fingers tightened over hers. Jessa blessed the dimness for hiding her blush, and the longing that was surely written in her face.

  “I am beginning to regret that decision,” he said. “Meet me in the library tonight, after midnight.”

  Startled, she met his gaze. “It is too late to change your mind. Lady Anne awaits your proposal.”

  “Blast the proposal.” His voice held a rough edge. “Jessamyn, I…”

  Lady Agatha played a loud chord, bringing the waltz to a close, and Morgan swallowed whatever he was about to say. His gaze burned through Jessa, and she felt absurdly giddy.

  She absolutely ought not to meet him in the library.

  “We have both made our choices,” she said, the words scalding her tongue. “Your life and mine are on different paths.”

  His grip on her tightened. “And what is yours? Tell me.”

  She could not tell him her plans, for she suspected he would try and stop her. But she must wait to hear from Mr. Widmere before she even knew if her mad dreams could become reality.

  “Only to help Louisa,” she said. “And wait to see what your aunt has in store for me.”

  “Are you quite certain?” His eyes searched hers.

  “Ahem!” Lady Agatha called. “Gentlemen should not linger in the shadows with ladies once the dance has ended.”

  Jessa pulled out of Morgan’s embrace and made him a proper curtsy. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”

  “It’s essential I speak privately with you,” he said in a low voice. “Concerning the activities of Mr. Burke.”

  His words sent a jolt through her. After that first night, she’d foolishly thought herself safe from Morgan’s questions. Had some new information come to light about her guardian, to raise Morgan’s suspicions?

  “I…” She hesitated.

  “We must speak. Tonight. Your safety is at stake.” His gaze was insistent.

  “Very well. I will meet you in the library.” Even as she said the words, she knew it would be utter folly to be alone with him.

  She turned and, without waiting for him to follow, went back to the piano. To the bright circle of light cast by the candelabra, to Louisa’s laughter, and Geordie’s cocked eyebrow, and Lady Agatha’s half smile.

  She could still feel Morgan’s gaze hot on her back, feel the weight of his arm about her waist as they danced out beyond the reach of the candlelight.

  The shadows were full of a hopeless, bittersweet future—and midnight could not come soon enough.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Morgan paced over the scarlet and amber patterned Turkish carpet in the library. The house lay quiet and still around him, but he had lit two lamps to diminish the press of night against the windows.

  It was nearly half past midnight. He resisted the urge to pull his gold pocket watch out and consult it once again, but looking at the damnable timepiece wouldn’t change the fact that Jessamyn Lovell was not coming.

  He clenched his jaw and continued pacing, frustration firing his steps. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  If only she were not sharing a room with her sister, he would go and find her. Instead he was reduced to prowling his own library like a caged lion. He’d thought she would come to him of her own accord. Indeed, she’d said she would.

  He was the Earl of Silverton, and he was not accustomed to having his will thwarted. Especially not by quarter-blood Gypsy girls who haunted his dreams.

  He wished he had never met Jessamyn Lovell.

  He wished he had taken her to his bed when he first had the opportunity.

  The watch lay heavy in his pocket, the chain gently brushing his waistcoat every time he turned. She was not coming. He exhaled heavily, then went and extinguished one of the lamps.

  When he straightened from turning down the wick, Jessamyn stood in the doorway. She wore her nightdress and one of those gaudy oriental wrappers his aunt so favored, this one featuring a bright gold dragon curled on a turquoise background. Jessamyn’s hair lay in a braid over her shoulder, and her dark eyes watched him warily.

  “There you are. Come in.” He motioned her forward.

  She entered the library and closed the door behind her. “My apologies for being late. Louisa was restless, and I could not slip out before now.”

  She was not flouting him, or disinterested, or angry. Relief coursed through him, and he attempted to stifle it. Jessamyn Lovell was entirely dangerous to his equilibrium.

  “Sit.” He pulled out one of the wingback chairs and waited for her to take a seat, then settled across from her.

  She perched upon the edge of the chair and gave him an anxious look. “You wished to speak to me about Mr. Burke?”

