Chapter 10
Was he playing music every night to drive her mad? It certainly felt that way. Oh, she was going to go positively batty if she had to listen to him play next to her room.
She wanted to know who was responsible for this. She had a very strong feeling it was the dowager duchess who had arranged this particular sleeping quarter, because it was quite scandalous, and it struck her that only she could have arranged it.
Though she wouldn’t have been surprised if Duchess Mercy or even Lady Perdita were responsible.
The ladies of the family were quite odd.
Her mother had done everything that she could to make certain that her daughter was on the straight and narrow always.
The ladies of the Briarwood clan seemed to happily shove their children off the straight and narrow, hoping that they would have great experiences instead.
Well, she eventually had to go home to her mother, so she could not go charging off the straight and narrow as she was being tempted to do.
She never had. Not once.
Even though there had been a few times when she had been quite tempted to kiss the stable boy or the blacksmith’s son, she had not done such things.
She had not dared to risk the catastrophic consequences of making merry and hoping she could get away with it, because the truth was, with her mother, she could get away with nothing.
She was absolutely convinced of the fact.
But lying here now for several nights, she was beginning to fear that she was going to miss the opportunity to know and appreciate someone like Laertes.
And beyond that, oh, how his piano playing called to her! And so, despite the strong warnings rattling inside her, she got up, crossed to the door, grabbed the handle, and without even knocking, for she feared she’d turn back if she did, thrust the door open.
Without another thought, she strode into his room. “I say, can you stop that?” she said.
His fingers paused over the keys.
“What?” he asked, looking ridiculously handsome in his linen shirt that was open at the throat, with his dark hair tumbling about his chiseled features.
“I can’t sleep.”
His lips curved in a smile. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t mean to keep you up.”
“Well, you are,” she said, folding her arms under her breasts, which she then realized were only covered by a thin night rail!
His eyes roved to those breasts, taking them in, and his pupils darkened.
“Who has a piano in their room anyway?” she asked, voicing a thought she’d had her first morning here.
“I think,” he said gently, even as his eyes smoldered over her body, “my parents are hoping I’ll run off to Europe and become a professional musician.”
She let out a strangled laugh. “A what?”
He leaned back and drove a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his temple.
“You heard me. A professional musician. I think they’re hoping that I’ll be like Beethoven or several of the other younger fellows who are growing in accomplishment on continental Europe and who give performances.
It’s the secret fantasy of half the Briarwoods, to be performers, but none of us actually want it.
Grandmama was the real actor, and my aunt Juliet, of course.
Most of us are quite content to just be very good artists and share that with friends and the people we love. ”
The people we love.
Why did she feel like she was included in that number? She did not want to be included in that number, did she? Oh God, part of her did. Part of her wanted to be included very badly.
“Don’t you think you could refrain from playing at night. You could just play in the mornings.”
“It’s not that late,” he said.
She scowled at him.
“All right,” he said. “I shall cease playing in this room after nine in the evening. How is that?”
She swallowed. “It will do.”
“Good.” He sighed. “I suppose I need to rest. Usually we’re up much later, reveling away,” he said.
“I think exhaustion might be setting in,” he teased.
“After all, we can only have so many antics without needing naps. And as far as I have always known, the Briarwoods don’t really like to nap.
They’re all afraid they’re going to miss something. ”
She laughed, even as she stood there in his chamber, both of them in a state of undress, without anyone watching.
There had been no ball this evening, almost as if the dowager duchess had been most insistent that one night be dedicated to each other in their chambers or asleep.
It made things very difficult for those who had to go alone to their chambers.
Books were encouraged, and apparently music too. She had tried reading. She loved reading. But how was one supposed to focus on a book when Laertes was next door, communing with heaven through his music?
She let out a long sigh. “Thank you.” And then she began to turn on her heel.
“Wait,” he called.
Her heart began to slam in her ribs.
Was this why she’d actually come in? Because she’d wanted him to tell her to stay? Quite possibly, if she was honest. But she did not retreat, nor did she let herself think too hard, lest she retreat.
