Chapter Six
Perry stepped back into the shadows and watched as Grace’s eyes widened and the allure of the instrument began to exert its magic.
She lifted one hand to her chest—as if to hold her heart inside—while the other featured fingers spread wide in what might have been a stretch or a flex or a reaction to the thought of touching the keys.
Stepping up to the top of the platform she stood for a moment, looking at the cover, then slowly bent forward to raise it and reveal the black and ivory array.
“It’s in surprisingly good condition,” she murmured, more to herself than him, he guessed.
She pulled the seat out from beneath and moved between, easing her skirts as she sat and adjusted the stool’s position. He saw her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, and then gently spread those elegant fingers over the keys.
A soft chord emanated as she did so.
“Wait,” he said, walking up to the side of the piano. “’Tis better with this raised, yes?”
Glancing at him, she nodded, a vague smile on her face telling him she heard his words, but her attention was all on the joy of being in front of a piano again.
He lifted the solid wood and found the stay to secure it into position. “There. Now, Grace. Now you can play.”
She hesitated. “I haven’t touched an instrument like this in years. It’s a far cry from my pianoforte at home.”
“It makes music. Yours makes music. I fail to see any difference…”
She snorted. “You have no idea…but it may be out of tune, anyway.”
Her voice tapered off as she gingerly let her fingers create chords from various places on the keyboard. There were no dead notes that he could hear, and to his amateur ear it sounded quite lovely. He had to wonder how that came to be since the rest of the ballroom showed all the signs of disuse that prevailed throughout the house.
As she grew more confident, her touch changed, the chords became a melody, something light and fanciful, notes dancing around the empty ballroom, ringing sweet and pure against the icy glass of the windows.
He half-recognised it; a dance perhaps? It begged for movement, for toe-tapping, for the laughter and smiles of an informal evening among friends.
Was this her youth? Was he hearing the sounds she remembered from long ago?
He didn’t know.
It didn’t matter. It was enough to watch her entire body relax as she let herself go, flowing into the music she herself created.
She swayed a little now, her fingers moving faster as the tempo picked up, the lower notes marking a rhythm for the liquid upper tones to dance to.
It was joyous, spellbinding, and it hit Perry like a ton of bricks. His heart thundered as he watched this quiet and unassuming woman play her way into his soul. She was everything he’d ever wished for; beautiful, creative, intelligent and independent.
He had been so young when he wed, and still young when his wife passed away. Guiltily, he realised he could barely recall her face. The decades had indeed dulled the pain of her loss. But he’d never found a replacement for her in his life. And, in truth, he hadn’t put much effort into looking, since he’d discovered the single life was to his liking.
Yet now, here in this dusty ballroom, he found himself yearning to take Grace into his very being. To share his life with her, to touch her, to love her, to watch her laugh and sigh and dry her tears if she cried.
He wanted her in his bed and his home. He wanted her here because he was going to buy this damned house for her. Not only because she seemed to like it but because it already had a piano.
And he wanted her to feel about him the same way she felt about her music.
Was that too fanciful? He admitted it probably was.
He’d been aware of his strong attraction to her. Kissing her had been educative, teaching him that there were still surprises left in the world.
But this? This clawing, deep-seated need?
A new sensation.
And it took his breath away.
