She rose from the bed and dressed, planning to go down to breakfast, but she turned right rather than left and headed to her pianoforte instead.
Music was singing her in veins, thrumming to the beat of that kiss, and she needed to let it out before she ate.
She burst into the music room, heading straight for her bench and settled herself down, playing one of her favorite concertos. Her body swayed to the music as her fingers flew across the keys. Was it her imagination or did every note sound crisper this morning? The highs held more passion, the lows more despair.
By the time she finished, she was gasping for breath, a bead of sweat on her brow as her head dipped down, her chin resting on her chest.
“That was stunning,” Ash said.
She jumped from the bench swallowing a scream. What was he doing here? “You frightened me.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He smiled from the other side of the settee, and tossing one arm over the top, she realized he was still in his formal jacket.
“Did you...did you sleep on the settee last night?”
He winced. “I’m afraid so. Though to be fair, I’m relatively certain your father suggested I stay.” He rubbed his head. “It turns out, I am afflicted with what I warned you to avoid. A terrible headache caused from too much alcohol.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You were drinking with my father?”
He shrugged. “I believe so.”
“You’re a rake after all.” And she rose from the bench, taking his arm. “Come on. Let’s get you some breakfast.”
He shook his head. “I’ll get some at the inn. We don’t want anyone seeing us together this morning. But I might need your help finding my way out.”
Her hands came to her hips. “Just so we’re clear. Bringing you to breakfast is more suspicious than attempting to sneak you out?”
He winced. “You make an excellent point.”
“Come on. If my father invited you, you’ve nothing to fear.” And she tugged on his arm. That part of her that felt the need to care for him tugged now. He looked terrible, still handsome, but awful nonetheless. “Our cooks make an excellent eggs benedict.”
He groaned, touching his stomach. “Please. That sounds awful.”
She covered her mouth. “Porridge?”
“Tea, first,” he said, combing his hair back and then stretching. “And I think that settee was too short.”
“If my father invited you, he surely would have given you a bed.”
“He did.” Ash shook his head. “But I came back down to the music room to—” He stopped. “And then I couldn’t find my way back.”
Cordelia cocked an eyebrow. After their kiss, she’d excused herself from the party. She couldn’t socialize any more, she’d needed time to think everything through. Everything meaning handsome lords who kissed her in moonlit gardens.
“Tea it is,” she said as they made their way into the breakfast room to find it…empty. “Well now.” The buffet was completely stocked but no one was there.
He chuckled. “Apparently I wasn’t the only one who over-indulged.”
She crossed and poured him a cup of tea, then gestured to a chair for him to sit. He did and Cordelia handed him the tea, returning to the buffet for porridge that she then sat in front of him. “Eat.”
He groaned again and she patted his shoulder. A mistake. Fire shot through her and she pulled her hand away again.
He didn’t seem to notice as he dipped his spoon in and took a bite, then another. “You’re right. That is better.”
She nodded and then got food of her own, returning to the table. Sitting across from him, she picked at an egg, her mind too crowded with questions to actually eat. She glanced at him several times before he finally rubbed his forehead. “Whatever you want to ask, you might as well spit it out.”
She snapped her jaw shut, surprised he’d known. “I don’t spit.”
He smiled at that, a dimple showing on his cheek. “Of course, not. My apologies.”
She leaned toward him. “And my questions are not for breakfast.”
“No?” He set his spoon down, straightening in his chair.
She shook her head. “I meant what I offered last night. You can tell me…anything.”
* * *
Damn her and her beautiful brown eyes. His gut churned again but it wasn’t because of the champagne this time. He could never tell her about growing up in a whorehouse. About how his mother became ill. About how his father lost his real wife, and without an heir, had married his mum to make him legitimate.
His stomach twisted. That sounded like a happy ending, but it wasn’t. Not even close. It was the beginning of hell.
Rather than share any of that, he studied her face. The curve of her cheek, the tilt of her chin, the way her eyes sparkled in the morning light.
For a moment, he wished he was a different man. One who deserved a beautiful, talented, pure wife.
“You are too kind,” he answered, finally.
“She is, is she not?” Her father appeared in the door and Ash said a silent prayer of thanks that he’d not said more.
Cordelia twisted around to look at her father, a slight frown marking her lips. “Good morning. How do you fare?”
He grimaced. “I’ll be all right.” He crossed to the buffet and began to heap piles of food onto a plate. Then turning, he crossed to the table and gave Dashlane a nudge on the shoulder before taking his own seat. “We certainly had fun last night.”
Ash smiled at that. They had. “I dare say we could have used Miss Moorish’s skills at the pianoforte. Our singing left a bit to be desired.” The truth was, Ash had had a great deal of fun with Mr. Moorish. They’d talked and laughed and for a moment, Ash had wondered if this was what it was like to have a real father.
Mr. Moorish chuckled. “A man always benefits from a woman’s company.”
