“… no doubt she played beautifully,” the deep voice was saying from somewhere in the crowd. “But it was a little stale for my taste.”
“Stale how?” someone questioned.
“Her hands struck the keys, but her heart was noticeably absent,” the deep voice confirmed. “Music does not come from the head but from the heart, and until she learns to use it, I doubt she will ever be more than passable.”
Sophia’s eyes widened and what felt suspiciously like anger flooded through her. No… not anger, because Sophia did not get angry. Perhaps frustration? A need to find who was sullying her abilities, while setting the record straight. Yes, that’s what it was.
She searched the crowd, eyes narrowed, until they landed on the man who had spoken. She knew it was him too, because he found her watching and rather than appearing embarrassed at being overheard, he beamed with triumph and amusement.
It is as if he is proud to have slandered my performance!
His name was Lord Gabriel St. Clair, the Duke of Rothbury, and Sophia should not have been surprised one bit by what she heard. She knew little of his reputation, enough to know that he was one to be avoided at all costs. A known rake, a scoundrel of the highest order, and a damn embarrassment to his title… or so her father said.
He was tall and well proportioned. His hair was dark and far too messy. His eyes were amber and somehow both cool and burning hot at the same time. A square jaw, a pronounced chin, a perfectly shaped nose, that he was handsome was obvious and not worth noting. Rather, it was how darn confident in himself he was which caused alarm, the type that mirrors seemed made for, as if they needed his presence about to make them feel useful.
Sophia’s stomach flipped when their eyes met. And her eyes widened in panic when he started toward her, gliding through the crowd as if he was able to float.
She took a calming breath. She centered herself. She remembered all the lessons her father and mother had taught her. And most of all, she did not focus on his looks! Doing such a thing would surely unsettle her more than words ever could.
“Good morning, Miss Sophia,” he greeted with an affable smile and a twinkle in his eyes. “A congratulations are in order, I believe. For that wonderful performance you have just now blessed us with.”
“I thank you, Your Grace,” she said politely. “But please, as any artist knows, criticism is an important part of improvement. Do not feel the need to coddle me.”
He grinned. “Ah, I take it you overheard my comments just now.”
“I did,” she said simply.
“And your thoughts?” He tilted his head as he studied her.
“I disagree with them, respectfully,” she said.
“So long as you are respectful about it,” he chuckled. “Pray do tell, what precisely do you disagree with? And please, honesty is encouraged.”
“I…” She considered what to say and how to say it. “I heard you refer to my rendition as stale.”
“I did.”
“I think you will agree that no one else would say as much. My performance was perfect, perhaps the best I have ever played.So, I cannot imagine how you could find such a thing stale. Perhaps it was the piece itself that failed to move you?”
He did not speak right away. Rather, he watched her in silence, a coy smirk on his plump lips, his amber eyes brimming with amusement that she did not fully understand. His entire presence unsettled her, and she sensed that even without him speaking, that she was being made fun of.
“On the contrary,” he spoke finally. “Would you believe that it is one of my favorite pieces? Why, there have been times where it has been known to move me to tears.”
“But not today?”
He shrugged. “Do not take offense, my lady, for I do not mean to give it. Better to be called stale and talented, than stale and lacking in talent.”
She frowned. “So, you think I am talented?”
“Unquestionably.”
“But you still did not like my performance?”
His coy smile grew, as did the twinkle in his eyes “How can I possibly, when I suspect that even you did not like it. Oh yes, you struck the key, you kept the melody, and you did exactly what was written on the page so that the average listener could enjoy themselves. But Miss Sophia…” He clicked his tongue. “Honestynow, please. Surely, you cannot claim that what you just played had any real…” He clicked his tongue again. “Heart.”
“Heart?” Sophia frowned. “I am afraid I do not understand.”
“Yes, you do,” he laughed. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
