Sketching her a courtly bow, Ned excused himself, leaving Lottie alone with Justine to ponder his words.
Hayden was reviewing the accounts of his local properties the next day, his head awash in a sea of numbers, when a brisk knock came on the door of the study. He was forced to dislodge one kitten from his lap and another from his foot before he could even rise. He was halfway to the door when he stumbled over a third cat. Sighing with exaggerated forbearance, he nudged it out of his path with the toe of his boot.
He swung open the door. No one was there. He stuck his head out the door and looked both ways, but the corridor was equally empty. He glanced down to discover a folded sheet of vellum at his feet. Someone must have slid it beneath the door. He unfolded it to find an invitation lettered in a bold hand that could only belong to his wife.
It seemed that she had decided to host a musicale in honor of their guest. Lady Oakleigh and Miss Harriet Dimwinkle were to sing a duet of “Hark! Hark! The Lark!” while Miss Agatha Terwilliger had been enlisted to pluck out “I Kissed My Lover in the Greensward” on the harp. Hayden shuddered, thinking the image might very well tempt him to pluck out his eyes. Of course, the pièce de résistance of the evening was to be Lady Allegra St. Clair’s rendition of the Beethoven sonata known as “Tempest” on the piano.
Hayden slowly lowered the invitation. “Tempest” had been one of Justine’s favorite pieces. He’d spent many a cozy evening in the music room with a fire glowing on the hearth and Allegra in his lap, listening to Justine master its rippling melody. But whenever she would stop sleeping and start burning with the fire that threatened to consume her from within, she would play the piece over and over, the notes so wild and discordant that Hayden feared he, too, might be in danger of losing his mind.
The thought of having to sit there and listen to that piece rendered by Allegra’s small fingers made him break out in an icy sweat.
He could do this, he told himself, crumpling the invitation in his hand. For his daughter’s sake, he could do this.
Which was what Hayden was still telling himself six hours later as he stood in front of the cheval glass in his bedchamber. He could have taken no more care with his appearance had he been invited to Windsor to dine with the king. His collar and cuffs were starched, his cravat as expertly knotted as Ned’s, his unruly hair coaxed into some semblance of civilized behavior. Yet the man staring back at him from the mirror was as wild-eyed as any savage.
He drew out his watch and snapped it open. They were all probably already gathered in the music room, just waiting for him to arrive. It would hardly come as a shock to any of them, especially Lottie, if he sent Giles to deliver his regrets.
If you continue to deny your feelings, then I’m afraid regrets are all you’ll have.
As Ned’s warning echoed through his head, Hayden jerked his coat straight and turned his back on the man in the mirror.
Allegra flitted around the music room like a nervous butterfly in her pink dimity frock and kid slippers. With Lottie’s help, her rebellious hair had been coaxed into gleaming spiral curls that cascaded halfway down her back. Although both of her dolls had been given seats of honor in front of the piano, she was beginning to look more like a young lady than a little girl.
Praying she hadn’t made a terrible miscalculation, Lottie did her level best to keep from glancing at the door every three seconds. At any minute she expected Giles to appear and announce that his lordship had been called away on a matter that required his immediate attention. Such as prying a pebble from his horse’s hoof or inspecting the washed-out stonework at the foot of the drive.
From her place beside Sir Ned on the divan, Harriet took a slurp of her punch. “I hope you won’t be too disappointed by my warbling, sir.”
“You needn’t fret, Miss Dimwinkle,” Ned replied, winking at Lottie. “One can hardly expect a lady to have both the face and the voice of an angel.”
Burying her face in her punch cup, Harriet tittered with delight.
“It’s a quarter hour past my bedtime,” Miss Terwilliger announced to no one in particular. “I would have never agreed to lend my talents to this little bacchanalia had I known the revelry would extend until the wee hours of the morning.”
Lottie glanced at her own watch. It was half past seven.
“We needn’t wait any longer.” Allegra sank down on the piano bench, surveying her slippers. “He’s not coming.”
“He most certainly is.”
