The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (22 page)

Of course—what else could they speak of other than his infirmity? It would have been hanging over their heads otherwise, but, still, he bloody hated that it was there at all. “Right as rain. You?” Flippant was better than pitiable, right?

The corners of her lips turned down. “I’m well,” she said, slight hesitation evident in her response. She must have sensed his reticence in discussing what had happened last night. An awkward silence settled between them, as uneasy as a poorly balanced house of cards.

He cleared his throat, wishing he weren’t such a damn ass. Wishing there were a much more pleasurable reason for her to be in his bedchambers last night, for God’s sake. “Why aren’t you playing?” The question came out more as a demand than a genuine interest. He gentled his tone and tried again. “It’s supposed to be your free-play time of the day, after all.”

She looked down and shrugged. “I should think that’d be obvious,” she replied, her words quiet.

He blew out a frustrated breath. Bloody hell—she wasn’t playing because of
him
. “No, it’s not obvious. What would be obvious would be for you to be doing what you love. You shouldn’t have—” He stopped, raking a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have to make allowances for your invalid neighbor. Please don’t stop on my account.”

Shaking her head, she said, “How can I not? I can’t bear to think I would bring you such pain.”

His chest felt as though a spring coiled tightly within him. He would not allow her to take any responsibility for his problems. Without thinking, he fell back into his old officer pose, his legs planted shoulder distance apart, his spine ramrod straight, and his hands clasped smartly behind his back. “You didn’t bring me anything. If either one of us needs someone to blame, we’ve only to look as far as Saint Helena to the little emperor himself, or even the French soldier who shot my horse out from under me.”

His words were blunt, meant to cut through the building regret he saw in her troubled gray eyes. “I was an idiot yesterday. I acted as though I hadn’t a trouble in the world. I pushed too hard, did all the things that I haven’t done in a long time, and inevitably I paid the price for it. My only regret,” he said, the word sticking in his throat, “is that you had to witness my episode at all.”

*   *   *

Despite his curt tone and rigid stance, she knew he was still suffering inside. He couldn’t completely block the emotion he felt from his beautiful green eyes. Despite his clear intentions to push her away, she intended to help him, whether he wanted her to or not. Charity licked her lips, trying to think of the best way to explain it. Best just to be candid. “I think I can help.”

For his part, Hugh raised an eyebrow imperiously. Doubtfully. “What will help is for me to know that you are not sacrificing on my behalf.” He sounded more like the man she had known in the days shortly after their first meeting.

Well, she knew better than to believe the defensive attitude. Ignoring him completely, she said, “Have you ever heard of
tui na
?”

He blinked, suspicion creeping into his expression. “Doesn’t sound familiar. A musical term, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” Stepping closer to him, she forced him to meet her eyes before going on. “It’s a form of Eastern medicine. A sort of physical therapy that concentrates on the body’s energy flow. There are special places on the body that are connected to this river of energy, and
tui na
taps into those places to bring energy to the deficient place, which brings about healing.” The words came out in such a rush, she knew she sounded like she was babbling. But she wanted to say it all before he had a chance to judge, which she knew he would do.

He gaped at her for a moment, his face blank. “You’re joking.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not. May’s lady’s maid practices it, just as her family has for eight generations.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding as though it all made sense now. “Not joking. Just mad. If you believe that, I have some snake oil that should work wonders for whatever ails you.”

She scrunched her nose at him, putting her hands to her waist. “I am not mad, thank you. It’s a genuine method; in fact, she used it on me for my sore shoulders. It was odd, but worked beautifully.”

“Oh, good. I am glad to know it can help minor twinges in the shoulders. I’m sure it will work wonders for my skull-pounding attacks.” There was no missing the sarcasm in his voice.

Frustration seized her. Why was he being so belligerent? “It’s not just my shoulders. It helped May’s mother tremendously before she died.”

“I see. Good to know I could feel better before
dying
.” He released his hands from behind his back and crossed his arms instead.

He was dismissing her out of hand, as though she were some sort of fool. “If you’d just tr—”

“Try it?” he said, his harsh words cutting her off. “I have tried just about every quack doctor and miracle cure out there. From bloodletting to willow-tree bark to neck stretching and tinctures, tonics, and salves. I think I’ll sit this one out, thank you.”

She wanted to growl with the frustration rising within her. “You’re not being fair, Hugh. Give me a chance to show you, at the very least.” Suyin had emphatically explained that it took years of study and practice to be properly qualified, but she had at least relented enough to show Charity a handful of basic maneuvers. She was hoping it would be enough to convince him to seek out a practitioner.