  “Yes. Jessamyn, I want the truth. You have enjoyed my hospitality for some time now. Your sister will be my aunt’s companion. I deserve your honesty.”

  She laced her fingers tightly together, then met his gaze.

  “You do,” she said. “And I will tell you what I know. But you must promise me you’ll protect Louisa, no matter what.”

  Morgan studied her intently: the worry in her face, the tension in her shoulders. “What, in particular, do you fear?”

  She let out a shaky breath. “Before his scheme of marrying my sister off to that horrible man, Mr. Burke promised to send Louisa to an insane asylum should any hint of what I am going to tell you reach the constabulary’s ears. I do not doubt he will do his utmost to carry out that threat.”

  At last—the truth. Morgan leaned forward. “Agreed. I will do everything in my considerable power to keep your sister safe.”

  “Well then.” She unknotted her fingers and smoothed the bright turquoise silk covering her knees. “Mr. Burke has been blackmailing members of the ton, using information obtained during my performances.”

  “I knew it.” Triumph flared through him. “Are you willing to testify to this in the courts?”

  “It won’t be enough. Some might argue I am trying to condemn him so that I might claim your protection, instead.” A flush rose in her cheeks. “The fact remains he is still my legal guardian, and has the right to determine the course of my life. Also, I have no proof of his misdeeds. It would be entirely my word against his.”

  “Surely the letters from his victims are somewhere.”

  “I saw them—but only once, when I first discovered what he was doing. I did search for them, later, but everything had been removed from his desk. I don’t doubt he now keeps such incriminating evidence safely tucked away.”

  “Damnation.”

  Morgan made a fist and tapped it against his leg, thinking. Without proof, it would be far more difficult to make a compelling case against Mr. Burke. And much as he hated to admit it, the defense would, indeed, take the very tactic Jessamyn feared—that she was lying in order to be free of her guardian in order to become Morgan’s mistress.

  “I could…” Her voice faltered, but then she continued. “I could return to him, and search his house to find the letters.”

  “No.” Everything in Morgan recoiled from the thought of sending her back into Mr. Burke’s clutches. “There is every likelihood he has removed them to another location, since he knows you’ve seen his correspondence. You will remain here.�
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  She gave him a grim smile. “Rather a different tune you’re playing these days, my lord. But tell me—when I performed at your musicale, I know that my guardian prowled about Trevethwick House. I was under the impression he had found some deep, dark secret from your past.”

  Morgan shook his head. “There’s nothing to discover, beyond the facts that all Society knows. My older brother and I were wild and careless, he died while racing his curricle, and our father was a debauched and lewd old man who drank and wenched himself to death. Sordid, but nothing I have not already made amends for.”

  The look on her face softened, and she reached over and took his hand. “I am sorry, Morgan.”

  He gripped her hand tightly for a moment, then forced himself to ease his hold. “I will do everything in my power to protect you from Mr. Burke. As you say, I have changed my tune. I don’t need your condolences.” He grasped her other hand. “I need you, Jessamyn—the taste of you on my lips, the feel of your skin against mine. Do you want that, as well?”

  Her eyes widened, but she did not pull her hands free. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good.” He stood and drew her into his arms in one smooth motion.

  Every nerve flared at the feel of her against him, all curves and softness, unfettered by a corset or yards of skirts. He bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers, and she eagerly returned his kiss. She felt so right in his embrace, he nearly groaned aloud at the sensation.

  His tongue explored her lips, and she opened her mouth to him. Their tongues met, and he tilted his head, the better to plunder her mouth. Heat hazed his mind, and his hands roved, weaving through her dark hair, claiming the sweet roundness of her breast.

  When his thumb brushed the silk-covered peak of her taut nipple, she gasped. He forced himself to pull back from the kiss, but only so that he might run his hands over her, and watch her eyes fill with desire.

  “I like this dressing gown on you,” he said, caressing her through the soft silk. “But I think I would like it off you even more.”

  One tug of the sash, another pull, and the gaudy dragon slid away, bright turquoise cloth slipping to pool on the rug.