“Antonio Zucchi.”
Hero shot Ian a surprised glance because he was right. “You recognize his style?”
“No.” He grinned once more. “After our talk last night, I spent some time earlier reading up on the ninth earl’s notes on the renovations.”
“You’re a very clever lad,” the duke commented, levering himself up onto his elbow. “Isn’t he a clever lad, Daughter?”
“Aye, Papa, he is.”
“Harry,” Her father insisted with a frown, prompting Hero to frown right back at him.
“Come,Papa, let’s get up now. If Boyle comes in, he will think us mad.” She pushed herself into a sitting position, arranging her skirts as she did so, but her father and Ian remained lounging.
“One might think to be thought mad the very worst of fates,” Beaumont told her solemnly. “But this is not madness.”
“Is it not?”
“No, call it a finer appreciation for life. A man lives his life thinking he has all the time in the world to do the things he dreams of doing. That there will a come a moment when he might explore the world as he always wished to, spend an afternoon fishing on a lake, or merely watch a sunset holding the hand of the woman he loves. One always thinks about whatmustbe done rather than whatshouldbe done. I’ve spent my entire life doing what was expected of me, only to discover that I have lost the opportunity for so much more.”
Ian and Hero exchanged astonished glances at Beaumont’s surprisingly lucid speech. She couldn’t think of a moment in the past several years when her father had offered any words so profound. She wondered if his words about holding the hand of the woman he loved were merely an analogy or if he truly felt that he hadn’t appreciated his time with Hero’s mother well enough. It was sad to think that he held so many regrets—if his words were more truth than rambling.
Would she die having regretted the things she did not do more than those she did, Hero wondered? She didn’t want to. The day Death finally came looking for her, she wanted to be able to meet his eye knowing that she had grasped every opportunity, every moment that made life worth living.
Staring into Ian’s dark, turbulent gaze as he raised himself to sit, she could see that he had come to the same conclusion. Life might be short. One never knew how much time they might have to live.
Or to love.
He reached out to caress her cheek, and she turned into his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. She meant to embrace every moment she had before her with Ian, meant to take whatever fate would allow her.
Unaware of the tumult his words had spawned, Beaumont lazed back once more to stare at the ceiling. “I wonder what’s for dinner.”
Hero smiled widely, a gesture Ian returned as he stood and helped her to her feet. She’d have to embrace moments like these with her father as well. Her time with him was valuable as well, and she was only just discovering how much she might learn from him.
“Your father is a very clever man,” Ian whispered, raising her hands to his lips and kissing each palm tenderly.
“Yes, he is.”
Chapter Fifteen
The striking of a jarringly erroneous note made Hero lift her fingers from the keyboard with a cringe. Aware that both Ian and her father turned with a surprised wince at the discordant note, she forced her attention back to the piano and abandoned Franz Liszt’sDream of Lovefor Benjamin Carr’s much simpler Scotch balladThou Art Gone Awa’.
She’d been playing the piano in the Blue Drawing Room for hours since dinner had ended while Ian and her father played cribbage. Her fingers were cramping but if she stopped, what excuse would she have to remain? It was getting late, surely too late for a polite evening’s gathering.
Tapping her foot impatiently, she glanced at the clock once more.Where was Cooper?she wondered for at least the tenth time. Her father’s night nurse should’ve been here at least an hour ago to fetch him. To lead the duke off to bed so that she could enjoy her time with Ian. The only time in the course of the day she had him all to herself.
If Cooper didn’t show up soon, she’d surely sack him.
As if he knew the thoughts in her head, the nurse tapped on the door and entered. She was hard put not to throw her hands into the air and yell “Halleluiah,” though she did whisper it under her breath.
“My apologies, my lady, for my tardiness.”
Though Hero didn’t think the man looked at all apologetic, she was too anxious to have him gone to make a fuss over the matter. She bid her father a goodnight with a kiss and waited until the door closed behind them before turning back to Ian, clasping her hands tightly in front of her.
“Anxious, are we?”
He ambled toward her with his hands hanging loosely in his pockets. In the dim light cast by the gas sconces, he looked so incredibly handsome she could hardly respond. He’d loosened his cravat at some point and run a hand through his hair, giving him a relaxed, rumpled look she adored. Anxious? She wanted to be the one to run her fingers through that dark hair and stare up into those warm cocoa eyes.
“Not at all,” she responded primly, and he grinned wolfishly at her.
