“We’ll get you warmed in no time. There’s already a fire lit in the sitting room. We can sit there for a spell while my chambers are prepared.” He must have felt her hesitation, and clarified. “That is where I keep all my work.”
“So long as you have a piano at hand, we can go upstairs now. That is, if you still want insight of a musical nature.” She leaned in close to him in blatant invitation. What was she doing? Perhaps she needed him to spell out his intentions, because she didn’t know what he planned for them or what he truly wanted from her. She had never been so flustered by anyone.
“The best piano in the house resides in my room.”
“Better than the Broadwood?” She laughed a little at his outrageous statement. How often did you find more than one piano in a town house? Even while growing up in a larger country house there had only been one piano.
“That old Broadwood is for entertaining guests,” he said as if that was answer enough.
Taking her hand, he placed it against the railing as he took her upstairs. When they neared the top, he paused, “Mind your last step. And yes, I do require your musical insight, though that isn’t necessarily what I crave most at the moment.”
“And what do you crave most?”
“I believe you already know the answer to that.”
His hand tightened around her wrist with his admission, all the air in her lungs fled in anticipation and excitement. She wouldn’t need the fire to warm her if he kept talking this way. Suddenly she wished he would kiss her again. She wanted his lips on hers with a desperation so unlike her. While he’d restrained himself from any further intimacies in the carriage ride over to his house, she wondered what it would take to shred his control.
“If I were to play a melody,” he said, “could you play it back?”
His question pulled her thoughts away from his mouth against her skin and back to the present. “What an odd question. Why do you ask?”
“I keep recalling how beautifully you played last night without sheet music. I realized some hours after hearing you that you were warming your hands to Liszt’s Un sospiro, which was published after your accident.”
“So my secret is revealed.” She smiled, pleased he had noticed. “Yes, I can play by ear.”
There were few who possessed such a talent, few that she knew of anyway, and once again she worried that he would figure out her identity. Though she wondered if he would truly care that she had hidden that part of her past. He’d been the epitome of kindness since they met; was it possible for him to think less of her?
“So I have found my very own virtuoso,” he said.
Unintentionally she stiffened next to him and hoped he hadn’t noticed her momentary unease.
“I would like to see how far we can stretch your talents tonight. Are you willing to take me up on that challenge?” he asked.
“I’m no virtuoso,” she said breathlessly, afraid for a moment that he would judge her for just how far she’d fallen. Once the door shut behind them, she swallowed against the lump of trepidation that made her mouth dry. “Please, play something of yours for me.”
Taking her by the elbow, he led her farther into his bedchamber. A fire was indeed lit and the heat enveloped her almost immediately, ridding her of the chill that had settled in her bones during the carriage ride.
“I’ve brought in a bench so we can sit together at the piano.”
“No need to fuss over me. I prefer to listen at a distance to start.”
She dropped her arm and stepped away from his hold. He strode over to the piano, sliding the bench out across carpeted floor. The rustle of material told her he removed his jacket, giving his arms and shoulders free rein while he played.
“Are you sure you don’t wish to sit?” he asked once more.
She was very sure.
She shook her head and crossed her arms over her middle as she waited for him to play. Aside from the four-handed piece they had played all too briefly, this was the first time she’d heard him play the piano alone.
He warmed up by playing a few chords, then started a simple tune. She wondered if this was one of his pieces. The upper melody followed two paces behind the lower register in a somber chord—A minor. He emphasized the solemnity of the piece by dropping an octave on the keyboard with the secondary melody.
She was tempted to pace the floor behind him, something she did often when she was thinking a musical problem through. Instead, she stepped closer to him, following the sound of the music.
Picking the piece apart in her head as the music unfolded, she listened to what he didn’t play. She stood close enough to him that she could hear the damper being pressed down for the softer, pianissimo parts. Then, just as suddenly as his playing had started, all grew quiet. She paced a tight path, unable to remain idle.
Technically, the piece was simple; stylistically and to the untrained ear, it was nice to listen to; musically ... musically it did not move her. There was no thrill of excitement or emotional tingle of appreciation on listening to the piece. There was nothing to ground her in the song and keep her locked to it until it wrapped up. There was no hum in her blood that craved more.
She expected him to play something else, but he remained silent. The bench pushed out and he strode toward her, stopping outside the path she wore on the rug. She was aware of his body heat every time she walked past him. He waited, not rushing her thoughts, which she appreciated.
Brow furrowed, teeth biting into her bottom lip and her fingers drumming along her upper arm where they held tight, she tried to figure out what was wrong with the piece he’d played.
And then it came to her. He was testing her. Dropping her arms, she walked over to the piano, hoping she was headed in the right direction.
If he wanted to know whether or not she could repeat what she heard, he needn’t test her; he only needed to ask her to show him that truth. There would be no difficulty in playing his piece back to him.
Setting her fingers on the chords he’d started on, she repeated the tune without embellishment or corrections to the missing notes she had identified upon first hearing it. And she didn’t change the key it was played in, which strained the melody, making it grim.
