He played some of the melody from another lively Christmas carol. She joined him in adding to the song. At the song’s finish, they absorbed the silent peace that always followed music.
His touch had affected her before, almost beyond reason. But in that moment, without warning, the effect of his nearness was nearly too much to bear. His physical person tugged at her, like a magnet. To keep from leaning into him, she slid off her side of the bench. She retrieved the cloth she’d used earlier and wiped at the wooden cover.
“Originally this lovely instrument was called thegravicembalo col piano e forte.” She needed to fill the silence between them before she said something she oughtn’t. “It translates to ‘keyboard instrument that’s soft and loud.’ Which is far too wordy and so it was shortened to pianoforte.” She knew she was rambling. Likely she sounded like a stuffy governess––telling him something he already knew.
“Far too wordy.” He watched her with a strange look in his eyes.
“Of course, the harpsichord came first. But it could not be played loudly or softly. It only had one volume. The instrument’s limitations made it inferior to other instruments––music often expresses emotion through volume. In 1709, an Italian harpsichord maker named Bartolomeo di Francesco Cristofori created thegravicembalo col piano e forte. But you likely know that already…” Oh, lord, she’d practically been lecturing him.
“You’re the damndest servant I’ve ever met.” A half smile danced on his lips though.
“Your cravat’s becoming untied.”
A full smile now. “It’s been choking me all week.” He seemed far less brooding than he had when he initially entered the room.
“I’m sorry.” Charlotte wasn’t sure why she’d apologized. But yes, she was sorry that he had betrothed himself, sorry Miss Fairchild didn’t understand the man he was.
“Why are you here?” He surprised her with such a question.
“You mean, here, in the music room? Or here working for Viscount Denton?”
“Your father passed away. Haven’t you any family who could take you in?”
Oh… “I have a brother who lives on the outskirts of Bath. But he already has too many mouths to feed. And it isn’t as though I’m not able bodied.” She hated that this gentleman would feel pity for her. “It isn’t as bad as it seems…” Only it was. She hated being a servant.
“Were you close to your father?”
Charlotte nodded. She pretended to have found a particular difficult smudge on the shining wood. Her father had been everything to her, even before Oliver had moved away. “His death came as a shock. Apoplexy. He’d always exhibited good health.”
“I think you’re likely to rub the shine right off of that.” Charlotte didn’t realize what he meant for a moment. Then she glanced up to see the teasing in his gaze. He had realized she was trying to avoid looking at him.
“I ought to see if Miss Fairchild has need of me.” But he’d turned so that he was straddling the bench now, and caught at her wrist, preventing her escape.
“Let me enjoy you for these few minutes.” He seemed far too serious. “Please,” he added.
Charlotte swallowed hard. She wanted the same, but she had far more to lose than he.
“Why?” Nothing about any of this made sense.Impossiblea voice inside her head urged. If only she could believe it. Perhaps if he admitted it to her once, admitted that he experienced this oddly intoxicating attraction as well, they could acknowledge it and put it behind them forever.
His thumb began moving back and forth over the pulse on her wrist. Her breathing hitched. “Why?” He echoed her question. “Because I’m inches from becoming officially betrothed to a lady I can barely stand to sit in the same room with for more than ten minutes. Because I’ve responsibilities I cannot ignore. But, most of all, because I can no longer ignore the spell you’ve cast upon me.” He remained sitting, but with her diminutive height, her eyes were nearly even with his. “Let me kiss you Charlotte.”
Her heart beat so quickly she half expected it to burst from her chest and charge out of the room. She went to answer him, but nothing emerged from her mouth.
“Would you like me to kiss you?”
She should lie. She should deny wanting anything of the sort.
“Yes,” she whispered. The one word was all he required.
A gentle tug from him and suddenly she was sitting on the bench again. This time she was between his legs, their faces only inches apart now. “But you shouldn’t,” she added.
“I’m well aware of that.”
And then his hand was at the back of her mob-capped head, pulling her even closer. Charlotte parted her lips and waited.
Oh, yes.
She tasted exactlyas he’d imagined she would. Honey. Sweet. Velvety. Warmth. Her lips opened without coaxing, mingling their breath.
