At last, Frederick hadhis arms about the harpist who had been haunting his dreams.
The problem was, he’d been so taken by holding her that half of the song was over before he realized he’d yet to utter a word. At the headquarters of the Grand Bucks, Frederick Clare, Duke of FitzOsbern, was the confident and liberated High Buckthorn. In the ballrooms of theton, his status and noble bearing masked a deep discomfort with social niceties.
No, that was putting it mildly. He was a conversational disaster.
“Weather,” he said.
Her eyebrows arched questioningly. Oh, they were lovely winged little things, and he risked wasting the rest of the song if he kept admiring them.
“The weather is…”
“It is, Your Grace,” she agreed, modestly looking down. Did she like his tie pin? He made a note of her interest.
“Do you…play instruments, Miss Vyler?”
Her eyes flew to his as if she, too, had secrets. He supposed she must if she performed at the Forest. Was he wrong to have asked her?
“I enjoy playing many instruments, Your Grace.”
They turned about the ballroom, the skirts of her gown brushing against his legs most pleasurably.
“Do you enjoy any of them more than the others?”
“I’d have to think about that,” she said, her voice trailing off. At least she’d dropped his title. He held her a little closer.
“I have a harp,” he said abruptly. Would she be suspicious of his bringing it up?
“How lovely,” she said noncommittally.
“One for every estate. I have”—he counted and realized that the silence was intolerable—“many.”
They twirled around a couple that seemed to be well on their way to falling in love. Inconsiderate of them to stop in the middle of the dance floor!
“Do you play?” she asked, clearly unnerved by the lull in conversation.
“I do not,” he said. “I spend most of my time managing my affairs.”
She nodded pleasantly, and he perceived she might take “affairs” to mean something quite different from what he intended.
“My estate affairs, that is. I engage in business.”
“You might find that playing offers a reprieve from the burden of estate management,” she said, her lips curving into a smile. They were pretty lips, the bottom fuller than the top with a little dip in the middle to give her a most charming pout. “Perhaps you might learn.”
“Learn the harp?” he asked, taken aback by the idea. He wasn’t a lithe goddess with gifted fingers; why would he need to play? That would be her role.
“Yes, you might find it quite pleasurable.”
He had to calm himself; her mention of pleasure had him randy as a buck in spring. Which was quite poetic since the first time he’d seen her, he’d been wearing a stag mask with his cock out ashe admired the harpist who had been haunting his dreams with her melodies.
Against his better judgment, Frederick pulled her closer.
“How long are you in London?” he asked, peering down at her flushed cheeks.
“Just a few more days,” she said. “Unless…”
He waited expectantly.
“Unless I am to be married,” she said, not sounding even the slightest bit happy at the idea.