But she was getting nowhere. In fact, she could practically see him putting up a wall between them.

“My issues are my own, Charity. I don’t need you concerning yourself with them. The only thing that you can do to make me feel better is to march that meddling self of yours back into your music room and play your blasted music.”

Her shoulders fell as disappointment dimmed her excitement. “I don’t want to play. The music isn’t in me right now.” It was the God’s honest truth. She felt hollowed out by the knowledge that she’d been a part of his pain. Blast it all, all she wanted now was to be a part of his healing. Why wouldn’t he give her a chance?

A bit of the irritation slipped from his eyes, and she caught a glimpse of the despair that she knew was lurking deep inside him. “Now is as good a time as any to tell you that I am moving to a different townhome on Friday. And, so help me, if I think you are martyring yourself in order not to disturb me, I will banish myself from here for the next two nights, even if it means sleeping in the carriage. So,” he said, bracing his hands on the divider and leaning forward, “I suggest you go have a seat at that pianoforte of yours and do what you do best.”

He was leaving? So soon? The rest of his speech went right past her as she stared at him in shock. Why hadn’t he told her about this? She had only just begun to really know him. She wanted to dig deeper, to uncover the real Hugh, the man beyond the facade he shows the world. She wasn’t ready for him to leave yet. “Why are you moving?”

His eyes softened then, and his shoulders fell as he blew out a breath. “An opportunity arose, and I took it. It’s best for both of us, I think. You can play all the day through, and I can be as antisocial as I want.” He offered a small lopsided grin.

She pressed her eyes closed, helpless to identify the emotions swirling in her belly like autumn leaves in the wind. Shaking her head, she looked up to him once more. “I truly do not know what to think of you. One minute you are gruff and standoffish; the next sweet and sensitive. You kiss me one day; push me away the next. Let me into your confidence, then betray mine.”

His brows snapped together at the last one as though she’d reached out and slapped him. “What the devil are you talking about, betrayed your confidence?”

His surprise seemed so genuine as to give her pause. Was it really so inconsequential to him that he didn’t remember? All the disappointment and upset she had felt last night came roaring back to her again. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I know that you were the one to tell Dering about the selection committee. And not just their decision. Apparently, Dering felt compelled to help me after hearing about my
tearful
reaction.”

Hugh’s eyes shuttered then, and she knew in that moment that it was all true. He had gossiped about her like some sort of busybody old maid. “My apologies. Your heart was broken.”

Her heart was broken?
That
was his excuse? “So you decided to spread tales of my heartbreak during a lull in the conversation? Jolly good entertainment, was it? Did you describe how silly I looked, crying about some meaningless recital?”

She looked away and scoffed, outrage heating her blood. “I suppose I should be grateful. Without your lack of discretion, Dering never would have taken it upon himself to try to help me.” Even as she strove for sarcasm, she fell closer to something resembling bitterness. The hurt was impossible to disguise.

“Charity,” he breathed, the single word holding an abundance of feeling. He reached out to stroke a finger down the back of her arm, and she couldn’t help but lift her gaze back to his. For the first time, she detected the genuine compassion in him that pulled her to him again and again. “I swear to you, I wasn’t flippant with your confidences, and I certainly wasn’t gossiping about you.”

His touch was addling her brain, and she found herself leaning forward. Resolutely, she straightened, stiffening her spine and lifting her chin. “The facts would appear to say otherwise.”

His hand settled on her upper arm, his touch featherlight and exceedingly gentle. If she wanted to pull away, she could have at any moment.

But she didn’t.

His eyes were too mesmerizing, his touch too perfect. As if sensing her hesitation, his other hand slid up her opposite arm. She swallowed, her heart skipping a beat at the warmth of his skin against hers. Despite her efforts to remain firm, her resistance was crumbling like a day-old scone.

Holding her gaze, he said, “I knew of one person who could help you, one who already respected and admired you and your talent. I felt he could do what I couldn’t: find a way to overturn the committee’s asinine decision.” He dipped his head and said with quiet conviction, “You
deserved
to play.”

*   *   *

He shouldn’t be telling her this. He should allow her to think the worst of him and let the ties be cleanly cut. But seeing the hurt darkening her eyes and wrinkling her brow was more than he could bear. Damn it, he didn’t want her thinking her private moments were being bandied about the gentlemen’s clubs, for God’s sake. That she wasn’t important enough to deserve his discretion, or that she was something to be used for entertainment.

