His brows lowered. “You didn’t come.”
She ought to have asked Herman to take Peter’s coat, scarf, and the hat he held in his hand. But she shouldn’t invite his company any longer than necessary even though she craved it. She wanted to bury her face in his chest. And then tilt back her head so he could claim her lips with his.
She had so much she wanted to share with him.
But it was impossible.
Rather than sit where she indicated, he crossed the room and lowered himself beside her. Not quite touching but close enough that she felt both the cold from his coat and the intensity of his emotions.
“I understand you were quite the success in Brighton.” She would pretend there was no greater significance to his visit. She would pretend her heart wasn’t breaking.
She was allowing him the opportunity to explain that he would be touring throughout the year. She was allowing him a graceful retreat from the brash declaration he’d made to her last spring.
He waved a hand through the air and shrugged. “It was satisfying, but I’m glad it’s over.”
“But Sir Bickford-Crowden selected you.” He ought to be excited. “It is only the beginning.”
“How did you know—?” He tilted his head and then understanding dawned. “My mother.”
“Lady Tabetha.” She dropped her gaze to her hands. “Congratulations. It’s a tremendous honor.”
He had turned to face her, his knees touching hers. If she could only reach out and take his hand, feel that connection if only for a second…
It would never be enough.
“It is a great honor, indeed.” His voice rumbled beside her. “Or it would have been, rather… but I declined.”
Miranda blinked away the inconvenient stinging in her eyes. “How exciting it must be—you what?” She jerked her chin up. Did he just say he had…declined?
“It wasn’t what I wanted.” He gave her a sad smile. “After spending half a year doing nothing but practicing, playing, and composing, as well as a string of ridiculous exercises in order to prove myself, I realized it wasn’t what I wanted. I love my music. I will always love making music. But it isn’t the only thing I want in life.” Peter scrubbed a hand down his face, and she couldn’t help but hold his gaze. “Never have I met a more miserable person than Sir William Bickford-Crowden. Personally, I want more.”
More?
Miranda’s mouth fell open, her heart suddenly racing. “What more do you want?” Because she was not imagining that determined look on his face.
He’d come here tonight with purpose.
“I want you.” His throat moved, and he lifted his chin. “I wantus.”
Her mouth suddenly dry, Miranda’s insides shook. “But—"
“I like playing music for myself, for my mother’s friends occasionally.” Was he saying what she thought he was saying? “I loved playing for you. I don’t need an international audience. I don’t require the accolades. Our time together was short, Miranda, but it was long enough for me to know you are the other half of my soul. Long enough for me to know I want the two of us to be together forever.”
“So you still love me??” The question flew out of her mouth before she could think twice about asking. “You still want me?”
“I have wanted you since the moment I met you. Back then, I was scared to death to approach you. Perhaps I realized that if I failed, I would be conceding the love of my life.”
“Love of your life?” she parroted. She inhaled and felt her heart expanding as the meaning of his words washed over her.
“Tell me you still have feelings for me.” He reached out and grasped his hands in hers.
“Of course, I do.” He was not going to travel with Sir Bickford-Crowden? “You do not want to go on tour? You are not disappointed that you will not be playing for audiences in Paris? In Rome?” It was imperative she understood him correctly.
“Not at all,” he answered with conviction. He hadn’t so much as hesitated.
“Would you want to have a family?” she asked tentatively.
“Not if it meant I couldn’t have you.” His gaze was somber. Ah, yes. She had told him she was barren.