They all whipped their heads around to find Hayden standing in the doorway. His curt bow only underscored the casual elegance of his finery. As their eyes met, his wary gaze stole Lottie’s breath away. With his set jaw and that stubborn lock of dark hair tumbling over his brow, he’d never looked more devastatingly handsome. Although she didn’t acknowledge her father’s arrival with a gesture or a greeting, Allegra’s face went pink with pleasure.
Hayden claimed the chair next to Lottie’s, warming her every breath with the masculine musk of bayberry. She could not resist leaning over and whispering, “You look as if you’re about to attend a public execution.”
“I am,” he whispered back, the polite smile frozen on his face. “Mine.”
With their audience complete, Lottie and Harriet moved to the music stand to begin their duet. While Lottie’s voice was high and true, Harriet’s voice could only be described as an off-key croak more suited to “Hark! Hark! The Toad!”
No doubt fearing an encore, the instant the last note died Ned leapt to his feet and gave them an enthusiastic round of applause, shouting, “Bravo! Bravo!”
Lottie took her bow, then dragged the beaming Harriet back to the divan.
Miss Terwilliger’s solo was next on the program, but none of them had the heart to awaken her. Taking her cue from Lottie’s nod of encouragement, Allegra slowly rose to take her place at the piano, her small hands trembling.
The minute those hands touched the keys, they lost their tremor as if by magic, their nimble grace casting a spell over them all.
As the first notes came rippling from the instrument, Lottie stole a glance at Hayden. Was she imagining the hint of panic in his eyes, the fine sheen of sweat on his brow? She had deliberately positioned the chairs so they would be sitting with their backs to Justine’s portrait, but perhaps he could still feel those knowing eyes of hers boring into the back of his neck.
Allegra had just reached the dramatic climax of the piece when Hayden lurched to his feet. Her fingers stumbled to an awkward halt, the unfinished chord ringing in the silence.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a strangled rasp. “I’m desperately sorry, but I can’t…I simply can’t…”
Casting Lottie a beseeching look, he went striding from the room.
Lottie sat at the writing desk in her bedchamber, her pen poised over the page, but no words flowing. What had once been captured so easily in bold penstrokes of black upon ivory now seemed mired in shades of gray. The characters in her novel felt no more real to her than the garish caricatures sketched by some anonymous artist for the scandal sheets. Every time she tried to picture her villain, she saw that last helpless look Hayden had given her before fleeing the music room.
She had retreated to her desk after tucking a subdued Allegra into bed. Although they had all begged the girl to continue after Hayden’s unceremonious exit, not even Ned’s teasing charm could coax her into playing another note. She had insisted upon retiring, her face pinched and pale. Lottie would have much preferred that she sob and rant and throw one of her legendary tantrums. The child’s stoic suffering reminded Lottie entirely too much of Hayden.
Realizing she had dribbled ink all over the page, Lottie snapped open her writing case, drew out a fresh sheet of paper and refilled her pen from the ink bottle. She’d been half-heartedly scribbling for several minutes when the first ghostly strains of piano music drifted to her ears.
Her hand jerked, upsetting the bottle of ink. It went spilling across the page, blotting out
everything she’d written.
Listening to the heartbreaking beauty of those wild, impassioned notes, Lottie closed her eyes and whispered, “Oh, Allegra.”
Hayden stood gazing down at the surf that foamed around the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff. Although his well-muscled legs were braced against the wind, its punishing gusts still battered him, making him sway dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. Above him, the clouds flirted with the moon, their shifting moods as fickle as Justine’s had once been. Behind him, the house was dark and silent, its occupants long abed and dreaming of the morrow.
Hayden knew there would be no use in seeking his own bed tonight. Every time he closed his eyes, all he would see was the stricken look on his wife’s and daughter’s faces as he spoiled their fine evening.
He was still standing there when the wind carried to his ears the first distant notes of piano music. It was the same piece Allegra had played that night, the same piece Justine had once played over and over, her frenzied fingers attacking the keys. As Hayden slowly turned to gaze up at the darkened windows of the house, the music gathered in strength and fury, like an approaching storm.