“You— You told him so he could help me?” Her words were cautious, unsure. She looked at him through narrowed eyes, as though trying to gauge the truth of his statement.

His fingers slid across the soft skin beneath the delicate cap sleeves of her dress. “Yes. On my honor as a soldier, it was my only purpose.”

She worried her bottom lip for a moment, then asked, “Why?”

Why, indeed? He gave a little, mirthless laugh, then pulled her lightly toward him. She came freely, even as the insecurities flashed in her eyes. “You are a truly amazing person, Miss Charity Effington. Never, ever doubt that. I want more than anything for you to be happy.”

Shaking her head, she said again, “But why?”

A hint of lavender flavored the air as he leaned down, against every sane thought in his head, and pressed his forehead against hers. “Don’t make me answer that,” he whispered, tortured by the closeness of her lips. Teased by the scent of her breath. Tormented by the rioting effect she had on his every nerve.

Her chest rose and fell with a speed that proved that she felt the pull between them as strongly as he did, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that her heart pounded every bit as violently as his. He’d never been so tempted in his entire life, so powerfully drawn, so utterly desperate to press his lips to hers and claim the kiss his entire body was screaming for.

Her lips parted as she breathed short puffs of air. Each exhale fanned across his lips, teasing him with the taste of her, the damp heat of her. He thought he knew the meaning of the word
torture
, but this was over and above anything he had ever experienced. The burning need within him was exquisitely sharp, delectably raw.

He fought against the desire, holding his muscles rigidly in check as he willed himself to release her. To step away now before it became impossible to do so.

“Hugh, please,” she breathed when he wouldn’t move, her sweet voice a whispered plea. “Kiss me.”

H
e’d always considered himself to be a strong man. When that was taken from him, Hugh knew he was still an honorable man, one who would always choose right over wrong. But he’d never anticipated a woman who was a mere fraction of his size would be his downfall.

Almost of their own volition, his hands stole up her slender shoulders. He traced the smooth line of her neck, lingering over the pulse that fluttered as rapidly as a hummingbird’s wings. With exquisite slowness, he cupped either side of her face and tilted her head up until barely a half an inch separated their lips. Unable to stop himself, he pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss so longed for, he groaned aloud.

She opened to him at once, her tongue eager to dance with his. In that moment, his senses were alive in a way they hadn’t been in ages. He explored the velvety warmth of her mouth, reveled in the taste of her, and memorized the feel of her lips. His desire was so heady, he could hardly think, could hardly do anything but experience her.

But he had to think. He couldn’t let them get carried away. He couldn’t give in to the pleasure; Charity deserved more than that.

With that thought, he drew a deep, steadying breath, drawing on every bit of strength he possessed in the world, and pulled away from her. She gave a breathy little sound of dismay, opening her eyes to look at him in slightly dazed confusion. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, nearly toppling his resolve.

Offering a small smile, he shook his head. “First I want you to play for me, sweet Charity, and then I shall kiss you again.”

He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to each corner of her mouth before releasing her. His heart still pounded like a runaway horse, and he grasped the warm iron railing between them to keep from wrapping her up in his arms.

She blinked at him, her pupils huge and rimmed with a thin circle of gray. She breathed two long, full breaths, each one bringing the tops of her breasts above her bodice. Christ, she would be the death of him.

Her tongue darted out and swept her lips before she raised her gaze fully to his. “Promise?

Pressing a hand to his heart, he nodded once. “On my honor.”

Exhaling a whoosh of air, she nodded. “Very well. Tonight, after I return from our dinner party, I shall play.” She reached out, slipped her fingers over the top of his waistcoat, and tugged him an inch or two closer. “But I warn you, if you are not there this time, I may very well have to kill you.”

He pressed his lips together to stifle his unexpected grin. “I’ll strive to avoid such a fate.”

*   *   *

Until that evening, Charity had never understood the true meaning of the word
anticipation
. All night it was like a hot, brilliant light filling her chest, invisible to others yet impossible for her to go even a moment without acknowledging it. It shimmered and sparkled the entire evening, distracting her from conversation and robbing her of her appetite.

Now as she crept down to the music room, wearing the same easily donned gown she had the night before, she couldn’t recall a single conversation she had shared. Even the other guests were a blur in her memory. Her heart pounded as she approached the darkened room, her candelabra providing a flickering golden path.

