A sly grin appeared on Callum’s lips. “I would have thought you would be trying to make mischief with your piano tuner rather than writing music. Did the lovely Mercy come today?”
Kendal gritted his teeth at the obvious double entendre. “Miss Wood is here each day purely for professional reasons. I would appreciate it if you didn’t make those kinds of remarks about her.”
Reid and Callum exchanged a brief but knowing look, at which Kendal sighed. Why did everyone else in the Noble Lords seem to think he was making merry with Mercy?
Because given half a chance, that is exactly what you would be doing.
Chapter Twelve
Mercy mulled things over on the long walk home. Her initial reaction at thinking Kendal had deliberately stiffed her had been tempered somewhat by the idea that he may well have made an innocent mistake. These things happened; she would just mention it to him tomorrow, and he would apologize and make good on the missing money.
But the more she thought about it, the stronger her first take on things became. The memory of the sly grin on Kendal’s face as he’d handed her the coins sat firmly in the front of her mind.
It wasn’t a mistake. The rotten cad knew exactly what he was doing.
Seated at the table in her dingy apartment, she counted out the coins, lining them up along the faded wooden top. What would she say to her father? And if she did tell him of her suspicions about Kendal, what would he do? Henry Wood was not the kind of man who would stand up to a nobleman and accuse him of stealing from his daughter. His livelihood depended on the good graces and word of mouth of his patrons, all of whom were members of the tight-knit ton.
No. This problem was hers. She had allowed Kendal to work his charms on her, fallen prey to his suave elegance and smooth patois, then stood shyly smiling at him while he’d purposely short-paid her. He had played her as if she were the piano: masterfully and without effort.
Idiot. You fell for his act.
Mercy scooped up the coins. If her father asked about them, she would simply tell him she had cleared them in order to serve their supper. In the morning, she would go back to Windmill Street, front up to Kendal, and demand her money. When Henry Wood returned home tomorrow evening, all the coins Mercy had been due for her work would be lined up on the table, and he would never know the difference.
She had spent a lifetime evading the light-fingered pickpockets of London and yet she had allowed Kendal to not only rob her, but she had thanked him for the pleasure. Twice now he had played loose and fast with her money, but he wouldn’t be getting away with it a third time. Of that she was most determined.
When she arrived at Follett House the following morning, her plans met their first real stumbling block. As per usual, Mister Green ushered her into the ballroom, but as she stepped through the door, she found it was empty.
Kendal was nowhere to be seen. Mercy took a deep breath and tried to calm her temper.
You had better not be hiding, you blackguard, because I promise you if you are you will regret it.
She could handle his attempt at self-amusement, but not if he was going to be a coward when it came to be dealing with her.
Mercy glanced back over her shoulder; the door of the ballroom remained closed. No Kendal meant she had the room to herself.
If that is the way you wish to play it, then I shall take my time. I will not be leaving here today without my money.
Wandering over to the piano, she set the bag down and took the tuning hammer out.
Excitement began to bubble in her stomach at the thought of finally having some time in which she could play by herself on the magnificent instrument. The Cristofori was a rare piano and this one was in immaculate condition. It would be a shame for her to waste this golden opportunity to try to make magic.
Mercy lay the hammer on the top of the keyboard, ready to grab it and pretend to be working if anyone suddenly appeared through the door.
Setting aside Salieri, she decided on a lighter piece by one of his students, Mozart. Mercy enjoyed his music; it made her heart happy. He was also a damn sight easier to play. As the strains of Sonata No. 17 filled the room, she sat back and smiled. Her fingers danced lightly over the keys and for just a few brief minutes, all her cares in the world disappeared.
This was a piece of music she had mastered and performed many a time when she and her father were checking his work. Sod Kendal and his need to show off; she could play without looking as well as he could. With her head bobbing along to the tune, Mercy closed her eyes and let the music take her away.
“Stop this now! Oh, what a travesty. Mercy, you slay me.”
Her eyes shot open. She almost fell onto the keyboard. Her head wheeled round and her gaze landed on Kendal, a mere yard away.
“You scared the life out of me.” Her heart thumped hard in her chest and it took a moment for her to catch her breath. His face was a picture of fury.
So much for him apologizing about his lack of payment from yesterday. Who the devil does he think he is, yelling at me like that?
“How dare you? Everyone loves Mozart. And as for it being a travesty, I’ll have you know my playing of Mozart is near faultless.” Mercy was not going to stand and be bullied by a man who thought it fun to toy with her livelihood.
Kendal’s face turned even darker. “There was nothing wrong with your playing; you are quite accomplished, Mercy, but you are wrong about Mozart. Not everyone loves him. In fact, I hate him with a passion. The Noble Lords only play his pathetic music because it is what the public wants to hear. If I had my way, I would never endure the misery of listening to his music again.”
Mercy rose from the stool. What a lot of fuss over nothing. Kendal was in the foulest of moods. The subject of money might have to wait a moment. If he was this angry about her playing Mozart, she didn’t want to push her luck. She still needed this job.
