“I will not bite, little bird,” he murmured, voice just audible above the melody.
My shoulders stiffened while I tangled my fingers together. Yet I could not look away as his hands skated across the keys. Wide, capable hands that could create such heartbreaking beauty. At his words, however, a small part of me wanted to laugh.
Lord Azad slid a little farther down the bench, an obvious invitation if I wanted it, though he did not look up from the keys. I could bid him a good evening and slip into the crowd—another week was not so long to wait to play. But my feet moved of their own volition and I found myself tucking myskirts around me as I sat. His long thigh pressed against mine, the faded silk of my gray dress a contrast to his black trousers.
“I did not know you played,” I said.
He tilted his head in my direction. “Why would you?”
A smile twisted my lips. “Lord Montag has been singing your praises for weeks.”
“Ah,” he answered, the melody darkening. “Well, I am not surprised Lord Montag does not know. It is not befitting of a vampire of my station, and thus most tend to say I have an appreciation of the arts, rather than admit I play.”
A vampire of his station.Lord Azad was one of the oldest of his kind and it was no secret immortals of a certain age prided themselves on their lack of humanity. Playing an instrument would be to shine a light on just how different he was. But the fact he would be forced to hide this part of himself made my throat ache.
“It is their loss,” I breathed. His shoulder brushed mine, the sleeve of his fine jacket slipping across my folded hands as he reached across me. I shivered despite myself. His scent was heady, a mix of earth and spice I could not place. “You play beautifully.”
“Thank you, Mademoiselle.”
“Better than I ever could,” I continued thoughtlessly.
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest and the warmth in my belly grew hotter. “I have had thousands of years to practice.”
“The pianoforte is only a century or so old.”
Lord Azad’s eyes slid to mine and he winked playfully before he returned to the keys, the song fading out into a melancholy ending. “I suppose you’re right.”
His hair was tied back as males usually wore it and I found I missed his wild waves. The sharp planes of his cheekbones were flushed and I wondered if he had fedhimself from synthetic stores or if he’d patronized a giver tonight. The heat in my belly turned cold and I fought the lump in my throat.
“Will you play me something?” he asked as his hands slipped from the keys and he twisted his shoulders in my direction.
Beneath the full weight of his stare, I found it easier to trace the dark wood edge of the instrument. “I am sure you are busy, Lord Azad. I would not want to keep you.”
From the corner of my eye, I caught his brows furrowing. “There is nowhere else I would rather be.”
The honesty of the statement baffled me and the tightness in my throat increased tenfold. My throat clicked with a swallow while I nodded, stiffly placing my sweating palms on the keys. I chose a simple piece, one I’d learned as a young girl of twelve, though my music tutor had said those in their thirties struggled to play this particular arrangement.
Now, twenty years later, the music came to me as easy as breathing. It was a story of longing, one written for the composer’s late wife. Once it had been a piece I played when I wished for freedom from my family, now I was afraid it was a longing for something else entirely.
But with Lord Azad’s attention on me, my finger slipped to the wrong note and a blush seared across my face. “I’m sorry.”
His shoulder touched mine again. “Whatever for?”
“You make me nervous,” I admitted.
A lock of hair slipped from his ribbon as he nodded. “Then should it not be me who apologizes?”
I rolled my lips together, the melody smoother now. “Perhaps it would be better for us to do away with them altogether, my lord. I seem to recall our last conversation was riddled with them.”
He laughed and the sound reminded me of slipping into awarm bath. I never wanted this moment to end, especially when his knee nudged mine. “Perhaps that would be best.”
We sat in companionable silence for a time. Though I’d studied his hands as he had played, his citrine gaze bounced from my fingers to my wrists, to my face and everywhere in between. A buzz slid across my skin, the kind of tingle I felt when I drank a little too much wine.
His words were no more than a breath and I wondered if he’d meant for me to hear them. “You are extraordinary.”
I wanted to scoff and demur, but I could not find it in me. Instead, I allowed the music to find its end and drew my fingers from the keys and onto my lap, peeking at him from beneath my lashes. His attention fixed on my face and there was so much emotion I struggled to understand. Blood tears stood in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over, before he wiped a hand across them and laughed. “You have a gift, Mademoiselle.”
“Hardly,” I managed, ducking my head and slipping from the bench.
