Lessons From a Scarlet Lady (25 page)

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Authors: Emma Wildes

Tags: #Romance

BOOK: Lessons From a Scarlet Lady
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“Did you not see them last evening?”
He frowned. “Yes, I did. They played well together, but honestly—”
“I agree,” she interrupted, smiling. “They were very beautiful together indeed. How she got him to do it, I am not sure, but it proves Miss Marston has some influence over him, doesn’t it?”
“Miss Marston persuaded him to play the cello?” Colton contemplated a moment. “He told me he played because Brianna asked him to do so.”
His grandmother gave a gleeful chuckle. “He lied to you about it, then, because I asked your wife how she got him to cooperate and she told me directly that her pretty young friend was the one who convinced your brother to drag out his instrument before all and sundry.”
Telling falsehoods wasn’t at all like Robert, and now that Colton thought back on it, Damien had made some interesting insinuations.
A romance right under his nose, involving his youngest brother no less, and he hadn’t noticed?
Apparently, he
did
need to spend more time out of his study.
Chapter Fourteen
When you and your lover have become familiar with each other’s needs and wants, it is time for you to surprise him, confound him, and make him realize he knows only part of his woman. Each time you try something new, you may unearth his deepest hidden desire or fulfill a specific fantasy. For men have them, even more so than women.
From the chapter titled: “Using Secrets to Your Advantage”
 