“You can play anything else you like on my piano, just not him,” said Kendal.
Mercy picked up the hammer. “I’m sorry, Lord Grant. Forgive me for my impertinence at playing without your permission. I should get about looking at the strings.”
He gave a loud resigned sigh. “No, it’s me who should be apologizing. I’m sorry. I just . . . he does my head in.”
Mozart did his head in. What on earth had one of the world’s most famous composers ever done to Lord Kendal Grant? “I understand,” she said. She didn’t. “I promise I won’t ever play his music again.”
From the way Kendal kept his hands held tightly by his sides, Mercy thought it wise not to ask him anything more about Mozart. She put her head inside the piano and checked the strings.
Fuck.
This was not going at all how Kendal had hoped it would. In his grand plans, he and Mercy would be sharing a little light banter this morning during which she would raise the issue of payment. He would confess his playful ruse, apologize, and then ask her to play for him. A friendship which eventually led to something else would spark today.
That was how it should have gone.
But the second he’d walked into the ballroom and heard Mercy playing Mozart, all thoughts of them sharing a moment of teasing and fun evaporated. He had completely flipped out.
It was bad enough him having to play Mozart’s music with the Noble Lords, but he had managed to convince himself that it was all to serve a good cause. Hearing her succumb to the charms of someone whom he considered a musical fraud was beyond the pale.
While Mercy put her head inside the piano and went about tapping away with the hammer, Kendal stood and stared at her, wracking his brains as to what the hell he was going to do. His hair-brained scheme to charm her had failed spectacularly.
If only he had a magic clock that could turn back time for five minutes, he could start this encounter all over again. He might even make less of a hash of it than he had just done. Heaven knew there was little chance he could make it any worse.
This is so incredibly awkward. What on earth was I th
inking?
The ridiculousness of the situation was not lost on him. He was a leader of the ton, with years of experience in wooing willing women, yet here he was, flailing about like a naval flag caught in the breeze—with no direction, and no control.
After reaching into his pocket, he blindly pulled out some coins and slapped them on the top of the piano. Mercy lifted her head and looked at him. He gave her the merest of nods before turning away and making all haste toward the door.
“I will see you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder.
Mercy stood dumbfounded as Kendal left the room, flinching when the door closed heavily behind him. Lord Kendal Grant, master musician, noble about town, a man seemingly possessed of supreme self-confidence, had just fled.
“What was that all about?” she muttered.
She would never understand the upper class and their foibles. They were an odd bunch indeed. Her gaze settled on the coins which Kendal had left on the edge of the piano.
As long as I get paid, you can be as odd as you like.
She picked up the coins and counted them, sighing at the realization that once again, the money was not correct. He hadn’t made up the difference from the day before.
“Right then,” she muttered.
For Mercy Wood, the third time was not going to be the charm. At this rate, she would never get properly paid. Kendal could rant and rave all he wished about Mozart, but he was not the one who would be walking through the wet chilly streets of London come next winter with holes in his boots.
If Kendal was not going to render her the money she was owed, then it was time he learned that you got what you paid for.
Chapter Thirteen
What the hell was he going to tell the others if anyone asked? That he, the son of a duke, was unable to deal with a tradesman’s daughter? Not a chance. Or that having made a complete mess of trying to charm her, he had thrown a handful of coins on the edge of the piano and then fled the ballroom? They would laugh themselves sick.
He would just have to come up with some cock-and-bull story about Mercy feeling unwell and having to leave early. That was a fail-safe lie. Women in his world were always feeling faint. His sister was a master of the art, especially when it came to unwelcome suitors or men with two left feet who offered for her to dance.
He felt like a coward, so he behaved as one; lurking upstairs in his room before eventually sending a footman to make sure that Mercy had indeed left the house. Only after he had been assured that she had gone did he manage to summon up the courage to finally venture back down to the ballroom.
During his self-imposed exile he had decided that the best thing he could do would be to approach Mercy when she arrived the next morning and apologize for his behavior. All foolish games would be set aside. He would pay her the money he owed and hopefully find a way to reset their tentative friendship.
Of course, if she had any sense, she would either send her father or not bother coming at all. For three days running, he had failed to pay her properly.
He was well outside the bounds of acceptable behavior. If his father ever caught wind that his son was underpaying the hired help, he would put his boot firmly in Kendal’s backside. What the Duke of Banfield would say if he discovered it was in the cause of trying to befriend a piano tuner’s daughter was anyone’s guess.
He pulled up short on his way to the piano. Mercy was the hired help, but with their shared love of music he already considered her to be beyond that, and he craved to be something else in her life. Mercy was not just a pretty young woman who had drifted into his orbit. He had experienced enough of those sorts of women to sense that she was different.
His heart and loins continued to whisper sweet words of longing. Those deep brown eyes of hers had held him captive from the very first time they had met. Her long, dark tresses, which had featured in several of his intense sexual dreams over the past few days, had him curling his fingers as he imagined how soft they would feel to his touch.
