Hadhecomposed this piece?
The trace of his spicy musk tickled her senses. Her heart thumped as she imagined him composing alone in this secret chamber. Was there anything more swoon-worthy than an artist in the passionate throes of creation?
I wonder what his piece sounds like.
Temptation gripped her. There was no one home to hear her. Peering out into the empty study, she made her decision and quickly sat in front of the piano. Her knees quivered at the thought of playing music her master had composed, of touching keys he’d touched.
Do I dare?
She pressed a key. The tone was beautiful, hypnotically expressive. As she warmed up with a few scales, she marveled at the keyboard’s responsiveness, the way the keys seemed to flow beneath her fingers. When she was ready, she turned her attention to the score and played the opening notes.
With Brunswick off for the day, Ethan let himself and his brother in. He was glad that James had dragged him out of the house. Riding served to clear his head, and this hadn’t changed after his injury, although certain accommodations had had to be made. He’d learned to ride one-handed from a Spanish instructor, who taught a method that involved a rein placed around the horse’s neck. Ethan had trained his new Arabian, Legato, in this manner, and Legato gave him the smoothest ride of any horse he’d owned. The air and sunshine had dispersed Ethan’s ruminative thoughts, carrying them away like dandelion seeds on a breeze. He felt better than he had in days.
“The ride was a good idea,” he said gruffly.
James clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll do it again, old boy.”
“Are you staying for tea?”
“It depends. Are you making it?”
“That is what I have a housekeeper for.”
As Ethan said the words, he felt a sense of satisfaction. Even though he’d kept to himself this week, he was aware of the changes Mrs. Wood had made. His meals had improved, and his surroundings were noticeably cleaner. As he crossed the entrance hall, pink marble gleamed beneath his boots, and the chandelier cast a sparkling light. A vase bloomed with flowers, their fresh fragrance mingling pleasantly with that of wood polish.
When he first arrived, the only thing he’d wanted was to lick his wounds in private. Perhaps it was due to his improved sleep and eating habits, but after a few days of brooding, he’d concluded that things were not as dire as he supposed. Yes, he’d lost his true passion in life, and yes, he hadn’t a clue what to do with himself. Thanks to his investments and an inheritance from his grandmama, however, he had the means to do whatever he wished—including nothing at all. He’d performed out of desire rather than necessity, a privilege that made him luckier than most musicians.
Another blessing was this estate, which he’d purchased because he’d lost a wager, but which was revealing itself to be a diamond in the rough. Again, he gave credit to Mrs. Wood. He’d contemplated his attraction to her, too, and decided that desiring her wasn’t wrong if he didn’t act upon it. In fact, maybe Mrs. Wood was a test of his self-discipline. Maybe by resisting her he was proving that he was returning to his normal, civilized self…the man he’d been before his injury.
“Mrs. Wood is working out, I take?”
Normally, James’s smugness would have irked Ethan, but he supposed he owed his brother for dropping Mrs. Wood into his lap…
No, don’t go there.
So much for his improved self-control. An image from last night’s dream flashed in his brain: a female naked and on all fours, her pretty bottom jiggling as he swived her from behind. At first, he’d thought she was Sirena, but when she turned her head, her familiar brown eyes had captivated him with a mix of sweet innocence and heady feminine desire.
He’d spent in scorching bursts.
In the dream…and in reality.
By Jove, he was randy and in need of an outlet. His few encounters with Constance had never satisfied his carnal itch, and it had been ages since he’d indulged in his favorite kind of sexual play—the rough, raw, and real kind that would have caused his ex-fiancée to call for smelling salts. Was it any wonder that he was lusting after a young and attractive female in his proximity? The last thing he needed, however, was for his brother to glean on to his desire for his housekeeper.
He schooled his expression. “Mrs. Wood is proficient at her duties…”
He trailed off, his brow furrowing. He must be hearing things.
Silence. And then…
The familiar notes made his blood run cold. An instant later, fury rushed through him.
“She wouldn’t bloodydare,” he bit out.
“Dare what?” his brother called behind him.
But he was already stalking to his study.
The piece was exquisite. Entrancing. A work, in truth, of undeniable genius.
