What a Lady Craves (22 page)

There is also great danger.

If he’d been referring to cobras or lions or rampaging elephants or even murdering bands of thieves when he’d first pronounced those words, he certainly was not recalling any of those things now. Something in his voice led her to suspect the threat was all too personal.

Lady Epperley insisted on Henrietta’s presence at supper. As they emerged from the dining room, she headed directly for the stairs. Satya was overseeing the girls’ meal, but she would look in on them before she turned in, just to be sure they hadn’t fallen to quarreling. And to make certain they were all right.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lady Epperley eyed her expectantly. The question wanted only for a
young lady
tacked onto the end.

“I was under the impression my position in this household had changed.” She pointedly ignored Alexander, focusing her entire attention on her employer. But she felt his presence, looming just beyond her left shoulder, near enough for the heat emanating from him to envelop her. More than that, try as she might to turn her thoughts to other matters, he’d occupied her mind for the remainder of the afternoon. Heavens. If she so much as moved, she might accidentally brush him with her fingertips. “Don’t you think I should return to my charges?”

“Nonsense. At this hour, they ought to be safely abed.”

Ought
being the key there. If anything, the girls were likely squabbling over the blankets. Henrietta waited for their father to voice a protest. After all, he’d seemed so concerned for their safety—troubled enough to confine them to the house. Their virtual imprisonment was all the more reason to frazzle already short tempers.

He said nothing. No doubt they were fine in the nursery under Satya’s watchful eye with an army of servants and several hundred yards of corridor between them and any outside danger.

“At any rate,” Lady Epperley went on, one bony finger stabbing the air, “I hired you as a companion. I require companionship. You will accompany us to the drawing room.”

Henrietta felt the muscles around her eyelids tense and fought for an expression of guilelessness. She knew very well what the old lady was up to—the same scheming as the other day at breakfast when she’d tried to throw Henrietta and Alexander together. The beldam thrived on making others uncomfortable, and she was about to take advantage of her authority to provide herself with a much-favored form of amusement.

Well, Henrietta had been hired to entertain, hadn’t she? “And what shall you require of me there? I’m afraid I’m fresh out of witty repartee.”

“Witty repartee.” Lady Epperley snorted. “I can provide that myself if it is required. You are as accomplished as any young lady. You can play us a tune on the piano.”

Bugger.
Henrietta pulled up short, her mind awhirl. Pity she couldn’t decipher Lady Epperley’s expression in the flickering light from the chandelier. Henrietta might at least be able to tell if her employer was trying to bamboozle her. “I am woefully out of practice.”

That much, at least, was true. Society knew her musical talent to be mediocre at best—by Henrietta’s own design—and thus she was rarely called upon to perform these days. Even her mother had given her up for a lost cause.

Behind her, Alexander cleared his throat. “I seem to recall that excuse in the past. And I recall you acquitting yourself quite well.”

Henrietta pursed her lips and resisted the temptation to throw him a death glare over her shoulder. He would have to bring up that episode. Naturally, the encounter had occurred during the mad social whirl leading up to his proposal, a time during which she not so much walked as danced. Where every step she took buoyed her up as if she were treading on feathers. A time where she believed herself in love and everything came to her easily, even the pounding out of a flawless arpeggio.

“Splendid.” Lady Epperley practically cackled with glee. “Miss Upperton shall play and you shall turn pages for her.”

Henrietta would rather eat a plateful of raw tripe, but she could hardly refuse. No, the only way out of this situation was to cut it short—by playing so badly Lady Epperley begged her to stop. The good Lord knew Henrietta had ample experience at that.

Still, she trudged toward the instrument while Lady Epperley settled herself in one of the plush armchairs. Alexander followed her wordlessly, his presence still palpable.

How silly. She must simply ignore him. If only the prospect were so easy. Memories of another night when she’d sat at the keys of another piano kept intruding on her consciousness. She eased herself onto the stool. “Did you have any particular requests?”

