The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (17 page)

The carriage swayed as they took a corner, and Charity her feet for balance. Her leg brushed against Hugh’s, and her eyes darted up to meet his. She didn’t, however, move her leg. Neither did he. He tilted his head, holding her gaze. “They are certainly missing out on a very fine talent,” he said, his voice a near whisper.

She shook her head. “Is that like the blind complimenting a painter?”

“Pardon?” Lady Effington said, swiveling around to address Charity.

“I asked if Lord Cadgwith had a favorite painter,” she replied, her face completely straight.

The dowager turned expectant eyes on him, so he shook his head. “Art is somewhat lost on me, I’m afraid.”

She nodded politely and turned back to the moving canvas of the passing scenery. Charity offered a little half grin. “I wonder, my lord, what is it that gives you pleasure? Not art or music or dances or crowds. What are the things that make you smile?”

You
. He mouthed the word, not daring to give it voice. She narrowed her eyes, clearly unsure of whether she saw what she thought she saw. He licked his lips and said, “Truly, I find pleasure in quiet things. The distant waves on the shore, holding my infant niece as she sleeps, waking to a day with no”—he paused, almost saying
pain
but thinking better of it—“ill effects of the night before.”

“What of friends?”

He almost laughed. What of friends? These days, the only friends he had were the ones who didn’t mind a half decade or two between conversations, like Dering and Thomas. He pursed his lips, unsure of how to answer her. The heat of her leg finally began to seep through the fabric of their clothes. It was oddly comforting. “My brother, Ian, and I were quite close. His widow is a lovely woman whom I would consider a friend. My batman has been with me since the army.”

God, it sounded rather pathetic, listed out like that. That was the problem with living at the very tip of England: If one wished to keep to oneself, then no one was going to interfere with that decision. It wasn’t as though anyone was just going to drop by, as they did in London and even here in Bath. He’d allowed himself to disappear, to retreat into the darkness and solitude of the old dowager house like some sort of exiled criminal.

“Well,” she said quietly, her eyes soft in the muted light. “No matter how things began, nor how they end, I hope that you will consider me a friend.”

He wished like hell Lady Effington wasn’t in the carriage just then. He wanted to reach across the narrow space separating them and take Charity’s hand in his. He wanted to lace her fingers in his and tug her into his lap. He wanted to press his lips to hers and thank her without words for not judging him, even when he judged himself.

Instead, he dug his fingers into his palms and nodded, forcing the corners of his lips into some semblance of a smile. “I will, Miss Effington. And I hope you’ll do the same.”

I
f Charity thought the carriage ride had been sweet torture, the play itself was turning out to be a thousand times worse. Or was it better?

She squirmed a bit in her seat—again—and attempted to focus on the actors on the stage. Which was impossible, of course. How could she, when Hugh was directly behind her, staring at the back of her head, for all she knew?

To her right, Grandmama sat in the darkness, her chin resting against her chest after having dozed off around twenty minutes into the first act. To her left, Dering’s hulking form was a dark silhouette against the even darker fabric panels draping the walls of their private box. He had been late, so they hadn’t yet had time to really talk.

She knew Sophie was in the balcony section in the back, and May was in a box with her aunt almost directly across the way. All these people that she knew and cared about surrounded her, and yet all she could think about was Hugh’s presence raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

What would it be like if it were his warm touch on her neck instead of his gaze? Or, better still, his lips. A chill ran down her spine like a drop of icy water, causing her to shiver. She breathed a sigh of relief when the curtain came down and the lamps were brought back up.

Dering turned to her immediately, rubbing his hands together. “At last we can speak. I hope you will be able to forgive my tardiness. I was attending to a bit of business, as it were.”

“Of course,” she answered promptly, offering him a broad smile. She needed to start making her way to May’s box, since she knew that Lady Stanwix had no intention of letting May mingle any more than necessary. But she could certainly spare a few moments for her host. “Thank you again for allowing us to join you this evening.”

“It worked out perfectly. As it happens, the business I was attending to had to do with you.”

That got her attention. Her smile fell a bit. “Whatever about?” His smile was self-satisfied and so full of mischief, she rounded her eyes at him. “Dering, you mustn’t keep me in suspense.”

“Such impatience,” he tsked, his baritone voice full of amusement. “If you must know, I had a little conversation with a certain member of a certain committee. I heard a shocking bit of gossip that England’s most talented pianoforte player somehow had been overlooked for the Tuesday recitals.”

Charity drew in a surprised breath. “How on earth did you hear of that?”

He tipped his head in the general direction behind her, where Grandmama’s soft snores were being politely ignored by the baron. The little sneak—had her grandmother slipped the detail into her letter to the viscount when she inquired about his box? “Really, my lord, it was nothing to concern yourself with—”

“Au contraire,”
he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the rising din of the crowd below. “It was a travesty, and it had to be righted. Therefore, it was.”