“You look cold,” he observed, his voice a low rumble.
“I am a bit,” she answered truthfully.
It was cold in her chamber, even with the fire crackling and her hot brick at the bottom of her bed. But weren’t all English people supposed to be made of strong stuff and be impervious to cold?
“Let me warm you,” he said.
Her breath caught in her throat. It was exactly what she wanted. What she should run from. But she wasn’t going to run.
Despite her desire, she whispered, “I think that’s a terrible idea.”
“I think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had,” he returned.
She couldn’t help herself. She smirked. “That’s because you’re a man.”
“Don’t ladies like to feel warm?” he teased.
“Of course they do,” she said. “But what you are suggesting is scandalous.”
“I promise I will not do anything that you don’t wish me to do.”
“That’s still scandalous,” she replied.
“Ah,” he said, his voice deepening and his eyes darkening with desire. “So, you are admitting you wish me to do scandalous things?”
She let out a sigh. “Oh, Laertes,” she said. “I do. From the moment I saw you, I have wanted you to do scandalous things. Your kisses are sublime, your touch superb, your soul…”
“What about my soul?” he asked carefully.
She hesitated but then decided only the truth would do. “It does something to mine.”
“Then stop resisting,” he growled. “You will adore this.”
“I’m not supposed to adore things,” she protested.
“I understand,” he sighed softly. “If that’s the case, then you should go. I won’t have you regretting me or recriminating yourself. I couldn’t bear it if you recriminated yourself. You already recriminate yourself enough.”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do,” he countered. “I see it all the time. You’re criticizing yourself in your head most of the day, wishing you’d done things slightly better or made someone smile at you a bit more, impressed Grandmama just a touch more with your singing, your playing, your turn of phrase.
You’re already stellar at everything you do, Seraphine,” he added, as he stood slowly and stepped away from the pianoforte. “You don’t need to impress anyone.”
“Yes, I do,” she said tightly, even as his words swept over her and offered her so much. Offered her a life free of self-doubt.
And her throat closed as tears stung her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why?” she asked. “You haven’t done anything.”
“Yes, I have.” He took a step towards her, the air crackling about him with his strength, with his understanding, with his soul that seemed to see through her every defense.
The tears stinging her eyes began to increase. “Please don’t,” she said.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t be kind.”
“I don’t know how to be anything but kind.”
“Oh, I’ve seen you be less than kind with Oliver. You tease him mercilessly.”
“Oh, that is kindness between two men,” he assured. “We love to give each other hell, you know? It means we love each other.”
“Give me hell then,” she said, lifting her gaze to his, hardly daring to believe she was saying it. “I’d rather that than whatever you’re about to do.”
“You want me to give you hell?” He hesitated before he closed the gap between them, towering over her. “You understand that means that I’m showing love?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “I shouldn’t want it,” she said, “but I do. You make me want things that I can’t have, that I shouldn’t have.”
“There’s that belief again,” he said, taking her hand in his.
How she loved the strength and power of his hand around hers. Somehow, he made her feel safe, like he could lead her out of any maze. Any distress.
“You can have whatever you want,” he murmured as he leaned his head down towards hers and pressed his forehead against her own. “You don’t have to say no. You can just say yes. Say yes to all of it. Say yes to me. Say yes to this,” he said, gesturing to the room.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Because it is,” he replied gently. “It’s only our minds that make it hard.
They tell us the most terrible lies. I learned that a long time ago, but only because of the family I have.
I feel for the poor sods who travel this world not knowing that it’s all a load of silly lies that keep us trapped in prisons. ”
“Prisons?” she said.
“Oh, yes. People live in prisons their whole lives. They don’t need to get taken by the constable.
They don’t need to stand before a judge.
They arrest themselves, they judge themselves, and then they keep themselves in chains.
But not the Briarwoods. Not myself. But you, my darling, glorious girl, you are fettered and I would see you freed from your beliefs. No one else is keeping you captive.”
Her mouth tightened. “That’s not true. My mother—”