Cordelia sat straighter in her chair, her eyes casting down to the table. “In this case, I think it’s just my playing that was called for. My company is not my strongest suit.”
“Nonsense,” her father waved his hand. “Your company is always wanted here and soon it will be wanted in London too.”
“Soon? London?” she asked, her entire body going still.
Her father nodded. “I was going to surprise you girls but the arrival of so many gentlemen interrupted my announcement. Your aunt, the countess, is taking you to London. You’ve missed the start of the season, of course. But you’ll catch most of it. And she’s even lined up some events for you to showcase your talents.”
Cordelia swallowed, her hand gripping her fork going white. He knew the feeling. His stomach was turning again. He gave his head a shake. It wasn’t his business.
“You mean play in a drawing room for lords lined up as potential husbands.” Cordelia’s voice had dropped low.
“Precisely,” her father answered. “We can’t have you being the only unwed Moorish.”
“Why not?” she fired back. “What’s wrong with remaining unwed?”
Her father blinked several times. “You were meant to marry.”
Cordelia rose from her seat and Ash had the urge to rise too, reach out and touch her. “I don’t want to marry. I want to be a musician.”
Mr. Moorish rose as well, his mouth pinching. “You don’t know what you ask.”
“I think I do,” she answered, straightening.
He shook his head. “Your mother saved me, Cordelia. Try and entertain the possibility that you’d be happier married. At least try before you make your decision.”
Those words reverberated through Ash. Just once he wished he could entertain being saved from his dark, troubled past.
Chapter Six
Cordelia stared at her father, completely aware of Ash’s silent presence.
Ash was the one other person in the world who knew she did not wish to marry. Odd, he’d gotten to witness this conversation. The one where she was being shipped off to London like luggage. Not that she d
idn’t wish to go, but not like this. She wanted to go as a musician not as a debutante. “So, not only do I not get a say in my own future, but I’m going to miss my sisters’ weddings. All four of them.”
Her father winced at that. “They’ll understand. You’ve your own future to find.”
Cordelia shook her head, fighting back tears that clouded her eyes. “And now, because they’ve all found husbands, I’ll have to go alone. With Aunt Mildred.” Not that there was anything wrong her aunt or her four dachshunds. But in truth, she loved her dogs and only tolerated her nieces.
Her father leaned down, spreading his hands out on the table. “It won’t be that bad Cordelia. I know it would have been more fun if you’d all gone but—”
“I don’t want to go,” she whispered because she couldn’t make any more sound come out of her throat. “I won’t go.”
Her father looked to the table. “You will.”
“Why?” she choked out, a single tear escaping her eye. She swatted it away, damning water for leaking out of her eyes now.
“Because music is a beautiful hobby, but marriage is the backbone that life is built on.”
“If I were a man,” she started, but her father rapped the table.
“You would still marry,” he said, then straightened. “And you would have to utilize your skill to provide for your family. But still, it would be a means to an end.”
Words crowded her mouth. Her father loved his business. It was not just a means to an end. “Plenty of people are passionate about their work.”
Her father frowned. “And you will be passionate about your hobbies.”
She stared at him. Her father rarely took a hard line on any topic and she’d been convinced he wouldn’t on this one. What had changed? She fisted her hands. “I’m not going.”
“You’ll go,” he answered. “This is not a choice.”
Cordelia turned and fled the room, not looking back at either man. She couldn’t. She ran blindly through the house and out to the back garden where she found herself in the exact spot she’d taken Ash the night before.
She stopped just under the trees, looking to the center where he’d held her in his arms. She’d wanted to know what she’d be giving up last night. And he’d given her a taste of romance and passion.
Would her husband give her the same? She shook her head. Somehow, she couldn’t picture wanting another man the way she wanted Ash. And so, she’d get neither. No music and no romantic fire. “My life is ruined,” she said to the trees.
“You don’t know that,” a deep, rich baritone answered.
Ash. She spun about. “What are you doing here?”
He stepped into the light and crossed to the bench, taking a seat. Then he pointed up to the house. “We’re being watched.”
Cordelia turned. Just above the trees, she saw the windows of the breakfast room. Though she couldn’t see inside the house in the bright sunshine, she had no doubt her father looked out the window and down at them. “And so you were allowed down.”
“I was,” he answered. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help.”
She shook her head. “Can you save me from a season in London? From joining the marriage mart?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
She crossed and sat next to him. Technically speaking, he could save her from all those things. He could marry her. But he’d been clear on the topic and besides, the only thing worse than a marriage with one unwilling participant would be a marriage with two. “I should have known my father would never agree to let me be a spinster.”
He shook his head. “If my father had lived, I’m sure he would have forced me to marry.”
She glanced over at him. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked, his hand reaching for hers, their fingers just touching.
“Complaining about my father. I’ve heard you. Despite the light and airy façade you normally wear, you have a dark past.”
