Mistress of Melody

by Anthea Lawson

  “I remember this nightdress,” he said, fingers already going to the ties on her bodice.

  “But I don’t recall you being quite so formally dressed,” she said, a teasing smile on her lips.

  “I did remove my coat,” he said, nodding to where it lay folded on the back of his chair.

  She glanced at the garment. “Do you have any coats that aren’t gray?”

  “Of course. Black and dark blue.”

  “Perhaps you might consider a more daring color,” she said, reaching up to tug at his neckcloth. “You ought to remove this, as well.”

  He untied the complicated knot his valet had made before supper, and unwound the strip of cloth.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Let me see.”

  She leaned in and slid her hands around the back of his neck. The brush of her fingers against his skin, riffling through his hair, made desire roar to the forefront of his brain.

  His neckcloth dropped from his fingers, and he pulled her against him once more. Hunger burned in his blood—years of starvation fueling his craving for her, until he could barely think. There was nothing but the taste of her mouth beneath his, the soft pulse of her breath, the curve of her hip under his hand.

  After a minute, or a year, she pulled back. Her lids were heavy, and her chest rose and fell with deep breaths. His gaze fell to her breasts, and he undid the last tie of her nightdress. The inner curve of her breasts tantalized him, and his groin tightened even more. With both hands, he pushed the nightdress down off her shoulders.

  The soft light illuminated her perfect breasts—lush and full, with rosy, peaked nipples.

  “You are beautiful,” he said. “No, don’t cover yourself.”

  She met his gaze, and ceased trying to pull her nightdress back over one shoulder. “Very well—but it’s only fair of you to bare your chest in return.”

  “Care to assist me?”

  “Are you saying you can’t undress without assistance?” She smiled at him again, while her fingers went to the buttons on his silver brocade waistcoat. “How dreadfully difficult is the life of a gentleman.”

  “You may help me to undress at any time.”

  “Any time?” She pushed aside his waistcoat and deftly began unfastening his white linen shirt. “That might prove awkward, my lord.”

  “You have a mischievous mind, Miss Lovell.” And, despite her understandable shyness, she also seemed unafraid of the heat pulsing between them, meeting it with wit rather than fear.

  Somehow, he could not imagine Lady Anne doing the same.

  Jessamyn tugged his shirt free of his trousers and opened it wide. She ran her palms over his bare chest, and all thoughts of Lady Anne fled.

  “Satisfied?” he asked.

  “Nearly.” Her gaze fell to the bulge in his trousers, and she flushed and looked away.

  “Much as I would love for both of us to undress completely, I don’t think my library is the ideal spot.” Besides, the skin he had acquired for this eventuality was upstairs.

  “Perhaps not.” There was a touch of wistfulness in her tone.

  To erase it, he pulled her closer. The feel of her breasts against his skin scorched him. He wove his fingers through her hair and kissed her again. God, but he wanted her under him, fully naked. He wanted to coax the flames of her arousal higher and higher, until they were a bonfire illuminating the night.

  He wanted to print himself on her soul, so that she would never forget him.

  But that was too disquieting a thought. He refused to ponder the end when they had barely begun. And so, he ravished her mouth, and let tomorrow slip like water through his fingers. Only now, this moment, this woman in his arms.

  He broke the kiss to lower his head and stroke his tongue across the peak of her breast. She shivered, and a low moan escaped her lips. Desire rushed through him, as heady a sensation as though he’d been drinking fine brandy. His trousers were unbearably tight.

  “Come upstairs,” he said, his voice rough. “To my bedroom.”

  He would not take her here, on the library carpet, though the beast inside raged at him to do just that. No—she deserved a bed, and all the sensual consideration he could lavish upon her.

  She gazed up at him, and he could see the indecision in her eyes. He wanted to kiss it away, but he could not force himself upon her. This was for her to choose.

  At last, she gave him a single nod. “I will.”