Hugh may have thought to bribe her into playing again, but what he didn’t know was that she had her own bribe in mind. She’d play for him, but in return she planned to make him take her ideas seriously. The only way to do such a thing, in her mind, was to get her hands on him first.

A fresh wave of nerves swooped through her chest at the thought of trying the
tui na
techniques on him. Laying her hands across his shoulders, burying her fingers in his hair, tracing the length of his spine. She shivered as she turned the small brass knob and let herself into the room. If nothing else, this night would definitely be memorable.

The pianoforte sat dark and dignified before the windows, moonlight gleaming on its polished surface. A whisper of music had come to her in the carriage, something completely different from anything she had ever played. It was like nothing she had composed before, not even the song that had come to her when Hugh had listened to her play earlier in the week.

She set the candelabra on the casing and padded barefoot to the door. Unlatching the lock, she pulled it open . . . and there he was. Leaning against the railing, he wore only a pair of buckskin breeches, a white linen shirt open at the neck and with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a pin-striped waistcoat.

Though not quite smiling, his lips were relaxed with a slight upward tilt at the corners. The front of his hair fell casually across his forehead, obscuring the scarred brow that she had come to love. “Good evening,” he said simply, his eyes reflecting the dancing candlelight. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, she had to work not to stare.

“You came,” she said back, shyness springing up out of nowhere.

He straightened, and she was struck anew by his long, lean build. Without the bulk of his jacket, his narrow waist and slender hips were on full display, and his broad shoulders were accentuated by the cut of his waistcoat.

“I’d hate for you to have to resort to murder, so I decided to actually show up this time.” He did smile then, setting her at ease.

She stepped back and invited him in with the sweep of one arm. These past two nights, she had been more reckless than in all the rest of her days combined, but still she didn’t hesitate. Grandmama slept like the dead and was an entire floor away, and if any of the servants happened to hear the music, they knew better than to interrupt her.

“Wise choice,” she said, keeping her voice low. There was reckless, and then there was
reckless
. There was no need to tempt fate.

He chuckled softly. “I thought so.” Glancing around the room, he motioned toward the settee. “Should I sit?”

“If you like.” Her nerves were catching up with her. It was one thing to be alone in a man’s bedchamber when he was suffering and needed comfort, and quite another when he was hale and hearty and looking directly at her with an intensity that made her stomach give a little flip. Swallowing, she made her way to the pianoforte and sat down. “Are you certain you are ready for this? It’s not too late to forfeit this part of the evening.”

“Should I leave, then?” he asked, one eyebrow lifted as he offered an innocent smile.

Oh, he knew exactly how much she wanted his kiss. It was all she could think about since they parted, as she was sure he well knew. And though she
would
give it up if she thought it would bring him pain again, she was more and more convinced that the low, dark, soothing music that had been forming in her mind would actually be calming to him. What little higher octave notes it contained were so pianissimo, they’d be more of a whisper than anything. What she played tonight would be completely different from her normal style.

Yes, she was nervous—about the song and the kiss—but excitement flitted through her as well.

Instead of answering him, she closed her eyes and let her fingers rest on the cool, smooth keys. For a moment, all she could hear was her own thundering heartbeat. She breathed deeply several times, in and out, in and out. Finally, her heart began to calm, and the echoes of the song from earlier became clearer and clearer. Her fingers slid down the keyboard, coming to rest at the lower end of the scale. She scooted down the bench to compensate for the unusual position.

When she was ready, she took one last fortifying breath, depressed the keys, and began to play.

Her touch was light, a sweet caress designed to make the notes whisper forth. There were none of the forte notes she generally tended toward. Instead, she embraced the dolce style, so delicate as to be ethereal. The soft, round tones married together as she played, combining to create a sort of lullaby. As she gave herself over to the music, her mind filled with dark, slowly evolving images.

Shadows in the night, cast by silvery moonlight through softly swaying leaves.

Gently drifting clouds sliding along an indigo sky.

Undulating wisps of wood smoke curling from a chimney in the predawn hush.

The shapes elongated and narrowed, rounded out and stretched thin. Her hands moved over the keys with a grace she’d never before possessed as she gave life to the music within her. She allowed each note to stand, to rise from the steel strings from which it was born, and roll out like ribbons from a maypole, caught in a night wind.

She forgot all about the nervousness that had plagued her earlier. About the anxiety and anticipation. There was nothing but the two of them in a room of flickering shadows, surrounded by the gently wrought notes of the instrument that was as good as tied to her soul.

