Oswald cleared his throat as the attention of the two excluded him. Winston flung a hand to silence his friend, eyes never leaving Adeline. Before he could speak again, Cordelia swept into the hall like a storm in silks. Her sharp gaze took in the scene, the shirtless Winston, her son’s thunderous scowl, and Adeline’s steady defiance.
“Winston Burgess,” she said, her voice like the crack of a whip, “how dare you speak to my Lady-In-Waiting in that tone. Your voice carries far in this house, and your rudeness shouts itself from the rooftops.”
Adeline was breathing hard, as though to contain her emotions. She looked away from Winston, face bright. His mother’s intervention seemed to have damaged her resolve.
“If you will excuse me…” she said before gathering her skirts.
She strode, almost ran, to the door. Her back was straight, and her chin lifted. Winston’s jaw clenched, refusing to call her back.
“Go after her,” Cordelia commanded once Adeline was gone.
“No,” Winston bit out.
“Then I shall,” Oswald said cheerfully, wiping sweat from his brow as he sheathed his rapier. “She deserves an apology, and I am more than willing to provide it.”
“No.”
The word tore from Winston before he could stop it. Jealousy, sharp and unbidden, seared through him at the thought of Oswald seeking out Adeline. Jealousy was more powerful than pride. He tossed aside his rapier and strode from the room.
Adeline was lost. She had walked in no particular direction and had been swallowed by the rambling house. Luck more than intention brought her to a room she recognized. The music room. She went in. The room was empty, but the pianoforte called to her. Always, its keys, its delicate notes had soothed her.
Why do I let him get under my skin? Why can I not simply accept his beastly manner with a smile over gritted teeth? Like every other servant, I suspect.
She sat heavily, leaning her elbows on the covered keys and putting her head in her hands. Her shoulders felt heavy. Duty pulled at her. The need to flee, to be far from here, was almost overwhelming. At any moment, she expected a knock at the door. A cruel face. A triumphant smile.
What is it that keeps me here to be infuriated by that man? That beautiful man. That man who stood before me naked to the waist and was simply…perfect!
Her mouth was dry, her breathing coming in quick jerks. She closed her eyes to try and shut out the image of him, but it only leaped into sharper relief. To soothe herself, to drive the image from her mind, she opened the keys and began to play. It wastentative at first, but then with more fluidity. The melody that touched her heart. The tune that was the last connection she had to…
She looked up as Winston entered, holding his gaze without faltering. Her hands continued to move slowly as though daring him to stop her again.
“Why do you dislike this tune?” she asked softly.
He was still bare-chested, standing in the doorway as though transfixed by the music. He did not answer but only stared at her, eyes shadowed. She felt those eyes like a physical touch. It sent shivers down her back and heat rising from deep within her. She could not look at that magnificent physique and forget the passionate embrace that had pinned her against it.
Winston moved towards her instead, each step deliberate, like a soldier walking into fire. The melody did not falter, though Adeline’s fingers suddenly felt leaden. Her heart was like a hummingbird’s wings. It thrummed as he approached. When he spoke at last, his voice was clipped, controlled.
“I came to apologize. My behavior in the hall was…unacceptable.”
She tilted her head, studying him. Not angry, not even reproachful. Tired of the battle.
Let us be honest for just a moment. Let us be open.
“Very well. I accept.”
The ease of her concession seemed to unsettle him. He frowned.
“I expected a counterattack,” he said, reaching the piano and leaning against it, hands clasped in front of him.
“Why do men insist on metaphors about killing and war?” she asked.
“Because that is what life is,” Winston replied.
“Why?”
“Kill or be killed. Fight to defend yourself and those of your blood,” Winston said.
“I am no threat to you. Why fight me?”