  Pulling away, she covered her glorious breasts once more. Trying not to regret it, Morgan bent and picked up the abandoned dressing gown. The silk was cool and soft between his fingers as he settled it around her shoulders. A tendril of dark hair had come loose from her braid, and he gently tucked it behind her ear.

  Quickly, he re-fastened a few shirt buttons, scooped up his coat, then lifted the lamp.

  “After you,” he said, holding the light high so that she might see.

  She preceded him from the library, through the darkened hallway, and up the stairs to the second floor. At the door to the bedroom she shared with her sister, she paused, and Morgan’s fingers tightened on the lamp.

  Would she change her mind?

  After a brief hesitation, she moved on, and he let out a soundless breath. Damnation, it was unsettling how badly he wanted this woman.

  They neared the end of the hall, and he lengthened his stride. Another few moments, and he would have Jessamyn in his bedroom, where they would at last finish what she had started.

  “Jessie?” The sleepy voice drifted down the hallway.

  Morgan turned, mood already darkening. The lamp showed Louisa standing at the open door of her bedroom.

  “Duckling—what are you doing out of bed?” Jessamyn took a few steps toward her sister.

  “Why are you?” Louisa blinked and rubbed her eye with a fist. “Did the Silver Lord need a drink of water, too?”

  “There is a pitcher and cup on the washstand,” Jessamyn said.

  Morgan detected the faintest edge of impatience in her tone. For himself, thwarted desire made him want to storm down the hall, lock Louisa in her bedroom, and resume his seduction of Jessamyn. He suspected that plan, however, would not sit well with either sister.

  “I spilled it, and now I am thirsty again.”

  Jessamyn blew a breath from her nostrils. She turned to Morgan, frustration and apology clear in her expression.

  “I must tend to Louisa,” she said.

  “Of course. Thank you for your company,” he said, trying to mask his irritation. “Perhaps I might see you… later.”

  She glanced at her sister, then firmed her lips. “I think it unlikely, my lord. Tomorrow will be here soon enough.”

  He strode to where they stood, and handed Jessamyn the lamp. “We will resume this conversation tomorrow evening.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then I bid you both good night.”

  “Good night,” Jessamyn said, while her sister simply yawned.

  Before he turned away, he gave her a look full of unspoken promises. The night shadows enfolded him as he stalked back to his rooms. Alone.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The dreadful heat has sapped much of the liveliness from London events. Indeed, no less than seven ladies fainted during Lord Caversham’s ball yesterday evening! Already, some members of the ton are quitting Town for the havens of their country estates.

  -Tilly’s Mayfair Tattler

  “I have splendid news,” Lady Agatha announced during teatime the next day.

  She smiled at Jessa, then Louisa, and lastly at the earl, looking as smug as if she were a cat that had been in the cream.

  Jessa was grateful for the older woman’s talkative spirit. She could barely bring herself to meet Morgan’s gaze. Last night, they had nearly become lovers. The thought both elated and terrified her.

  “Are you going to tell us this news?” the earl asked, calmly buttering his scone. “Or are we going to play at guessing?”

  He see
med his usual unemotional self, but the few times their eyes locked, she saw the fire in his gaze.

  Louisa clasped her hands together. “I guess that Lady Agatha is planning to purchase a pet bird,” she said, hope filling her voice.

  “No birds,” the older woman said. “I find their incessant chirping grates after a time. Jessamyn, do you care to venture an answer?”

  Jessa studied Lady Agatha, whose eyes were most decidedly twinkling. “You’ve met a delightful gentleman who has sent you flowers.”

  Lady Agatha laughed. “Perhaps—but that’s not my news this afternoon. Morgan?”

  He set down his scone. “You’ve discovered the perfect shade of peacock blue, and are going to dye all your gowns that color.”

  “Intriguing… but no. I received a letter. From Italy.”

  “Ah.” Morgan leaned forward. He sent Jessa a speculative glance, then fixed his attention once more on his aunt. “And?”

  “Viscount Trenton is a kind and well-spoken gentleman, as far as I can tell. Much as I recall him from decades ago. Of course, he was not the viscount then.”

