“You say elegant, I say boring. I need to modulate to another key. Something like this.”
He played a few notes for her, and she nodded slowly.
“That is more interesting,” she admitted.
He experimented further, transitioning from C minor to E-flat major and reworking the progressions. He made notations, working so quickly that he smeared the ink.
“All right, I think this is better,” he said. “Let’s try it this way.”
She gave him a demure look. “That is what you said last night.”
The memory burst into his head: of her sitting in his lap and squirming against his cock, rubbing her wet pussy against him until they both exploded. The saucy wench had thought they were done, but he proved her wrong by eating her on his chesterfield, feasting on her until she sang her release again. He’d reached his second finale by pumping his cock, spraying his seed over her breasts while she watched with worshipful eyes.
“Minx,” he growled. “How am I supposed to finish this sonata with you distracting me and making me hard?”
“All right,” she said with a laugh. “No more flirting. Let’s give it another go.”
He wanted to giveheranother go, but he also wanted to keep working on the piece. With Xenia beside him, composing music—and life in general—felt less daunting and more fun. She was supportive yet honest, and while she didn’t have much in the way of formal training, her innate musicality allowed her to give useful feedback. She was everything he hadn’t known he needed… and he found her utterly irresistible. Cupping her jaw, he pulled her in for a quick kiss. Somehow their tongues got in the way, and when they broke apart, they were both panting.
“Now who is being distracting?” she asked breathlessly.
Seeing the smudge on her cheek, he smiled and reached for his handkerchief. “Hold still,” he murmured. “I’ve left ink on you.”
As he wiped off his fingerprint, she gazed at him with a tenderness that constricted his chest.
“Ethan, are you in here?” Gigi called.
His sister burst into his inner sanctum. Her dark ringlets swung as she gazed first at Xenia, who’d jumped up like a thief caught red-handed, then to Ethan, who rose at a less incriminating pace.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Gigi asked.
“No,” Xenia said.
“Yes,” Ethan said at the same time.
Gigi was obviously trying not to laugh. “No, yes…which is it?”
“I was working on a composition and wanted to hear it played,” Ethan said with as much dignity as he could muster. “Mrs. Wood was helping me.”
“But we’re, um, finished, my lady,” Xenia blurted. “And I must get back to my duties. If you’ll both excuse me.”
She fled the room, leaving him with his sister.
“You’re composing?” Gigi’s eyes shone. “Ethan, that’s wonderful news!”
“Don’t get too excited,” he muttered. “I haven’t made it past the exposition. Now, was there something you wanted?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Let’s talk over tea.”
They went to sit in his study. One of the giggly maids—Millie, Molly, or Mary…he couldn’t for the life of him distinguish between them—brought in a tea tray before he rang for one. His chest warmed at Xenia’s thoughtfulness, at the grace notes of her presence in his life.
“These scones are divine.” Seated in a wingchair, Gigi dabbed a buttery morsel with clotted cream and jam. “If this were London, someone would have lured your cook away in an instant.”
He couldn’t deny that Mrs. Johnson was a find. The fare she produced could compete with the best in London, and it was a miracle that Xenia had found her in Chuddums. Then again, his minx had a way of performing miracles.
“Mrs. Wood found her,” he said.
“What would you do without Mrs. Wood?” Gigi said airily.
