She let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. “And what does rule you tonight, Your Grace?”
He regarded her with that steady, unsettling gaze. It seemed to say,You.
The unspoken word landed in the space between them like a pebble in a still pond, sending out ripples she did not know how to contain.
Silence fell again. It had weight, but not the oppressive weight of Howard’s silences. This one felt like a possibility, like the held breath before a curtain rose.
“What did you wish night three to be?” he asked, as if his earlier words did not matter.
She toyed with the edge of one glove, suddenly shy. “I do not know that I am allowed wishes in this arrangement.”
“You are allowed more than you believe,” he murmured. “Tell me.”
She hesitated. There were so many things she wanted that lay forever beyond reach. For tonight, she could not make a huge demand. The night would not bear it.
“I wish,” she said slowly, “that it would last longer.”
His eyebrow rose. “The night?”
“Yes.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “That can be arranged. Time is one resource I command too abundantly.”
“I should go,” she added quickly, as if to balance her confession. “Truly, I should. Martha will worry. My mother might wake. Howard might invent a reason to prowl the corridors.”
“All excellent reasons,” he acknowledged. “And yet you are still here.”
She looked away. “I am greedy. It is unbecoming.”
“Your greed harms no one,” he reasoned. “Mine very nearly does. We will manage the difference.”
She wanted to stay. Every part of her, from her racing pulse to the small, secret ache his kisses had ignited, wanted to stay. Yet the image of Howard’s cold smile, of her mother’s tearful eyes, ofthe nun’s veil that waited three weeks away, pressed against that wish like a wall.
“I cannot stay,” she whispered. “I can only delay.”
“Then let us delay a little,” he coaxed. “Sit. Breathe. Allow yourself to enjoy the fact that tonight, no one is striking you with any command. Not even me.”
The simple acknowledgment of what her life contained stole the argument from her throat.
She sat again, though this time at the corner of the bench, putting the length of the keyboard between them.
Victor did not press nearer. He began to play once more, something soft and low that did not require her participation, only her listening.
She watched his hands instead of the keys. The long, capable fingers that had traced her cheek, that had steadied her shoulders, now coaxed melody from ivory and wire.
A man who could be ruthless with a merchant could also do this. A man the clubs described as cold could also warm an entire room with the sound he made.
Perhaps the world had been wrong about him.
Perhapsshehad been wrong.
Rumors had painted him as a beast under a beautiful face. Her own had painted him as a tool she could wield for her purpose. Yet, when she thought of the way he had tied the silk blindfold gently so as not to hurt her, of the way he had watched her tonight with concern rather than hunger, those pictures began to blur.
He glanced up once and caught her staring. But instead of looking away in embarrassment, she held his gaze. Something passed between them, something nameless and bright that made the back of her neck tingle.
When at last she rose to leave, the clock had crept far past the sensible hour. Victor closed the lid of the pianoforte and escorted her back through the dim passages to the garden gate. The air outside bit at her cheeks, sharp and clean.
He did not touch her this time as she pulled up her hood. He only looked at her with that same infuriating, disarming steadiness.