“It was what?” she asked, caution causing her to tamp down her escalating excitement. What had he done, exactly?

“Righted.” He looked every bit the cat that had gotten the cream, his lips stretched wide in an expectant smile. “You and your trio are to be part of the inaugural Tuesday-night performances three days hence.”

Charity’s jaw dropped nearly to her chest as she gaped at him right there in full view of half the theater. “Are you serious? They have agreed to allow us to play?”

Dering gave a one-shouldered shrug, all nonchalance now. “Indeed they have. Not that they had much choice,” he said with a wink.

Relief, excitement, gratitude, and a whole host of other emotions swept through her all at once, and she pressed her hands to her chest to keep herself from wrapping her arms around him in a bear hug. “You dear, dear man,” she exclaimed, biting her lip and shaking her head. “You couldn’t have possibly given me a better gift. I can’t even begin to think how I can repay you.”

His teasing smugness firmly in place, he patted her arm with one large white-gloved hand. “Fear not. We shall think of something. Undying gratitude is usually a good place to start.”

She knew him well enough to know his mischievous ways. With a playful roll of her eyes, she said, “We shall see.” Unable to hold in a little laugh, she turned to her grandmother to wake her with the news.

Her eyes landed on Hugh instead, where he sat quietly watching her. Pleasure shone in his green gaze. There was no hint of a smile on his lips, nor any other overt emotion, but she could plainly see his happiness. For her—she knew it even without him saying a word. He alone had seen how greatly upset she had been when she received the committee’s rejection. He alone had been there to comfort her when she’d needed it most. Which, somehow, had led to that kiss . . .

She looked away quickly, not wanting to give her thoughts away just then. As she placed a gentle hand to her grandmother’s shoulder to wake her, Charity relished the joy spreading from her heart to every nook and cranny of her soul. It would appear she had a hero. Dering always had admired her playing, so it truly shouldn’t have been such a surprise.

She just wouldn’t have expected him to think of such a thing. He had always been sweet, kind, and considerate, but this was above and beyond. He must have realized just how disappointed she would have been, and had gone out of his way to make things right. But why had he gone to so much trouble? It couldn’t have been easy to track down the proper people and persuade them to change their minds.

The unanswered question reverberated in her head as she conveyed the good news to her grandmother. Perhaps there was more to Dering’s regard for her than she realized.

Swallowing, her gaze flitted from him to the baron. Two greater foils she couldn’t imagine. Dering was as strapping as a Viking, with his dark good looks and charming personality softening what might have otherwise been an intimidating physique. He was sociable, strong, and likable, and, best of all, he honestly loved music. Most especially, he loved
her
music.

He was the kind of match her parents might dream of, especially with their family’s longtime friendship. If he had shown even the slightest inclination to marry, Charity’s parents would have likely pounced on him by now.

That thought felt jarring as it bounced around inside her, not seeming to find purchase. There was no neat place for it to go, since she couldn’t decide whether his attentions would be welcome or not. “Well,” she said brightly, suddenly eager to have a moment to herself. “With such glad news, I find I can’t bear to delay sharing with my friends. Will you excuse me while I go visit?”

Dering smiled. “Better yet, I can escort you. I’ve yet to meet Miss Bradford, anyway, so perhaps now is the time, when she will be predisposed to like me.” He gave a rakish wink before coming to his feet.

So much for having a moment to herself. “Thank you, my lord. Lord Cadgwith, would you like to join us as well?”

The question rolled off her tongue with hardly a thought. After an entire act of feeling his presence behind her like the static charge of a doorknob in winter, she wanted him by her side. She wanted to feel his arm beneath her hands, and look him in the eye, and know for certain where he stood, both literally and figuratively.

But he, apparently, did not feel the same way. He gave a short shake of his head. “Thank you, but no. I shall stay here and enjoy the company of Lady Effington, I think.”

Charity smiled to mask her disappointment. Must he act so distant? “As you wish,” she said, her voice overly agreeable to her ears. If he wished to stay here, alone in the half darkness, then that was his prerogative. Patting Dering’s arm, she said, “Shall we?”

He was all too eager to comply. “We shall indeed.”

*   *   *

It was a special kind of hell, being so close to Charity, and yet being weighed down by the chains of propriety and his own strict rules of conduct he had decided on before ever leaving the house.

She was an acquaintance, nothing more.

And if he told himself that often enough, he may actually begin to believe it.

It would help, of course, if he hadn’t spent the past hour focused on her instead of the play. The delicate curve of her ear, the slope of her shoulder, the slender column of her neck—each was a hundred times more captivating than the actors on the stage. He knew exactly how soft her lips were, but the pale skin at the nape of her neck? He regretted now not kissing her there while he had the chance.

