“Your Grace,” she managed. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my playing carried.”
He shook his head. “No. I was in my study—working instead of sleeping, as usual.”
“Ah.”
“I did not mean it isn’t beautiful,” he added quickly. “Only that it carries a kind of sorrow with it. You can almost feel the ache of the man who wrote it—or so I imagine.”
Her fingers rested on the keys. “Perhaps that’s why people love it,” she said softly. “Because of its tragic beauty.”
“Tragic beauty,” Neil repeated, stepping closer. The air between them seemed to hum. “A fine way to put it. Tell me—did Emma enjoy the fair today?”
The sudden change of subject made her blink, but she recovered quickly.
“She had a wonderful time,” she said. “She fell asleep almost the moment her head touched the pillow. She went to bed clutching her doll—the one you won for her. She adores it.”
A slow smile spread across his face.
It’s odd,Maggie thought,how a smile can change a person’s face so entirely. So completely.
When Neil smiled, the stone-faced Gambling Devil disappeared entirely. His eyes crinkled at the corners; his whole expression opened and warmed. The deep blue of his gaze seemed to stir with hidden light.
Tension pressed itself against Maggie’s chest, almost forcing the breath out of her lungs. The silence in the room seemed so loud that it rang in her ears.
She was just wondering how to break the silence when Neil spoke, his voice ever so slightly strained.
“I think Lord and Lady Farendale will be leaving soon. Lady Constance as well.”
“Thank goodness,” she blurted before she could stop herself, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “I beg your pardon.”
Neil sank down beside her on the pianoforte stool, exhaling.
“No pardon needed,” he said quietly. “I never invited them. This scheme to marry me to Lady Constance—my aunt’s idea, as you might have guessed—was never a good one.”
Maggie’s skin prickled. She dragged her gaze away from him, focusing on the pianoforte keys instead.
“I see,” she said at last. “For what it’s worth, I never thought you and Lady Constance would make a good match.”
“We wouldn’t,” he said bluntly. “Will you keep playing?”
Maggie glanced at him, quirking up an eyebrow. “Is that a request—or a command?”
He laughed, low and quiet. “Neither. Only a hope.”
Something in that answer made her throat tighten. She turned back to the keys and began to play again, though thenotes trembled under her fingers. A discord, then another.Focus,she told herself.Do not think of him sitting beside you. Do not think of his closeness, or his warmth, or—
His hand came down over hers, light and sure, stilling the sound.
Maggie froze. Her breath caught. Her gaze followed the strong lines of his arm up to his face, where his eyes—dark now in the flickering light—held hers. Shadows leapt and danced across his features.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Neil said at last, his voice unsteady. “I’m sorry, Maggie, I—”
Her name in his mouth sounded like a secret. She smiled faintly, shaking her head.
“Sorry? I’m not sorry.”
His hand moved upward, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of her cheek. Maggie’s breath hitched. She could not look away. The warmth of his palm cupped her face; the pad of his thumb brushed her cheekbone, feather-light.
When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her with something close to wonder. She wasn’t sure who leaned forward first. Perhaps it was her. It didn’t matter.