Kendal sighed. Mercy was under his skin. The more he thought about her, the more he thought about her.
“Oh, what am I going to do?” he muttered.
At twenty-six years of age, he should have his bearings when it came to women. But the truth was, unless a woman was offering for him to share her bed, he had little idea as to what he should say. Real conversations and connections with the female sex were few and far between in his experience.
He took a seat at the piano, hoping that its familiar tune would calm his unsettled mind.
Kicking aside some of the crumpled manuscript pages which lay on the floor beneath the piano, he picked up a fresh sheet. The servants were under strict instructions not to remove or even dare touch any of his compositions. If they were to be destroyed, it was to be done by his hand. As its creator, only he could give life or death to his music.
He had to find a way to get Mercy from being such a constant in his mind; trying to work on a new melody was the obvious answer. After positioning the manuscript paper on the top of the piano, he raised his fingers and settled them on the keys.
Plunk.
He moved his hands farther along and touched the keys again.
Kerplunk.
“What. The. Devil?”
A third attempt to play a tune elicited the same awful noise. Kendal sat back from the keyboard and stared at it. Not one note was right. The whole piano was a mess.
“You have got to be bloody joking.”
Mercy had taken her revenge. Not only had she not tuned the piano, she had deliberately rendered it useless. He couldn’t compose music with it; nor could he practice. Not until someone came and fixed it.
If it had been anyone else who had dared to do such a heinous thing to his beloved Cristofori, he would be tearing at his clothes and screaming blue murder right now.
He should be furious with Mercy, sending a footman over to her house this very minute and demanding that either she or her father return without delay to Follett House and set the piano to right.
He should.
But he wasn’t.
Mercy Wood had shown him she had a spine. Instead of being angry, Kendal found himself . . . aroused. Here was a woman prepared to stand up to him, to call him out on his ridiculous behavior. And while she had not been foolish enough to try and take him to task directly, she had sent a clear message that she was not going to stand for any more of his shit.
Kendal lowered the cover over the keyboard. There would be no rehearsals for the Noble Lords today.
As he got to his feet, a wicked grin sat on his lips. Somehow, through all this mess, he had managed to get exactly what he wanted. He had clumsily thrown down the challenge and she had accepted it. The game was on.
Kendal was halfway to the door of the ballroom when another thought slipped into his mind. What if this was the sort of game she liked to play?
His cock twitched. A woman who had a naughty mind might be open to all manner of wicked and sexy games in the marital bed.
He swallowed deeply at the thought. The notion of marrying her had been on his mind since that night he and his father had talked.
If he could just get his hands on her luscious body and make Mercy see that the only future she could ever want would be by his side, so many problems would be solved. He could offer her a life full of love and music. She would never again have to tune pianos.
“Mercy Wood, you little minx. You will be mine.”
I’ll be damned.
The very thing he had decided was impossible in his life had actually happened. He really had met his soul mate. Mercy was his destiny.
And Cupid, that pesky little winged harbinger of love, had decided in his infinite wisdom that the woman who would hold Kendal’s heart was a lowly piano tuner. It was not going to be an easy road to wedded bliss; there were several obstacles in his way, not the least being Mercy.
I’m going to have to convince both her and then my father that we can make a success of our union.
The second son of the Duke of Banfield had fallen in love with a woman from the rough streets of South London. What was he to do?
“Marry the chit—that’s what I am going to do. And no one is going to stop me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mercy slowly climbed the stairs of the servants’ entrance into Follett House the following morning. Her mind was full of dread.
“Sometimes you are too impetuous for your own good,” she muttered.
She had felt the first stirrings of regret not long after she had left the previous day, but her stubbornness had stopped her from returning. The damage had been done. Now all that remained was to face up to the consequences of her actions.
At the entrance to the ballroom, she stopped and took in a deep breath, steeling herself for the expected tirade of anger. If Kendal had been livid about Mozart, what would he say to his precious piano being tampered with? She pushed the door open and stepped into the room.
Seated, lounging over the keys of the piano, was Kendal. She began to walk toward him. Every step Mercy took, he played a chord.
Well, he tried to play a chord—but on the out-of-tune piano it sounded more like someone was dragging a dead body across the keyboard. It was worse than listening to the riverside cats fighting over Ann’s piece of battered fish. If Mercy hadn’t been so concerned with the bollocking she was expecting to get, she would have congratulated herself on having done such an excellent job of rendering Kendal’s piano completely unplayable.
The march of plunk, kerplunk, and kerplink continued all the way until she finally reached the piano. Mercy stood, gaze cast down, silently waiting for the hammer to fall. Any moment now, Kendal would launch into a long and heated speech about him being the second son of the Duke of Banfield, reminding her that not only was she far beneath his social status, but that she wasn’t even a proper piano tuner.
Kendal: Regency Rockstars Page 7