His gaze flickered across the open space above the gallery, to the small box directly opposite Dering’s. They were all there—Charity and her two friends, the viscount, and Miss Bradford’s chaperone. He watched as all but the pinch-faced matron laughed merrily.

He wrapped his hands around the padded arms of his chair and let his fingers dig into the crimson velvet. It was odd, the way he felt just then. Satisfaction for Charity’s joy, gratitude mixed with an uncomfortable dose of jealousy for Dering’s ability to make it happen, and resentment for his damn body and all the things it had ruined for him over the past four years.

That last one was much keener than he’d experienced before. Perhaps because he’d never wanted the things it had kept him from as badly as he wanted her. He wasn’t even sure he had realized just how much she meant to him until he saw her smile at Dering just now. It was an easy, open, carefree smile that spoke of familiarity and comfort. It was the way he wanted her to smile at him.

Bloody hell.
He’d leave now if it wasn’t for the fact he had promised the Effingtons to return them home in his carriage.

“What do you think of the play so far?”

Hugh had almost forgotten Lady Effington was still beside him. She sat comfortably in her chair, her slight frame leaning against the chair back. With a polite nod, he said, “Well enough. And you?”

She chuckled, the papery skin around her eyes crinkling. “I’m sure I’d enjoy it if I could stay awake. It would seem these chairs are far too comfortable for my own good.”

“Indeed,” he said, his hands loosening their grip on the armrests. She was disarming, good company for someone like him. There were no expectations between them. His gaze darted back to the other balcony, where Charity stood with her hand resting on Dering’s forearm.
Well, aren’t they cozy?

“Exciting news, is it not?”

He shifted his attention back to the dowager. “I beg your pardon?”

“The news of Charity’s trio being included in the recital series after all,” she clarified, holding her lorgnette to her eye and peering across the way. “Such a tremendously kind and thoughtful thing for Lord Derington to do.” Approval warmed her words as she smiled and lowered the eyepiece. “It does make one wonder.”

Hugh gritted his teeth and nodded. It was as it should be. Dering was available, even-tempered, and, most important, completely whole. In a month’s time, Hugh would return to Cadgwith, and, God willing, he’d be ready to carry on the mantle of running the estate. “Dering is a good man.”

Tilting her head slightly to the side, Lady Effington turned her full attention to Hugh. “As are you, Lord Cadgwith.”

Hugh blinked in surprise. She always spoke loudly, but this time there was more forcefulness in her words than he might have suspected. What was she trying to say? He wasn’t sure he liked the way she was looking at him, as though she could see straight through his carefully erected walls to the part of him he hid from the world. “Thank you, my lady,” he murmured, shifting in his seat. With the full force of her gaze on him, he felt like a wayward schoolboy.

“Do you know, I may not hear everything, but I perceive much.” She paused, pursing her lips for a moment. “Would you forgive me if I overstepped the bounds of propriety for a moment?”

He quirked an eyebrow, not at all certain he wanted to hear what she had to say. “By all means.”

“At my age, one learns that there are few things more vexing in life than regret.” She leaned forward in her chair and placed her gloved hand over his. “If there is something you want in this life, don’t be afraid to fight for it. You don’t want to be my age looking back on life, wishing you had taken a chance.”

Softening her earnest features, she smiled and patted his hand before settling back in her chair again.

Where in the world did that come from?
He sat there dumbly, not even sure whether his mouth was closed or not. What in the ever-loving hell was he supposed to say to
that
? Surely she wasn’t referring to him and her own granddaughter. And what did she perceive, exactly, that prompted such a statement? Running his tongue along the front of his teeth, he finally nodded. “Duly noted.”

He glanced to the opposite balcony, and this time his eyes collided with Charity’s. She smiled easily, not at all embarrassed to be caught looking his way. He offered a fleeting grin in return before averting his eyes to the stage. Damn it all, neither one of the Effington women was doing anything to help his resolve.

And even though he should be unhappy about that, he wasn’t in the least. It was almost amusing, really. All these years of running from pain, only to discover that apparently he was a glutton for punishment after all.

*   *   *

Given that this was their final rehearsal before the recital the next day, Charity should have been playing much better than she was. Behind her, May and Sophie were both performing their parts perfectly, but no matter what Charity did, she couldn’t seem to keep her mind on the music. As her fingers tripped over the keys of Lady Stanwix’s pianoforte, Charity rolled her shoulders, doing her best to stretch the muscles that seemed to be bunching like knotted string at her neck.

The guzheng came to an abrupt stop, followed quickly by the oboe. Sighing, Charity gave up and swung around to face the others. “I’m sorry, ladies. I don’t know why I’m playing like such rubbish today.”

May stretched her fingers as she eyed Charity. “Well, at least we are in agreement,” she said wryly. “Are you nervous?”

“A little. Nothing like the way I was at the selection committee rehearsal, though. There they had the power to stop us from playing. Here we can just enjoy the performance.”