He turned me toward Mark, and then took Lydia for another spin about the ballroom. What could I do so that the duke and I were both victorious?
* * *
Mark came to me, directly from leaving the furious-looking man, the one I saw earlier sputtering. My music teacher, with garnet-colored cheeks and endearing dimples, bowed to me, then took my hand, kissing it gently before releasing it.
“Miss Wilcox,” he said in a very formal, commanding tone, “good evening. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stay, so I’d like to begin your exhibition of Pleyel. Are you ready to perform?”
Leave? Now?
We hadn’t even danced.
He breathed hard. It wasn’t passion. It was naked fury. “Prahmn is here.”
The tension in his shoulders, the strain in his neck muscles above his fluffy starched cravat told me of his rage. Mark looked like my father on one of those bad coal days. Mama had us leave Papa alone, where he’d sit in her parlor and she’d play the pianoforte or quote him Psalms until he calmed.
Taking Mark’s arm, I swayed him from heading deeper into the ballroom. Off to the side, under a sconce, I saw flames in his eyes.
“Ignore the noise, my lord. You know your worth and what’s right. Nothing anyone says can change that.”
“This said by the woman who refuses to marry me.”
My gaze locked with his. “You know it’s not that simple.”
“It’s ayes, I can’t live without youorno, I can. No is very simple, Georgie.”
If I knew how much I loved him and how much he needed me, I’d run, fancy gold slippers and all. “After the ball, we shall speak about everything.”
Mark peered around my shoulder. “The woman’s with him too. How disrespectful. His hypocrisy is astounding.”
“Please calm down and make sense.”
He bit his lip, and I could see fire and steam coming out my love’s nostrils. “The Marquess of Prahmn told me how disappointed he was in me. I told him how disappointed I was in him. The exchange was unpleasant.”
Mark closed his eyes for a moment. “Georgie, I ask you again to marry me, and I promise that you’ll not regret a day of our union. I’ll do anything to prove myself worthy. I seek your trust. I will build with you a future if you will accept me.”
The wordyeslifted from my tongue. But flames radiating in his father’s red face, the scorn coming from his companion’s painted countenance as they neared, chilled my spirit.
“I think we should discuss this tomorrow, away from the ball and prying eyes. They are behind us.”
“Forget them. Georgie, let it be you and me against the world.”
“Tomorrow, sir. There are too many people. The newspapers too. We should be alone and you can take your time convincing me.”
His lips formed a tight line. Then he nodded. “Yes, I see you haven’t had a chance to weigh all of your options. You don’t need to tell me again that you want a man with an established profession—”
“You will be established. Your sonata is wonderful.”
“Yes, my newly finished, non-award-winning piece that will be submitted to the Harlbert’s Prize is wondrous.”
He didn’t believe in himself, not anymore. Prahmn had done that.
Then I saw my reflection on the silver finish of the sconce. I was guilty. I’d taken his confidence too.
He mopped at his brow. “Forgive me. I’m tired. I’ve lost everything tonight. Perhaps it was overdue.” He sighed, letting out more heated breath. “Let’s get your performance done. We’ll stand before the crowd and finally kill the rumors that there was nothing between us other than a music teacher and his student or the fleeting respectability of true love.”
He held out his hand, and I took it. I wanted to slow him, to give him more encouragement, but he’d already led us through the wild crowd and around the fire-breathing acrobats.
At the pianoforte, Mark adjusted his tailcoat and sat at the grand instrument. He began to dazzle the room with a wondrous introduction to Pleyel’s hymn.