As the piece concluded, she removed her hands from the keyboard and folded them together in her lap. The purely masculine scent of Teddy enveloped her as he leaned over her shoulder. Amber infused with sandalwood flooded her senses. Teddy played out a new melody, simple and one-handed.
He stopped and turned enough that his breath fanned out over her ear. “Now you,” he whispered.
When she placed her hands over the keys, his were still there. She did not push him away, she allowed him to learn from her playing. She was a pianist, he a violinist; she was sure she had a few tricks she could teach him. As she played his melody, she switched into a complimentary chord of thirds, making the piece grander. Livelier.
As her finger slowed and finally came to a stop, she asked, “Is that what you had in mind?”
“You surprise me, and I know not why.”
“People expect less from someone who cannot see.”
She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. She had also expected less from herself after the accident, since it had taken her a full year before she could bring herself to sit at the piano again. It had taken her even longer to realize that the accident had only made her stronger as a pianist and as a person.
“I will never make the mistake of underestimating you. If you’ll recall, Beethoven was deaf and his peers harder on him than other composers of his time.”
“He was also a man of proven skill before the world was aware of his disadvantage as a pianist and composer.”
“Others—fools—might think less of you for your blindness, Rosa, but I will never take you for granted. What I’m most awed by is that I’ve known few musicians who can claim such a tremendous talent like the one you’ve shared with me. How is it that you remain undiscovered?”
&nbs
p; She could not tell him that she had once been revered and respected for her craft. And then she’d ruined herself in the eyes of polite society. Really, though, it was only a matter of time before he found out about her past. Would that be so terrible? It was a question she was asking herself with more frequency and she didn’t know the answer.
He reached around her with his other hand, the heat of his breath moved away from the side of her face, and his chin brushed lightly over the top of her hair as he played a new tune in the lower register.
She leaned back, not quite enough that she touched him, though she yearned to be held in the cradle of his arms as he played around her on the bench.
TEDDY WAS TEMPTED TO LEAN right into her, take her into his arms, and hold her for the rest of the night. The desire to trace his fingers along her collarbone above the scoop of her vermillion-colored dress was almost too much to ignore. He kept his mind focused on the keys beneath his fingers and tried to shut off what the soft touch of her skin would feel like against his mouth as he kissed every inch of it.
It was safe to say he’d never met a woman like Rosa. She was the epitome of everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. She matched him in all things, starting with their shared love of music, which he liked to think allowed them to understand each other on a deeper level.
He stretched his hand an octave higher on the right, playing above the middle-C range. The change in tone forced his body into hers, letting the press of her shoulders rest along his chest.
Chin rubbing against her soft hair, he could smell the faintest scent of lilacs. He’d forever associate lilacs and springtime with Rosa. Being around her gave him a rush like cool spring water breaking through the ice after a long winter, waking him up from a slumber he didn’t realize his life was in.
Closing his eyes, he started to play Beethoven’s Appassionata. He wanted to absorb her into his body, to never forget this moment and the joy she gave him just by being here with him.
She patted the bench seat next to her. He had to stop playing for a moment as he settled in beside her and took the lower register. She took on the runs on her side of the piano. They both played with their own interpretations, creating an odd mishmash when their timing no longer matched and when Teddy forgot some of the notes. They laughed, bumping into each other’s shoulders, then took the runs in proper unison for the remainder of the four-handed piece.
Though they played for nearly twenty minutes, it was over far too soon for Teddy. Rosa dropped her hands to her lap and pressed her shoulder against his once again. They were both breathing a little faster from the exertion the song required.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun,” he said.
“My head is liable to swell if you don’t tell me how terrible on the pedal I was when I couldn’t stop laughing. It’s been so long since I played the Appassionata in its entirety.”
“How about me missing half the lower register notes?” He brushed the back of his hands along the delicate line of her hands where they rested in her lap.
“You didn’t do half as badly as you think,” Rosa said.
“It was all good fun. The skill of ear you have to pick out and adjust to the tiniest nuance in a piece is astounding.”
“It is the gift of a pianist. I’m sure you could do the same on the violin.”
“Perhaps. I’ve memorized so many pieces and can play them with my eyes closed that I couldn’t say for sure. What did you think of the first melody I played?”
He wanted to test her comprehension of the craft for theory. If she understood what his piece lacked and if it agreed with his assumptions—because he did know where and how it could be made better—then he knew he could ask for her assistance in adjusting the key themes of his latest work.
The Hanover Rooms opening was less than two months away, and too close for comfort when his concerto was nowhere near ready for public consumption.
She angled herself on the bench to face him. “First, you played it in the wrong key. If you played it in a relative major instead of A minor, the chords would stand out, and you could add the appropriate accidentals to accentuate the melodic theme. When you play it in A minor, you bury the better qualities of the melody, and create something akin to a requiem.”