Lady Epperley crossed her arms, and the lines on her face arranged themselves into the very image of smugness. “Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

Humph. Henrietta rifled through the pages on the music stand. Handel, Mozart, Pachelbel, none of which she felt confident enough to attempt, even if she did intend to botch her efforts.

“Play this.” Behind her, Alexander leaned in, his arm stirring the tendrils of loose hair at her cheek as he reached for a score. Beethoven’s piano sonata number fourteen in C-sharp minor. Damnation. She choked back the word to keep it from emerging. And what was he about?

She’d been practicing Beethoven that night, her fingers madly trying to untangle
themselves over the rapid runs of the third movement and all because she’d wanted to impress … well, him. Now the last thing she wanted was for him to notice that he affected her still.

She snatched the pages from him and arranged them before her. The notes danced across their staves, beckoning her fingers to follow the pattern—if only they could.

Even before she touched the keys, the melody echoed through her head, along with the memories of that evening. She’d stayed in, and he’d come to call unexpectedly. A footman had admitted him to the music room where she was nervously preparing for a performance the following night—one he was supposed to attend. She had to be perfect for him, but the more she concentrated, the more her fingers slipped over the keys.

As he entered the room, she fumbled, and the resulting discord jangled in her ears, echoing through the empty space. Yet he’d come and taken a spot on the bench beside her, the hard length of his thigh pressed to hers. Its warmth penetrated layers of wool and muslin to sear into her skin until she feared her entire leg would redden as with a sunburn.

Tonight, she was having just as much difficulty ignoring him, and he wasn’t even touching her. Yet. And when he reached from behind to turn the page, would he not brush up against her? The side of her cheek tingled in anticipation.

Lady Epperley cleared her throat. Right. If Henrietta wanted to finish sometime soon, it would help if she started. Setting her fingers on the cool ivory, she played the opening bars of the adagio.

Deceptive in its simplicity, this work. By rights, she ought to navigate the opening movement without too many errors. The trick, the subtlety, the genius came when emotion was added, the right emphasis here, while easing off to a gentle lilt elsewhere. Played correctly, the music would lull the listener.

Henrietta strove for woodenness and a precision that was all wrong for this piece. With a few off notes—there, like that—Lady Epperley might beg her to stop before she reached the allegretto.

Alexander reached across to turn the page, and she caught a hint of his clean, sharp scent overlain with spice. Another discord, this one unplanned, sounded as his hand retreated. His fingertips had brushed the bare skin at the very edge of her bodice, his aim so true, it had to be deliberate.

Deuce take him. While she wanted to make a hash of this performance, she preferred not to leave him with the impression he was the reason for her mistakes.

He shifted, moving subtly closer, so the warmth of him surrounding her increased. She
breathed in the cool scent of cardamom. Gritting her teeth, she forged ahead, rushing now, deforming the tempo into something the composer had never intended.

“Good heavens.” Lady Epperley raised her voice over the cacophony. “It’s been ages since these arthritic hands have played, and even I could do better.”

Henrietta bit back a retort. It wouldn’t do to challenge her employer to prove her statement, not when victory was at hand. Instead, she knotted her fingers in her lap. “If you’d rather, I won’t continue.”

“No, do go on. In fact, start over from the beginning and play properly. I’d say you need the practice.”

At that, Albemarle leapt from her cushion and stalked from the room, tail waving in indignation.

Henrietta pulled in a breath. Really, she ought to refuse. She should march after the cat, straight up to her room to scribble her resignation. She still had her section of broadsheet where Viscount Lindenhurst advertised for a governess. Since Lady Epperley had strong-armed her into taking on such a position, she might as well use the experience to her advantage.

She placed her fingers and began from the opening bar, counting the time in her head, emphasizing the downbeat with a nod. She could do this and she’d show the old witch as much. Only—

“Once more from the beginning.”

Really, and how was she to get it right with so much pressure for perfection placed on her? Never, in all the times her mother forced her to perform at musicales, had she withered beneath the weight of so much scrutiny.

On her fourth attempt, Alexander placed a firm hand on her shoulder, the heat of his flesh penetrating her muslin gown. He leaned in so that she felt his chin hovering over her head as he addressed his aunt. “I believe you’ve proven your point.”