The music was dark and sensual in a way she had never heard—not from her fingers nor from anyone else’s. There was a sweetness as well, gentle notes teased from her right hand, carefully dulled by the tenderness with which she played.

She could feel him in the music. Could recognize his true spirit in the restrained passion of the melody. She was there as well. Lifting him up, offering harmony, quietly entreating him to trust her.

The air stirred at the back of her neck, and she felt his weight settle onto the bench beside her. He didn’t touch her, didn’t say a single word or try to interrupt her. She played on, even as she breathed in his now-familiar scent. This song wasn’t just for him, as she originally thought. It was for both of them. It comforted her in a way she hadn’t expected. Somehow she knew, with absolute assurance, that this music wouldn’t hurt him. She could feel it in the calmness of his presence, and in the beauty of the notes themselves. It offered peace.

She
offered peace.

When the last note faded to silence, she opened her eyes and straightened. Hugh had settled onto the bench, his back to the pianoforte and his body slightly twisted in her direction. He watched her in the wavering light, his expression one of reverence.

For a moment, neither of them spoke or even moved. From this angle, with them half-turned toward each other, she couldn’t see the scars that branded him. Even so, she knew the greatest suffering lay just below the smooth, unblemished skin of his right temple. She was in awe of his strength, amazed how he soldiered on in life. Could she do the same if she was stricken by the episode she had witnessed?

Probably not.

Her eyes fell to the side of his neck, where Suyin had shown her how to massage. Charity had to find a way to make him trust her enough to try.

Finally he moved, sliding his right arm across her front in a way that sent waves of sensation through her middle. His hand settled at her waist, as naturally as if they had always sat this way. “I’ve never heard anything so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I hope you never, ever stifle that part of yourself. Not for a neighbor, not for committees, and, most especially, not for me.”

The heat of his hand seeped through the fabric of her gown and chemise, warming her skin. No stays armored her against his touch, and she was suddenly enormously glad for that. She nodded, since words were quite beyond her grasp.

“Now that you have followed through on your promise, it is only fair that I fulfill mine.” Even as he said the words, his gaze dropped to her lips.

The
kiss
. She drew in a ragged breath, hoping he couldn’t hear the hammering of her heart. His hand left her waist and traveled up her body until it came to rest across the sensitive skin of the side of her neck. Gently, slowly, he tugged her to him, drawing her inexorably toward him. The heat of his skin against hers was like a drug, as intoxicating as it was addictive.

Just as their lips were about to meet, when his eyes had darkened to midnight and desire hung between them like a palpable force, she paused and whispered, “Wait.”

At the single word he froze, blinking. “What is it?” His voice was raspy, filled with barely leashed passion and a hint of concern.

She put another inch between them, trying to recapture her wits. If she was to help him, she had to be smart about it—a reality her rioting insides wanted nothing to do with. “Just give me two minutes. Two minutes to touch you any way I want. After that,” she said, swallowing audibly, “then we’ll have both earned that kiss.”

Confusion flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t resist. She pulled his hand from her waist, bringing it to her lips for a soft kiss before coming to her feet. She didn’t break their contact as she stood and slipped behind him, trailing her fingers up his arm and across his shoulders. She was pressed in the narrow space between the bench and the pianoforte, but it was enough. When she settled both hands on his shoulders, he tensed at once, almost as if waiting for a blow. She leaned down until her lips were close to his ear and whispered, “Trust me, Hugh. Please.”

*   *   *

Trust her?

It wasn’t Charity he was worried about. His body was wound tight as a spring, wanting more than anything to lose himself in her. A kiss, he could handle. He’d already decided they would share one kiss, and he would leave. It was all he had promised her, and it was all he felt he could give and still be able to walk away.

But clearly she wanted something different from him. Something more. She was asking him to trust her, and even as he felt his iron control slipping, he nodded. He simply couldn’t deny her whatever it was she wanted from him.

With much effort, he relaxed the taut muscles of his shoulders, releasing a pent-up breath as he did. Almost at once, her hands began to move. She pinched the ridge of his shoulders between her thumbs and palm and gently but firmly pulled up. She slid her hands back and forth, plucking at his muscles as she moved. It felt surprisingly good. He further relaxed, leaning forward slightly to offer better access.

She continued for a while, her motions rhythmic and repetitive, before sliding her hands to his neck. There, she pulled back the collar of his shirt, exposing his skin to the room’s tepid air. Starting with her thumbs against the base of his neck, she pressed upward, following the rise of his spine. Her cool fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck again and again, sending showers of sensation cascading down his back each time.