“Good morning.” He smiled amusedly.
Though I was glad Ollie hadn’t witnessed me play so poorly, I disliked being the source of Damon’s amusement. I shot him a frown and returned to my music, hoping he’d continue on to his obvious errand in the stableyard.
But Damon walked into the room and stood at the end of the pianoforte.
“If you intend to distract me,” I said, “it won’t work. I play better with an audience.”
“Oh. Well, I wasn’t intending to stay, but if my presence will help you to play better . . .” He laid his riding crop on a side table and perched himself at the edge of the pianoforte.
“That was not meant as an invitation,” I said.
Handsome but annoying. I continued playing.
“Why are you awake so early?” Damon asked. “I have never known you to be an early riser. And it is painfully obvious how much you hate playing the pianoforte.”
“If you must know, I was hoping to practice before Ollie rose so I could play for him as we watched the sun rise together.”
Damon chuckled. “I doubt my younger brother has seen a single sunrise since before he left for Eton.”
My fingers fumbled over the notes. “You must be mistaken. Ollielovesthe sunrise.”
“Perhaps when he was a boy, but my younger brother now prefers sundown and everything that comes after.”
I didn’t dignify his insinuation that Ollie was a cad with a response.
Damon walked around the body of the pianoforte and sat beside me on the bench.
I made a valiant effort to ignore him, but no matter how far I scooted away from him, I couldn’t escape the heat of his arm, the rich scent of his cologne, the gentle press of his knee against mine, and I hit a wrong note. With a frown, I moved my hands back to their original position to start the song over again.
“Why are you starting over?” Damon asked.
“I made a mistake.”
“Only a minor one,” he said. “You should keep going.”
I shook my head. “I want to play it perfectly.”
“You don’t have to play the song perfectly to enjoy the music. I daresay if you start over every time you make a mistake, you will only ever play the first dozen measures.”
I glared at myunwelcome companion. “Perhapsyoushould like to play.”
“Do you want me to?” he asked.
“I do.” If only to prove how difficult this song was.
“Very well then. Prepare yourself to experience something delightful.”
I rolled my eyes. “Careful, my lord. Pride cometh before the fall.”
“Not pride, my dear Miss Kent—confidence.” Damon briefly studied the music, then gently, almost reverently, placed his fingers on the keys.
And then he filled the room with Mama’s melody. Like a river rushing over smooth rocks, the notes flowed from his fingers as easily as they had from Mama’s. It felt as if it had been a lifetime since I’d heard her song played so purely, so perfectly, and I clung to every note. And for the briefest of moments, I almost felt as if she were here again.
Too soon, it was over. The last note hung in the air for a long moment, and then Damon gingerly removed his hands and placed them in his lap.
“That was . . .” I could hardly speak. “That was beautiful.” My eyes welled with tears. “I did not realize how much I have missed hearing Mama’s melody played properly.”
“Your mother wrote this piece?”