Lottie strode down the shadowy corridor that led to the music room, the notes of the sonata crashing over her in waves. Once such a sound would have struck terror in her heart, but now she knew she had nothing to fear but a hurt and defiant child. The music room door stood open in invitation, just as it had ever since the night Lottie had discovered Allegra masquerading as the ghost.
Lottie slipped into the room, the hem of her nightdress brushing the floor. Moonlight streamed through the skylight, shrouding the piano in a hazy glow. Just as before, the lid of the instrument had been left propped open, sheltering its keys from her view.
She breathed in the dizzying fragrance of jasmine. Allegra must have been dipping into her mother’s perfume again.
Sighing, Lottie rounded the piano. “You have every right to be angry with your father, Allegra, but that doesn’t mean you can just—”
The bench was empty. Lottie’s gaze slowly shifted to the keys, which continued to rise and fall for a full measure before falling still and silent.
Lottie opened her mouth, but nothing came out so she simply closed it again. She stretched out her hand to stroke a trembling finger down one of the keys.
“If this is your idea of a jest, my lady, I am not amused.”
Lottie jerked up her head to find Hayden standing a few feet away, his face veiled in shadows.
Chapter 17
How was I to bear the secret shame of my surrender?
HAYDEN HAD STRIPPED AWAY BOTH HIS FINERY and the civilized veneer it provided. He wore no coat or waistcoat and his rumpled cravat hung loose around his throat. His hair was wild, his eyes even wilder. As he came striding out of the shadows, Lottie jerked her hand away from the piano.
“It’s a bit late to play the innocent, don’t you think?” He stopped near enough for her to smell the mingled scents of danger and sea air. “I just looked in on Allegra. She’s sleeping like a babe.”
Lottie stole another look at the piano keys, torn between terror and wonder. “Sh-sh-she is?”
“Yes, she is. And I already know you can play so you may as well confess that it was you playing that piece.” His eyes narrowed to frosty slits. “Unless, of course, you’re going to try to convince me that there really is a ghost.”
Lottie glanced at the portrait over the mantel. For once, Justine didn’t seem to be laughing at her, but with her. Her violet eyes sparkled in the moonlight as if the two of them shared a secret only a woman could know—a secret she was urging Lottie to keep. Was it possible they were no longer rivals, but allies? Had Justine brought both her and Hayden to this place for a reason?
Curiously emboldened by the notion, Lottie faced Hayden. “The way you went running out of here tonight when Allegra was playing, I would have sworn you were the one being pursued by a ghost.”
“The ghost of my own folly perhaps. I should have known better than to set foot in this accursed room.”
“Yet here you are again,” Lottie said softly, taking a step toward him.
He eyed her warily, the downward flick of his gaze taking in her tumbled curls, the worn folds of her nightdress, her bare feet. “Only because you played a cruel and heartless trick. Just why was that, Lottie? Didn’t you think the disappointment I saw in my daughter’s eyes tonight was punishment enough for me?”
Lottie shook her head. “I wasn’t seeking to punish you.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Then why in the bloody hell did you lure me here?”
Moonlight bathed the rugged planes of Hayden’s face in its alabaster light as he gazed down at her, no longer able to hide his helpless hunger. Lottie had wondered what she might do if he ever looked at her like that again and now she knew.
“For this,” she whispered, cupping his face in her hands and drawing his lips down to hers. Her kiss entreated him to drink deeply of the tenderness she had to offer. It was a heady brew, intoxicating them both with its sweetness.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered against her lips. “You’re feeling sorry for me again, aren’t you?”
“Isn’t that why you married me?” Lottie pressed her lips to the muscular column of his throat, savoring the warm, salty taste of his skin. “Because I’d gotten myself into a terrible scrape and you felt sorry for me?”
He twined his fingers through her hair and gently tugged, forcing her to meet his fierce gaze. “I married you because I couldn’t bear the thought of another man making you his mistress…putting his hands on you…touching you the way I wanted to touch you.”
