Leading her to the divan, he tugged her hand until she sat beside him. “You’re correct. I do still have many melodies inside me.” Suddenly feeling exposed, even vulnerable, he added, “Very recently, I have begun to compose again.”
She smiled. “I am very glad.”
“I might as well,” he added. “The music plays regardless.”
Brilliance cocked her head in question.
Could he explain his busy mind?He could try. “Sometimes, I desperately need a little peace and quiet,” Vincent said. “Whether I am composing or not, there is constantly music playing.”
Brilliance looked around the otherwise silent room of his conservatory.
“It seems very peaceful,” she said, reaching out a delicate bare hand and laying it atop his where it rested on his knee. He felt her touch like a flame burning through him.
Yes, he had fallen hard for this woman. And he wanted her to understand him, as much as he wanted to learn every nuance of her nature.
With his free hand, he tapped the side of his skull. “I constantly hear music in here.”
Her curious expression was adorable. She leaned closer. “That makes me want to put my ear to yours.”
Her ear?“What do you mean?”
“So I can hear it, too,” Brilliance said without irony.
Vincent refused to laugh at her. She was so purely earnest and sweet. “I am explaining it poorly. The curse of having perfect pitch —”
“I confess I don’t know what that is.”
“Meaning, I inherently know how each note sounds. I can tune an instrument quite easily by matching the string to the sound I hear inside my head. Although I use a tuning fork to verify.”
She nodded. “The smallest fork at the place setting. Alas, I use it only for prawns and occasionally cockles.”
He stared, his mouth slightly open, until Brilliance grinned at him. “I know what a tuning fork is, my lord. Go on.”
Relief flooded him, and he felt ashamed. Would it really have mattered if she didn’t know what one was?
“Anyway, the fork has nothing to do with —” he began again.
“One could call it apitchfork!” she said and laughed heartily at her own joke. “Perfect pitch, tuning fork. Do you see?”
“Yes.” He had heard the play on words before but never from the lips of such a delightful lady. Vincent knew he had a foolish expression on his face.How could he live without this ray of pure sunshine in his life?“You are clever.”
She beamed at the compliment. “Please continue telling me about music. I won’t interrupt again.”
“I like it when you interrupt. Besides, all I am trying to explain is that I hear either my own music or great works I’ve studied playing in my head, even when I don’t want them to, even if I would rather be quiet. Upon going to sleep, for instance.”
“A nuisance, I imagine,” she agreed.
“In truth, the curse of perfect pitch is a gift,” he confessed, “and I would not trade it. I believe it explains how Beethoven could compose even after he went deaf. I merely would like to turn it off at my bidding.”
“Hm,” she murmured, cocking her head. “Are you hearing music now?”
Vincent had a stunning realization. “No, actually, I am not!”
Chapter Seventeen
Whenever he talked with Brilliance, nothing interrupted his focus upon her, and his senses were engaged, not divided. Extricating his hand from under hers, he captured her face between both of his palms. When her bonnet impeded his movements, he unfastened the bow at her chin and lifted it from her glorious dark hair, setting the hat on the table in front of them.
“You, my lady, have become the music in my head when you speak, your voice like lilting notes, offering respite from the symphonies always pounding in my brain.”