He gave her a curious stare. “I’ve had friends for years who didn’t realize that truth about me. How did you so quickly see into my past?”
She shook her head. “I’ve no idea. But tell me about him. Your father.” She didn’t want to talk about herself.
He smiled softly. The sort of smile she’d seen him use often the past several days. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “We’re talking about you.”
Her cheeks flushed as she gazed toward the trees. “Despite my dramatic exit from the breakfast room and my statement to the trees, the air has cleared my head.”
“Your life isn’t ruined?” He gave her a teasing grin.
She smiled back. “No. I might yet convince him not to send me. He’s generally a soft man. And if even I can’t, plenty of women participate in society and don’t end up married.”
He cocked a brow. “That is very true.”
She waved her hand. “Besides, you have loads of information I need. Who else could educate me on the perils of society?” Somehow, she needed to keep talking to him. She couldn’t go back inside and face her father yet. “Tell me about London.”
Chapter Seven
London? Who cared about London? He liked it here, under the trees, listening to the birds. Holding her hand.
Ash enjoyed staring at the perfect ivory of her skin, tinged with just a touch of pink. And those warm liquid pools of brown gold that made up her eyes.
“London is dirty.” Packed with humanity, even the nice parts were often tinged with grime. He’d lived there most of his life and each year that passed, he liked the place less and less.
She shook her head. “That makes me feel loads better. I shall be with Aunt Mildred and her four yapping dachshunds in a dirty city trying to find a husband I don’t want.”
He chuckled, leaning a touch closer. He had the distinct urge to tell her that he’d be back in London too. That he’d check in on her but that was asking for trouble. It wasn’t his place and honestly, it was downright dangerous. So instead, he stood and bowed over her.
This was his usual self. “My lady,” he drawled, giving her a wicked smile. “Perhaps a dance to see you off.”
She pulled her head back in surprise. “A dance? Here in the garden?”
He held out his hand. She’d seen the worst of him last night. He really was normally quite charming. The act. But he’d been doing it for so long, he was sure that he could effortlessly perform for her. “Gardens are lovely places to dance. The birds and the breeze will be our music.”
She stood, dipping into a curtsy. “That is a wonderful thought. Tell me. If a man were interested in me, what might he say?”
He gave her a large smile that felt brittle. The thought of another man touching her made his hand clench and he forced the muscles in his fingers to relax as he took her waist. “You want lessons on how to attract a man’s interest?”
She shook her head giving him a glowing smile. “No. Not at all. I want lessons to detect the first hints of flirting so that I might squash them. Instantly.”
That made him laugh. Good and deep. “Well done, my lady.”
“Ash,” she whispered, lower, though no one would hear them out here. “I’m not highborn.”
He swallowed. “You are to me.” He started the steps of a waltz. The same one they’d danced to last night. “Granddaughter of an earl, born to wealth, you are the sparkling sun set in a crystal blue sky.”
Her breath caught. “Oh, that was beautiful. Did you mean it or is that the sort of thing men will say?”
Men. Bile rose up his throat. He didn’t want another man holding her waist like this. Not ever. Then he started. When had he grown so possessive? Likely about the time he’d stolen her first kiss and it had been magic. “Both,” he murmured, leaning closer to her ear.
She nodded, her hand sliding along his arm. “I shall remember, compliments are a sure sign of flirtation.”
He continued to spin her about. “If he finds excuses to touch you, he’s flirting.”
He spun her out and then back into his arms. “And no leaning close.”
She gave a single affirmative jerk of her chin. “I shall be very wary of leaning.”
“And if he gives you either of these smiles…” He gave first a soft grin and then a wolfish one. “The first is a sign of affection and the second…”
She tipped her head to the side. “What is the second?” But her breath caught. She knew already.
“If he gives you the second, run away quickly.”
He stopped under the shade of a tree. “Never allow him to take you out into the garden and certainly don’t allow him to lean in close, whispering his breath across your lips.”
She heard her intake of air catch. “You mean like I allowed you to do last night?”
The memories of last night flooded his thoughts. Her taste. The softness of her lips. The feel of her slender body fitted to his own. “That is what worries me, my lady.”
“What?” she asked, her eyes growing unfocused as she stared at his mouth.
He drew in a deep breath because truly the idea of another man touching her did frighten him. He’d watched her for the last several days and when he’d finally broken the silence last night, she’d been everything he’d dreamed she’d be, all that he wished he could have. He would never honor his father by carrying on his line. “That another rake will tempt you again.”
She cocked a brow. “But I already collected my kiss. I got that one chance to know and now I shall focus on my music.”
If her father would allow it. Otherwise, he’d grow tired of waiting and force his daughter into another match. Unless there was something that Ash could do about it.
* * *
Cordelia cocked her head to the other side, trying to discern where her charming rogue had gone. He looked down, but his eyes were distant. “Ash?”
What a Vulgar Viscount Needs: Romancing the Rake Book 5 Page 4