  “My cousin sent you a letter?” Jessa bit her lip. “Why?”

  “He was replying to the one I dispatched to him,” Lady Agatha said. “Concerning you and your sister’s welfare.”

  “You might have consulted me,” Jessa said, trying to keep the hurt from her tone. She was beyond weary of having other people dictate the direction of her life.

  “Now, now.” Lady Agatha reached across the table and patted her hand. “I did not want to get your hopes up, in case I never received a reply. I am an acquaintance of his from years ago, and was not certain he would remember, or even respond. But I shall, of course, take your wishes into consideration from this point forward.”

  “What does the viscount say?” Morgan asked. “Skip the pretty details about the weather in Italy and his health, if you please.”

  Lady Agatha gave him an impatient glance. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Lord Trenton is happy to assume guardianship of his cousins, Jessamyn and Louisa Lovell. Furthermore, being in Italy, he is content that the earl and myself act on their behalf and see to their best interests.”

  Jessa leaned back in her chair, attempting to absorb the news. “You are saying Mr. Burke is no longer our guardian?”

  She could not quite believe it. Almost nightly, she woke from troubled dreams that their guardian had managed to force her and Louisa back to his home. She could not imagine shedding the weight of that worry, the dread that somehow Mr. Burke would wed Louisa to Sir Dabbage, and herself to someone equally detestable.

  “Let me see the letter,” Morgan said. “You did bring it down to tea, I presume?”

  Lady Agatha nodded and gave him the folded pages. He scanned them, then held the letter out to Jessa.

  “It’s true,” he said. “Near the end of the page, he assumes guardianship.”

  She took the letter, barely breathing, and read.

  …and will therefore remove the burden of Jessamyn and Louisa Lovell’s guardianship from my younger brother, Mr. Edwin Burke, and place it upon myself. Which, as viscount and head of the family, ought to have been my responsibility all along…

  Jessa read the lines, then drew in a great, shuddering breath. The spidery writing blurred as hot moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes. What a blessed relief.

  “Splendid news, indeed,” she said, just managing to keep her tears contained.

  She handed the missive across the table to Lady Agatha, then took her sister’s hand and squeezed. Louisa was safe. They both were. Her heart pounded out the rhythm. Safe now, safe now.

  “Of course, the first thing the earl and I shall do is approve Miss Louisa’s new position as my companion,” Lady Agatha said briskly. “And you needn’t fear any longer that Mr. Burke might remove you from Trevethwick House.”

  “Not that I would have allowed it, in any case,” Morgan said, his tone dark. “But you ladies must excuse me—I have a meeting this afternoon with my solicitor.”

  He rose, made them all a general bow, then strode from the room.

  “It is good news, isn’t it?” Louisa asked Jessa, her voice low and worried.

  “Very.”

  “Then perhaps you oughtn’t hold my hand so tightly. My fingers are going numb.”

  “Sorry, duckling.” Jessa released her grasp. “I am so very thankful to you, Lady Agatha. Might I have Viscount Trenton’s address, so I may write him, as well?”

  “Of course.” Lady Agatha beamed across the table at her. “And do forgive me for keeping it a secret. I truly was not at all confident this scheme would prove successful.”

  “It was most kind of you, to presume upon your acquaintance with the viscount on our behalf,” Jessa said.

  Indeed, it was remarkably generous of Morgan’s aunt. Jessa and her sister were little better than orphans of an inferior social class in most people’s eyes. That Lady Agatha would champion them made Jessa’s heart squeeze with gratitude.

  As if she could hear Jessa’s thoughts, Lady Agatha gave her a keen look. “You and Louisa are members of the ton, whether you like it or not. I will not see you living in poverty and distress if I can help to better your situation.”

  “As to that,” Jess said, “I must ask, have you certain plans for me, Lady Agatha? I would like to be apprised.”

  The older lady had the grace to look a bit sheepish. “I had thought… but no, nothing that has borne fruit, and so there’s nothing to be said on that account. Let me ask you, Jessamyn. What do you want?”