Pride for this woman filled his heart. It was a privilege to work with someone of her genius. “A very intuitive approach.”
“Here,” she said, lifting her hands over the keys once again. She played his piece in the key she had suggested. When she finished, she faced him again, her eyes never quite focusing, though he swore he could see the depth of her knowledge in her blue gaze. “Are you done testing my ability?”
He smiled and held back his laugh. Was he so obvious? “I was curious to know how great your skill was. I also noticed that you played music of your own making when we first met.”
“Yes, it was my own,” she confirmed. “Unfortunately, I have no one to help me write it down. No one with the skill required. No one I trust.” He took note of the slight slump in her posture. Before he could ponder it further she straightened and gave him one of those playful smiles she was always tempting him with.
He knew then what he had to do. “I would be honored to write the music out for you.” This way, they could still spend time together once her brother was found. She’d be tied to him for an indefinite amount of time.
“On top of your commission? I couldn’t burden you with such a task.”
“I assure you that it’s no burden.” Caressing her cheek with his knuckles, he added, “It would be a privilege. I’d also like to help you find publication for your work, if you desire it.”
“Thank you,” she said, pink tinting her cheeks.
Her hand rested over his knee as she leaned in closer to him. He thought maybe she intended to kiss his cheek, but he turned enough that their lips met instead. As she lingered, his hand cradled the back of her head. The soft, silken strands of her hair had him wanting to unpin it and run his hands through the dark tresses. He vowed to himself that he would do just that, and soon.
“Rosa,” he muttered against her lips before running his tongue along the seam, seeking admittance. “I can’t deny that I want you. I refuse to lie about how you make me feel.”
She turned from their kiss, resting her cheek against his. Each of her inhalations was ragged and as needy as his. “You barely know me.”
“Then let me see the Rosalie no one else knows.”
“Desire passes with the first sign of fulfillment.”
“That is an excuse for you to deny what’s between us and nothing more.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I know what I feel and it’s no passing fancy.”
She pressed her lips lightly against his cheek, then stood from the bench. “The intensity is frightening.”
It might frighten her, hell, it frightened him a little, too, but it was something worth exploring.
“We should get back to working on the composition,” he suggested, knowing it would ease her nerves and keep her with him for a while longer.
It took everything in him to walk away from her when he wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms. Picking up the stacks of music on his desk, his most recent attempt at writing, he fanned the papers out across the floor.
“I can hear you moving about. What are you searching for?” There was a husky quality to her voice he was sure hadn’t been there a moment ago.
He could not look at her. If he did ... He might not be able to hold back another second from truly tasting of her lips. “I’m looking for the piano stanzas I jotted down a few days ago.”
“You don’t remember your own piece?”
“I don’t because you have my mind scattered.” The crinkle of paper filled the room. “Ha! I found it. Now, if you will please listen while I play for you.”
He strode purposefully back toward the piano, took a seat at the bench, and played the melody that had been giving him trouble
since the very beginning. Something felt off in the run, and though he knew the piece was missing something, that something remained elusive. When he stalled at the end of the theme, she said nothing, so he decided to play the rest of what he had.
She came up next to him, resting her hand over his shoulder.
“It’s beautiful, Teddy.”
As he played the melody over the middle-C octave, the back of his arm nudged her skirts. That gentle touch had her whole body relaxing into his, as if in invitation. He swallowed hard and maneuvered to a lower register, improvising a new section.
She settled herself on the bench next to him once again. The piece ended all too soon and the room grew silent except for the crackle of wood in the fireplace and the even ticking of rain as it hit the windows.
Unable to keep from touching her, Teddy brushed his knuckles over the side of her cheek and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Her mouth was slightly parted, her teeth nibbling at her lower lip.
“Will you kiss me again?” she asked, breathless.
“I hunger so deeply for you, Rosa.” He traced the tips of his fingers along the line of her jaw. “I may not be able to stop with a kiss. What then?”
God, he wanted to taste all of her. But it was up to her how far they took this, how much she was willing to give him right now. He would accept nothing but all of her in the end. For now, they could take small steps in a direction she was comfortable with.
She laid her palm flat over his heart. “Why question your desires?”
If they did this, if he made the next move, it wouldn’t be as simple as a kiss. And the truth of the matter was, whatever this attraction was, it was far from simple.
Instinct alone warned him that he needed to take this slowly, so in compromise with his conscience he promised himself that one taste would not be the end of the world. Releasing her chin, he brushed his hands through the soft coils of her hair, holding her gently by the nape as his mouth slanted over hers.
The second the exhalation of her breath brushed past his lips, he was done waiting.
The taste of peaches and black tea filled his senses as his tongue stole into her mouth to tangle with her tongue. He felt the moment she surrendered when she moaned softly and her body leaned into his hold. The rise and fall of her breasts with each breath was rapid, urgent. Arms around his neck, Rosa’s fingers twisted and drew circles against his scalp. If a kiss could determine your compatibility with someone, then there was no question in his mind that they were made for each other.
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