Max tried not to grin.
“And this room?” Frances asked as they crossed to the more secluded conversation nook.
Bryony’s eyes brightened. “That is yet another stroke of your brother’s genius. He—”
Max did not follow. He no longer could.
Her unscripted responses to his sister’s queries had rooted him in place.
Bryony didn’t see his gaming hell solely as some investment opportunity. She saw it as the achievement it was. Recognized details he hadn’t even shared with her.
Of course she would know what other gambling clubs were like. She must have seen a dozen similar proposals before choosing to finance his. She had held him to a higher standard before their contract had even been signed. He ran a hand through his hair.
She thought he was brilliant. Successful. She was proud of the Cloven Hoof. Proud ofhim. His throat tightened.
When they were alone in his office, she had always made him feel like he could be himself. No disclaimers or apologies required. That was part of her magic. This was something else. Something more.
This was how she always thought of him. He didn’t need to prove himself to her. She already thought him worthy.
Max was the one who kept pushing Bryony away. He gazed at her from across the room. His fixation on all the ways in which he and his sister were outsiders had caused him to make Bryony an outsider as well.
He had kept her on the fringes of his small circle for long enough.
It was past time to let her in.
As he watched her chatter animatedly with his sister, the stone surrounding his heart gave a little crack. No matter what happened with Bryony, no matter what happened with the property, he feared he was a changed man. He clamped his teeth together.
Of course, he would still stop at nothing to get his hands on the deed.
He would not be able to rest until the Cloven Hoof was fully his. Only then could he begin to meet Bryony as an equal. As a man who had made his own way and had something to show for it. Who didn’t need anyone else because he already had it all.
Once he achieved that goal, he would finally respect himself, and deserve the respect of others. He could relax. And perhaps spend more time with Bryony.
“What’s in the case?” he asked suspiciously.
Bryony stopped talking to Frances and turned to grin at him. “Your musicale.”
He blinked. “My what?”
She motioned for them to join her in the office, where she laid the case on his desk and opened it to reveal a stringed instrument of exquisite craftsmanship.
“Your violin,” he said in awe.
Frances’s mouth fell open.
Bryony placed the delicate instrument to her chin and motioned for him and his sister to take their seats on the settee.
No sooner had they done so, then Bryony touched her bow to the strings.
Max barely registered his sister’s audible gasp at the beauty that burst into the air.
He was lost inside Bryony’s soaring melody. Her music filled the room. Vibrated up the walls and through the furniture. Sent shivers down the back of his spine.
Her violin was not a separate entity, but an extension of her soul. Both delicate and strong. Gentle and loud. Powerful enough to bring tears to one’s eyes. He could not look away.
No wonder the Grenville musicales were the most celebrated event of theton. Max had heard when Bryony’s eldest sister joined an opera house. Rumor had it that her voice was unlike any other. Her fame as a soprano had already reached far beyond London’s borders.
He hadn’t realized Bryony was every bit as gifted. That she hadn’t been inviting Frances and him to some dull aristocratic get-together, but to witness her tearing open her chest and letting her heart fly out through the strings.
