You, he didn’t say.
“Follow me,” he said instead.
“Is that an order?”
“It’s actually a request.” He couldn’t exactly force her to be his muse.
Her gaze, luminous and searching, held his for a silent stretch of time. She saw into him down to his weakness—hisneed. It would repulse and send her fleeing into the night, surely.
She nodded, and all muscles in his body that had tensed, released. In the place of that tension soared relief. She’d agreed.
“If you’ll fetch my night-rail from the bench at the dressing table…”
He only now noticed that she still held the covers to her chin, concerned for her modesty.
And why shouldn’t she be?
All it would take was the single curl of her pinky, and he’d willingly ravish her.
She likely saw that in his eyes, too.
After retrieving the requested garment, he asked, “May I help you?” He hadn’t intended the offer to sound lecherous, but his voice had gone into a lower register, and he thought he might.
She shook her head—wise woman—and somehow managed to clothe herself beneath the covers. He knew this, because though he’d stepped discreetly away, he watched from the periphery of his eye. He couldn’t help himself. There was something about this woman that he wanted to understand, though he wasn’t sure what it was.
She slid off the bed and faced him. “After you, my lord.”
He pivoted and began walking, trusting—hoping—she would follow. Light footsteps sounded at his back as he led her through the house cast in shadow. Having her near—having her to himself—settled the tetchy feeling inside him, even as it provoked another feeling to life. A feeling rooted deep in his body—a feeling he had no business exploring.
No one had ever made him feel so.
Until her.
They entered his bedroom, its interior of white marble floor and light grays illuminated by flickering candle and moon light. It would’ve been more proper to use the piano in his study, but his papers and notes were all here. Besides, he and Valentina, they existed as different selves in the night.
A muted laugh sounded behind him. He tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Have I amused you?”
Night-rail dragging on the floor behind her—he supposed Tucker hadn’t hemmed nightclothes—she shook her head, bemused. “Of course you have a piano in your bedroom.”
It wasn’t the words themselves that sparked a warm feeling inside him. It was the feeling behind them. Valentina understood his passion for music in a way not a single other person in the world did.
With her, he was known.
He wasn’t certain how he felt about that, but he thought he might like it.
He leaned against the piano and watched her take the measure of his bedroom. How lovely…how soft…how appealing she was. She was a strong woman who knew her mind, but she held an openness within her, too. She understood the two weren’t mutually exclusive.
She noticed the wall of bookcases that ran perpendicular to the window. “You have a library in your bedroom, too?”
He shifted on hisfeet. “Of sorts.”
Her eyebrows crinkled in curiosity as she crossed the distance and slid a folio from a shelf. Thumbing the cover open, her eyes widened. “Oh.”
He knew what she was beholding. His work. A past composition. Almost every cell in his body wanted her to close the folio and slide it back into place and forget all about it.
But a few remaining cells wanted her to keep going.
To hear the music in her head.