His confession sent a primal thrill coursing through her. “Show me,” she whispered.
Sweeping the smoky velvet of his tongue through her mouth, Hayden wrapped one arm around her hips and lifted her, bearing her backward until they came up against the piano. Swiping the stick away, he brought the lid crashing down, then set her atop it.
Lottie rested her small hands on his broad shoulders to steady herself, but she could do nothing to ease the ragged rhythm of her breathing. At last there were no servants, no Harriet, no Allegra to come between them. Even Justine had retreated to the shadows, leaving the two of them all alone with the moon.
Hayden gently enfolded her in his arms. For the moment he seemed content just to breathe in her sighs and nuzzle the downy skin of her throat. As the tip of his tongue traced the delicate curve of her earlobe, then delved into its sensitive shell, Lottie gasped, her knees falling apart of their own accord. He stepped between them, growling deep in his throat as he filled his hands with the softness of her breasts. He rubbed the calloused pads of his thumbs over her nipples through the worn cotton of her nightdress, sending a rush of sensation through her womb.
Adrift in a sea of delight, she barely felt him ease the nightdress from her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his heated gaze.
“Oh, Lottie, sweet Lottie,” he said thickly, gazing down at her in the moonlight. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment since that first night in Mayfair.”
Before she could absorb the wonder of that confession, he bent his dark head to her breasts, glazing first one nipple, then the other, with the nectar from their kiss. Any shyness she might have felt was banished by his boldness as he teased one of the throbbing nubs with his tongue, then drew it into his mouth, suckling deep and hard. This time the rush of sensation melted from her womb to the aching hollow between her legs.
When she tried to press them together to soothe that torturous tickle, her husband’s hips were there, hard and unyielding, giving her no choice but to wrap her legs around him.
Hayden shuddered, fearing Lottie’s innocent ardor was going to be his undoing. He leaned away from her, allowing himself a moment just to drink in the sight of her. She looked like a wanton angel with her eyes half shuttered with desire, her hair tumbled around her flushed cheeks, both her lips and her naked breasts glistening from his
kisses.
“Lovely Lottie,” he whispered, touching a hand to her hair. “I tried so hard to convince myself you were still a child, but I knew in my heart that you were a woman. All woman.”
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he slipped his other hand beneath her nightdress, breathing a silent prayer of thanksgiving that she did not sleep in drawers. His hand glided past her knee, to the downy satin of her thigh, then higher until the very tips of his fingers brushed the silky triangle of curls at the juncture of her thighs.
Her eyes drifted shut. Her chest hitched, her breath coming hard and fast. No longer able to temper his need with restraint, Hayden laid her back on the piano, shoving the skirt of her nightdress to her waist.
She was golden everywhere—gold-tipped lashes, golden skin, golden curls, both above…and below. His hungry gaze lingered there, the pace of his own breath quickening. He wanted nothing more than to sift his fingers through their gossamer softness, to search for a pearl even more priceless than gold.
Watching her face, he breached those nether curls with one finger, groaning at what he found. She was already wet for him, both inside and out. It was all he could do in that moment not to unfasten the front flap of his straining trousers and plunge deep into her melting core. But the shadows of delight dancing across her flushed cheeks captivated him, coaxed him to delay his own pleasure so he might linger over hers.
He stroked between those dusky petals until she began to writhe beneath his hand. Gently circling the sensitive bud sheltered by their folds with the pad of his thumb, he leaned over and touched his mouth to her ear. “Tell me, angel—do you taste as heavenly as you look?”
Lottie’s eyes flew open, but Hayden was already cupping her rump in his big, warm hands, already dragging her to the very edge of the piano, where she would be completely at his mercy. Nothing Laura and Diana had told her had prepared her for the sight of her husband’s dark head poised between her legs, for the delicious shock of his mouth pressing against that forbidden place she’d barely even dared to touch with her hand.
One Night of Scandal (Avon Historical Romance) Page 21