Vincent thought playing might be different, but it wasn’t — as his fingers depressed the keys, the world around him shrank and dwindled until there was only the music. It had been that way since he was very young.
His parents had possessed an ancient pianoforte with the old style of black keys and white sharps. It was more for decoration than for playing, as neither his mother nor father were musically inclined.
Vividly, he still recalled the first time he’d knelt on the stool, which had nearly toppled over. Steadying himself, hours had passed while he explored each note. Something inside him already knew how to put them together.
Within a year, his parents had bought him his first modern piano from Broadwood & Sons with gleaming white keys and shiny black ebony sharps. He had watched with fascination as the tuner opened the case and made sure each key was true to tone. And then Vincent had spent every waking hour at the magical instrument. His mother’s calls to the dining table or even to bed had fallen on deaf ears.
With lessons while he attended Harrow, where he first met Ambrose Castern, he had begun to compose long pieces. Later at Trinity College before going to study with Liszt, he had relied on music to carry him through all his other studies, which he often found pointless and boring.
And then he had fallen in love.
He stopped playing suddenly, feeling breathless, recalling the desperation of his music being taken from him. That pain trumped the heartache over losing Lydia. When his gaze fell upon Brilliance once again, he drew in a long breath, and smelled her tantalizing fragrance.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No.” Vincent made sure he was sitting up straight, and he played another piece, one he hadn’t thought about for years.
To his delight, after a few stanzas, Brilliance sat on the edge of the bench beside him. When it was over, she clapped. He hadn’t heard anyone clap for his playing in a long time.
“It was beautiful,” she said. “Was that something new?”
“No. I have not composed much lately. It was an older piece, over a decade.”
She appeared shocked. “You wrote that music when you were a youth?”
“Sixteen,” he said. “Not so young.”
“Young for such depth of emotion.”
He shrugged. “When I was at Harrow, I wrote abarcarollefor orchestra. That was much more difficult. How did that go?” Hisfingers remembered more than he did and soon, the lively piece was coming back to him.
When he reached the end of the piano solo, he stopped.
This time, she didn’t clap. Instead after a long moment of silence, she said, “That was magical. How can you make a piano seem like a wistful lover? It was romantic and expressive. Actually, I don’t have the words to describe your music.” She touched her hand to his shoulder. “Why don’t you compose any longer?”
Vincent rose to his feet as if he was sitting on hot coals. “It’s not important. For the past few years, I thought I had said everything I needed to say through music.”
Standing, she eyed him carefully. “Then you have many more works to share?”
“I do. For years, the music flowed out of me like ...”
“Like a river?” she asked, moving closer.
“It was never that easy, but it was steady. Perhaps a constant trickle, more than a deluge. Themes, feelings, tempo, as soon as I had completed one piece, I was already composing the next.”
Unthinkingly, he reached out and let his hands span her waist before pulling her against him.
“It has been too long since I kissed you.”
He felt her laughter ripple through her body. They both knew it had only been a few hours. But as long as she was willing ...
His mouth claimed hers. Within seconds, their passion heated to boiling. With the tip of his tongue requesting and being granted entrance, he slid it between her lips, his heart beating hard in his chest. When her tongue tentatively stroked his, he groaned before sucking it gently.
This was definitely not what his cousin would approve of, but Alethia had to have expected it, nonetheless.
When they broke apart, breathing hard, she stared, wide-eyed. Then she put a hand to his cheek. “I believe you have much more music flowing in you.”
Vincent wanted to kiss her again,nottalk. He wanted to sink his fingers into her hair while he lowered his mouth to hers. But if he didn’t start talking, then they would soon be in a compromising situation that would remove any choices for both of them.
