Edward’s large presence as he’d towered over her, trying, and failing, to teach her the pianoforte, had distracted Kate to the point she’d barely heard what he was saying. Every time he had leaned forward, she’d caught a new detail on the back of his hands – the dark hair, blunt fingernails, their latent strength – and her attention had snagged on it, pulling her away from the notes he had been valiantly pointing to. The stool had seemed wide, and when he had suggested he sit next to her instead, she had thought anything had to be less diverting than him standing tall above her. It had not been the case.
The wide stool had shrunk to the size of a postage stamp. There was now no getting away from him or else she was not trying hard enough. Either that or Edward had some magnetic power over her that was causing her to shift ever closer to him. Shuffling away did no good, because seconds later, she found herself back in his orbit. Every time he showed her a note, she caught the faint smell of his skin, soap and something else she could not name. The scent was distracting her, rendering her completely unable to concentrate on his words and actions, buthe seemed to be completely unaffected by their proximity. Every word out of his mouth was an instruction, not a hint of flirtation or any indication he was struggling not to touch her. Her mind held on to that, thankfully stopping her from doing something witless.
They laboured through the left-hand piece, her fingers slipping on the keys as she concentrated on not making a mess of the simple music.
‘Thank goodness the pianoforte is a kind instrument,’ she murmured as she hit the wrong note for the one thousandth time.
The hairs on the back of her neck raised at his soft chuckle. ‘You are doing well.’
‘You are being kind.’
She felt his answering laugh in the shaking of his shoulders and she jolted, realising how close she had moved to him again.
Kate wondered if she’d had a different teacher, Emily maybe, whether she might have been able to concentrate on the notes and perhaps have at least a slight understanding of what she was meant to be doing. With Edward, all she could really think about was the width of his palm. Hands were not something she’d given much thought to before. They were there and functional and that was it. But there was something mesmerising about the flex of Edward’s long fingers as they moved over the piano, pointing out notes to her. It seemed imperative to her to find out whether the skin of his palm was soft or callused and her mind flittered over ways to make that happen, none of which were plausible and some of which were downright ludicrous. She had to keep reminding herself again and again of their relative stations in life but that didn’t seem to help her. She may have developed a secret infatuation with the man but it must remain that: a secret. Revealing her growing fascination with him wouldgive him too much power over her, and although he wasn’t Chorley and she didn’t think he would abuse it, she didn’t want to concede it either.
No good would come from spending time getting close to a man who was wrong for her in every way. If she developed more than these innocent longings for him, if she came to care for him more than she should, she might start to entertain thoughts of marriage, and a man like him did not marry a woman like her. She had lived on the fringes of Society for long enough to realise that men in the Ton might dally with the governess, might even care for her, but they would marry one of their own. Deeper feelings for Edward would only end up with her soul getting bruised and she did not need to add experiencing heartbreak to everything else that had happened over the last few years: the fear, the loneliness and constant worry about homelessness that had plagued her daily life. She needed peace, not drama.
‘Now,’ he said in an upbeat voice, much like the one she used when addressing small children, unaware of her internal wranglings, ‘try putting it all together.’
Highly doubtful that anything pleasant sounding was going to come from her pounding of the keys, she shot him a quick glance. If he was smirking, he was hiding it very well. As he’d been very patient with her, she hoped to goodness she would show at least a tiny amount of improvement.
Placing her fingers over the keys, she held her breath, ready to begin.
‘Before you start,’ he said, ‘you need to move your fingers to the left. No—’ his lips twitched as he valiantly held in a laugh ‘—not those, those.’ He pointed. Trying not to think about what she was doing, especially after the internal lecture she had just subjected herself to, she purposefully moved to the wrong place.
‘It is good it is not me who is a governess,’ said Edward, laughter lacing his words. ‘I am clearly not a very good teacher.’
‘It is me. Perhaps I am too old to learn something new.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘You are hardly in your dotage. May I?’
He held out his hand, his fingers hovering over her wrist.
‘Of course,’ she murmured, getting exactly what she had been aiming for.
Placing his thumb and forefinger on either side of her wrist, he lifted her hand gently but firmly and moved it towards the correct placement. His skin was warm against hers, the touch barely there. Her breath slowed and the skin on the back of her neck tingled.
‘Your fingers…’ he began, his voice gruff. He cleared his throat. ‘May I show you?’
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
‘Are you…? I do not want…You must not think I…’
She was arching towards him, but she could not find it in herself to pull away. ‘Yes, I am sure,’ she managed. ‘Please show me.’
His fingers slid slowly over hers, lightly brushing against her skin. Sensation shot through her body, her breath catching in her throat as it flooded through her, waking up nerve endings she hadn’t even known existed. Slowly, achingly slowly, he moved her forefinger so it was resting over the right key.
‘There,’ he murmured gruffly.
She had no words.
‘Would you like to try again?’ he asked quietly.
She nodded, her mind blank. He let go and her whole body sagged as if she were a puppet and he had cut her strings.
She could sense his chest rising and falling, feel the soft puff of his breath as it brushed against her hair.
Her fingers rested unmoving on the keys. Staring at them, she willed them to move, but it seemed his simple touch had destroyed her mind.