  “To marry the prince,” Louisa said brightly.

  “Well, of course.” Lady Agatha nodded. “But what else?”

  “I have been thinking.” Jessa picked up her teacup, then set it back down again. The amber liquid shivered in little ripples. “I would like to make a career of performing, beyond London.”

  “Hm.” Lady Agatha pressed her lips together thoughtfully.

  “Don’t go without me!” Louisa cried.

  “My darling sister, you will be safe with Lady Agatha. And I will visit you often.”

  “But—”

  “Do not fret, Louisa,” Lady Agatha said. “Perhaps Jessamyn must journey on further quests. And, like all heroes, she must go alone.”

  Louisa pouted, but did not argue further, and Jessa shot Lady Agatha a grateful glance. Already the older woman understood Louisa and her world full of impossible tales. It portended well for their companionship.

  “Although I do wish you might stay in London with us for some time longer,” Lady Agatha said.

  “I’m not certain I can.” Jessa feared her tone was overly bleak, revealing too much of her heart. She made herself smile. “At any rate, that is just a fancy. Who knows if such a wild dream can even come to fruition?”

  Lady Agatha did not smile back, and there was a sympathy in her eyes that made Jessa suspect the lady comprehended too well. But if she knew how Jessa felt, then she must certainly understand her distress at the thought of seeing Morgan wed to Lady Anne.

  “I must go practice,” Jessa said, setting her napkin on the table and rising. There was always one refuge she could go to. The perfect solace of the music.

  “Play well,” Lady Agatha said. “Louisa and I will remain at tea until she has consumed sufficient quantities of marmalade.”

  “Just one more scone,” Louisa said with a happy smile. “And then we will go walking in the park, don’t you think?”

  Already they were so comfortable together. Despite her earlier words about her ambitions to perform abroad, Jessa felt a pang as she left the room and heard Louisa and Lady Agatha laughing together.

  Her sister was safe, and content, and well cared for—and where did that leave Jessa? So much of her life had been built around caring for her sister, she felt a bit lost without that underpinning.

  Not that Lady Agatha would take on Louisa forever. Indeed, it might only be a handful of months, which meant that Jessa mu
st do everything she could to establish herself in the meantime.

  Which, for now, meant keeping her musical skills at their peak.

  She opened the window in the back drawing room, letting the breeze come in to dance with her notes. She would begin with her drills, the scales and arpeggios that kept her fingers limber and her playing honest.

  She had not struggled under the tutelage of one of the best Rom fiddlers in the land for nothing. When she skimped on her technique, she could still see Donny Faa’s fierce eyes flash beneath his bushy brows.

  “No!” he would yell. “Your finger is too low. You must listen to the instrument. Make it sing for you.”

  He had taught her, as he’d learned from the famous fiddler Janos Bihari during his travels. Just as he had been made to play scales, so he passed on his technique.

  “Whatever is of best use, we will take,” he said to Jessa when she complained that Rom musicians shouldn’t have to practice such boring gadje techniques. “If you want to play like mud, then do not practice what I teach. But if you want to fly like the birds, then you must learn to grow feathers on your fingertips, rakli. This is how.”

  Finally, after scales and arpeggios and bow exercises, Jessa was ready to play. And, in the way of things, that was the precise moment the butler knocked, then opened the door.

  “Forgive the interruption, Miss Lovell,” he said. “You have a caller.”

  Her heart jumped, her fingers tightening on the wood of her violin. “It’s not Mr. Burke, is it?”

  Had he somehow learned of the change in guardianship, and come to drag her away?

  The butler shook his head, frowning. “No—the earl gave express instructions that Mr. Burke be refused entry, should he ever call again. Your visitor is a Mr. Peter Widmere. Will you receive him?”

  Jessa set her violin down, relief flowing through her, while hope sparked in her chest. “Indeed I will. Send him in.”

  The butler left, and returned a short time later leading a sandy-haired man of middle years. He was not dressed in the height of fashion, but in well-made clothing of excellent materials—clearly a fellow of means, if not extreme gentility.