Henrietta froze. She couldn’t breathe with him compressing her shoulder like that.

“And what point was that?” Lady Epperley asked.

“You intend to run Miss Upperton off, don’t you?”

“That is complete twaddle, and you know it. Why should I do such a thing when I need her services more than ever?” Lady Epperley clutched at her chest. “My health isn’t what it used to be. I’d say you know, but naturally, you don’t. You, at least, have an excuse since you’ve been out of the country. Unlike some other relatives I might name.”

Alexander muttered something under his breath. Henrietta caught the words
healthy as a
plow horse
before he raised his voice. “No wonder they don’t pay you visits if this is how you treat people.”

“And how is that?”

“We’re all at your beck and call, aren’t we? Every last one of us, whether in your employ or not. We don’t exist for the sole purpose of amusing you.”

Henrietta waited for the inevitable explosion of temper, but the old lady cackled. “That is why you’re my favorite nephew. You always had the nerve to stand up to me.”

Lady Epperley leaned her weight on the arm of her chair and pushed herself to her feet.

A thrill of alarm pulsed through Henrietta. “Where are you going?”

“As we’re in the country, I am keeping country hours. Don’t stay up too late. That would be scandalous.” The old lady might have winked for all the insinuation dripping from her words.

Before Henrietta could voice a protest, Lady Epperley tottered through the door.

Henrietta jumped to her feet. Her employer’s intentions were all too clear. She was matchmaking again, the busybody. “You heard what she said,” she hissed at Alexander. “We can’t stay down here alone.”

Heaven forbid. Lady Epperley in all her cantankerousness would insist Henrietta accept Alexander’s offer. She was not about to fall into that trap. Without waiting for a reply, she hurried across the room, the thick carpet muffling the sounds of her footfalls.

“Wait.” Alexander’s voice brought her up in midstride. “Don’t go yet.”

Alexander hovered on the balls of his feet, prepared to propel himself in her direction. Not that he had any right to detain her. Even if he could persuade her to accept his suit, his conscience would not allow it under the present circumstances.

To his shock, she came to a halt, her posture wary. She, too, hovered, poised on a single point ready to bolt like a roe deer. “What could you possibly want?”

What, indeed. He wanted far too many things he damned well knew he couldn’t have—his full cargo back, peace between his daughters, his family safe, his honor intact. Henrietta. Yes, there especially, he wanted where he had no right.

“I’d like an explanation.”

Still she stood there, refusing to face him. “Of what?”

A note of impatience crept into her tone. He ought to let her go so his aunt couldn’t claim anything untoward had gone on between them, especially when she already possessed a special license in his name. Not that Alexander disagreed with the old girl. If only he could bring Henrietta around. If only it were safe to do so.

“What happened to your musical skills?” he asked. “I recall them much better honed.”

That did it. She whirled to face him, her mouth set in unforgiving lines. “I’ve never possessed any talent for music. You must be confusing me with my brother. The same way your aunt insists on calling me George.”

Since she no longer appeared ready to bolt, he ventured a step toward her. “I recall you acquitting yourself better than you did just now.”

“I’m out of practice.” Her brows lowered. “Especially that piece. What in heaven’s name possessed you to choose it?”

She was still hovering, but all trace of the deer was gone. Her body angled toward his now, ready to hurl itself to attack.

So she hadn’t forgotten that evening, either. That evening had begun with Beethoven and ended in utter distraction, her lips crushed beneath his, her mouth moving desperately to keep pace, and Henrietta herself allowing his hands all manner of liberties.

He could have taken her there on the floor.

That realization had snapped him back to reality and prodded him to thinking of speaking to her father. He’d been determined to have her—enough to have her the proper way, as his wife.

“I’ve developed quite an affinity for that piece,” he said.

“If I never hear it again, it will be too soon.” Her words were overly forceful, enough that he knew she was reliving the way their bodies had called to each other, the same way he was. The way hers still called to him, a yearning he might never truly silence.