F
ate must be having a lovely time mocking him, Robert thought grimly. He had made that cynical remark about clumsy young ladies on the pianoforte and now here he was, listening to one of the most sublime performances possible from a very beautiful, extremely talented young lady.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of Rebecca as she bent over the keys, her face serene. Because he was in the audience, he had a perfectly good excuse to study the graceful pose of her shapely body, the symmetry of her nose in profile, and the luster of her dark, shining hair.
Damnation.
Remarkable
was the word he’d used to her mother. It was an understatement, he’d come to realize, listening to Rebecca play a second time. Hers was a rare gift, a unique skill that so enthralled the listeners it almost felt as if everyone in the room, even the most tone-deaf philistine among them, had stopped breathing. No one coughed, cleared his throat, or even shifted in her seat.
She was
that
good.
He reminded himself of the reality of the situation. She would be married off to some very fortunate man, and though she might play now and again for a small group like this if he chose to allow it, the world would never have the pleasure of hearing her genius.
A damn shame, in Robert’s opinion, but then again, no one had asked for his thoughts on the matter.
This evening he had recognized all the pieces performed but the last two. She used no music for those, and her expression changed from tranquil to contemplative as those slender hands moved over the keyboard like she caressed a lover.
The image
that
comparison conjured up needed to be squelched immediately, he told himself savagely as he rose after the applause died away, turning blindly to offer his arm to the woman beside him.
It happened to be Mrs. Newman, who looked at him provocatively from under her lashes and set her hand on his sleeve. “That was rather pleasant, wasn’t it?”
“Brilliant,” he said truthfully.
“You did seem engrossed in her performance.”
Even as she spoke Robert found himself watching Lord Knightly escort Rebecca, the blasted man saying something to make her laugh. He caught himself, registered what the woman clinging to his arm had just said, and forced what he hoped was a nonchalant smile as they entered the dining room. “I think we all were.”
“Not with your level of attention.” The words were softly said, but her eyes had narrowed a little. “Like a child looking in the window of a sweetshop.”
He’d so rarely had to hide his interest—no, he hadn’t
ever
had to hide his interest in a woman before—he apparently wasn’t very good at it. “Miss Marston has an unusual beauty. I am sure every man in the room noticed it.”
He was sure. And it annoyed him.
“Maybe so.” She raised her brows just a little and regarded him as they reached the table. To his surprise, Loretta Newman said with more insight than he would have expected, “You are going to have to make a choice. I will be interested to see what it is.”
Why bother to try and deny it? He pulled out her chair and muttered, “I’ll be interested as well.”
For dinner, the array of dishes was even more lavish than usual in celebration of Colton’s birthday. The food was sophisticated without being fussy, and had Robert been in a mood to enjoy it, he would have appreciated it more. As it was he ate sparingly, drank more than his share of wine, and restively waited for the affair to be over. Once the ladies excused themselves and the port was served, he relaxed a fraction. The strain of having Rebecca seated across the table—directly across from him, to his dismay—had made the meal seem endless.
He barely listened to the conversation around him as he drank port with ill-advised speed. Maybe if he numbed himself properly, the evening would come to an end earlier. Yes, he might not feel his best in the morning but what the hell, he wasn’t exactly all sunshine and smiles now.
When it came time to retire to the drawing room and rejoin the ladies, he declined. “I might go and read for a bit.”
“Read?” Damien asked on an incredulous laugh. Even Colton looked dubious. Lord Bonham quirked a brow in surprise.
Robert muttered, “Bloody hell, from your expressions you’d think you’d never heard of the pastime. I’m tired and wish to retire with a good book. Is there some harm in that?”
“None at all.” Damien grinned. “Perhaps there’s a nice romance on the shelves. Something dark, melodramatic, and Gothic to match the gloomy expression on your face.”
To his credit, Robert refrained from crashing his fist into his brother’s jaw. He swung on his heel instead and stalked from the dining room. Thankfully, Rebecca’s father had already left the room and missed the exchange. Robert had the feeling that if both Damien and Loretta had noticed his absorption in Rebecca, her father might have as well. Since he and Sir Benedict had an unspoken agreement to avoid each other, nothing had been said, but the other night on the terrace Robert had received the clear message that Rebecca was off-limits.
Damien followed him, strolling into the library just a few moments after he did, his look pointed as he saw Robert had gone straight to the brandy decanter, not the bookshelves. “Getting drunk won’t solve your dilemma.”
“Do I have a dilemma?” Robert sloshed a generous amount into a crystal glass. “And if I did, would it be your business?”
His older brother shut the door behind him. “No, I suppose not.” Damien walked over and examined one volume, running a finger along the dusty spine. “Maybe you should read one of the Greek tragedies. Or a Shakespearean play. God knows you’re acting like some dramatic lovelorn character in one.”
“I’ve read most of them already, thank you. I believe you went to Eton also. And I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, they did drill the classics into our thick skulls, did they not?”
Robert let out a noncommittal grunt. He was just a little bit foxed, it was true. Two stiff brandies should push him the rest of the needed distance.
“Robbie, why don’t you court her?” Damien turned, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “Surely you’ve heard of courtship? Flowers, afternoon calls, a ride in Hyde Park with a chaperone, maybe a carefully penned poem waxing eloquent on the exquisite color of her eyes—”
“Care to tell me who the devil you are referring to?”
Damien fixed him with what seemed to be a pitying look. “Snapping at me won’t solve anything and we both know who I’m talking about, damn it.”
True. Robert raggedly exhaled and ran his free hand down his face, clutching the brandy glass in his other like a lifeline. He said heavily, “I don’t
wish
to court anyone.”
“History would bear that out, so I believe you.” Damien chose one of the comfortable chairs next to the fireplace and sat, crossing his long legs at the ankle and canting a brow. “You don’t wish it. Fine. At least you’re willing to admit it has crossed your mind. That’s a good start. Have a seat and let’s talk about it.”
“Is there some reason we should?” Robert nonetheless dropped into a chair, his moody gaze accusing. “In case it has escaped your notice, Rebecca’s parents would swoon if I as much as showed a glimmer of interest. Her father in particular.”
“Ah, you can say her name out loud and confess the fascination. That’s progress.”
If a glower could kill someone, Damien would be writhing in agony, but apparently the method was ineffectual. Robert said acerbically, “Who knew you could be just as annoying now as you were when I was ten?”
“I was eleven then, and I’ve improved my technique with age.”
“There are some things that shouldn’t be improved on.”
Damien chuckled. “I’ll concede that. So, tell me, what’s the problem between you and Sir Benedict? After all, though you hardly have a pristine reputation, you are a Northfield, the younger brother of a duke, and you have your own fortune. She could certainly do worse. It would be a prestigious match.”
“I don’t want a match,” Robert said peevishly, his jaw set.
“But you
do
want her. Therein lies the aforementioned dilemma.” Damien lifted a hand, palm outward. “For argument’s sake, let’s put forth the idea you honestly wished to woo the fair Rebecca. That would naturally mean gaining her father’s permission.”
“He wouldn’t give it, believe me.” Robert moodily contemplated the tips of his boots and then sighed. Heavily. “Several years ago, I was at a less than respectable establishment, full of young bloods eager to drink and gamble. Sir Benedict’s nephew was also there. He’s young, was in his cups, and not the most prudent fellow even when sober. He lost a fortune that night, and I do mean literally. Several of us cautioned him to remove himself from the game because we could see he had foregone all good judgment, but he was a belligerent fool and refused. The deeper he got into the mire, the more determined he was to extricate himself. It didn’t happen, I’m afraid. He ended the disastrous evening in the arms of a prostitute, who apparently gave him a case of the pox.” Robert glanced up with a cynical twist to his mouth. “Sir Benedict, naturally, administers his nephew’s inheritance, which was significantly decreased that evening. Young Bennie, named after his uncle, of course, couldn’t remember which gentlemen were involved in the game, except myself and Herbert Haversham. We both received scathing letters accusing us of cheating and leading the young man into debauchery, and though I took the time to reply and explain the truth, the missive was returned unopened.”
Damien murmured, “I see.”
“To an extent, I do not blame Rebecca’s father, for he was faced with either believing whatever tale Bennie came up with or facing the fact his nephew had made not only a fool of himself, but also squandered his portion and lied about it. How much easier to blame us. Neither Herbert nor I kept the money we won from him, but returned it before we left that evening with a caution that fell on deaf, drink-befuddled ears. Bennie just lost it promptly in another game. I’ve wondered if he remembered the two of us because we were the ones who returned the money.”
“Could be. So . . . I think I see things clearly. Besides your rakish reputation, you are now considered a depraved influence, and dishonorable in the bargain. Is that correct?” Damien had one of his inscrutable expressions firmly in place.
“I would guess so. The man can hardly bring himself to grate out a polite greeting if we come face-to-face.” Sir Benedict’s thunderous expression when he saw Robert with his beautiful daughter came to mind. “To say he has no regard for me is an understatement, but though I have never claimed angelic status, in this matter, I am entirely blameless.”
“I agree. So, what is your plan then?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have a plan, Dame.”
“To win the object of your desire.” His brother cocked a brow irreverently. “I admit it isn’t going to be easy. You are going to have to modify your behavior considerably. This is one young woman you can’t simply lure into your bed. Actually, I get the impression you
could
lure her into your bed, but while you aren’t perfect, I don’t see you dishonoring her any more than you would cheat a drunken man of his money.”
“Such high praise,” Robert drawled sarcastically. “I feel my head beginning to swell.”
His brother ignored him but kept talking as if musing over one of his damned tactical problems. “So you are for once going to have to rely on something other than your pretty face and a façade of superficial charm. Luckily, the two of you have one very important thing in common, besides a mutual physical attraction.”

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