Chapter 28
DRASKO
It was late afternoon, and Drasko was so preoccupied with his office at home that when he finally walked out into the hallway, he was surprised to hear the piano from the music room.
The music ceased abruptly.
“What is the matter, dear?” A man’s voice in the music room echoed into the hall. “You sound like a debutante performing at a ball with her secret admirer in the crowd knocking the courage out of her.”
The voice was young and pretentious, or perhaps Drasko was already prejudiced against the man who had spent years by Grace’s side.
Drasko did not like men around Grace. Especially when they were allowed in the music room where she played, and played so brilliantly, while he wasn’t welcome.
The rhythmic sound of the metronome was unusual, too, for Grace had never used it before.
Today was the first time Grace had invited her instructor to the house. Sneaky , Drasko thought, for he had told her he would be away for business all day.
Well, he’d lied.
He stood in the hallway for a minute before finally making up his mind and opening the door to the music room.
Julien d’Auvergne was a slender man in his thirties, just a bit older than Drasko.
A dandy, he was dressed in creased dark trousers and pristinely tailored waistcoats over a starched yellow shirt with a brown silk puff necktie.
His straw-colored hair was a curly whirlwind cascading onto his shoulders.
The man half-sat on the puffed sofa, his legs elegantly crossed. His blue eyes brightly widened at the sight of Drasko. He pushed off the sofa and rushed toward him with fierce determination.
“Mr. Mawr!” he exclaimed, taking Drasko’s hand with both of his and shaking it enthusiastically.
Grace jumped up from her seat. “Julien, this is my husband.”
“Mr. d’Auvergne.” Drasko nodded to the man who studied him with admiration.
“Julien,” the man said, not letting go of Drasko’s hand. “Julien is quite fine. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mawr.”
“Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all, not at all. It is wonderful that you are here!”
Indeed.
That was Drasko’s precise intention. If his wife would not perform for him, her instructor, no doubt, would make her.
Drasko settled on the sofa facing the grand piano. He crossed one leg over the other and spread his arms on the back of the sofa.
Glancing at him in unease, Grace lowered herself back onto the piano bench.
They had agreed that she had her freedom as to what friendships to keep. Yet, she shrank into herself every time one of her friends was around.
It puzzled Drasko.
Julien stopped the metronome and leisurely took a seat on the sofa next to him.
“Mr. Mawr,” Julien drawled, his blue eyes on Drasko, “I hope you do not mind Gracie playing at night. You see, the Sommervilles were strict about it, to say the least. But she loves practicing at strange hours of the day and night.”
There it was again— Gracie . Who were these people calling her so endearingly? And the mention of the bloody Sommervilles in yet another uncomfortable context wasn’t to Drasko’s liking either.
“ Gracie ”—Drasko smiled at the name—“can play any time she wants. I want her to play.”
“Wonderful! Mr. Mawr, you have a heart of gold. You see, the Sommervilles were so strict that Gracie used to sneak out of the house so she could join me?—”
“Julien!” Grace snapped, panic sweeping across her face.
“Pardon me.” Julien shrugged.
Drasko glanced at his wife. “Julien, please, continue. I am intrigued as to where my wife used to sneak to at night.”
Julien gracefully flicked his wrist. “Oh, it is not like that, Mr.—”
“Mr. Mawr,” Grace interrupted too swiftly, her panicked stare on Julien, “is not interested in what my life was like before.”
“Mr. Mawr,” Drasko cut in, “is very interested.”
Julien cocked his head at her. “Your husband might be entertained.”
“My husband”—she flinched—“doesn’t need to know.”
“Is that so?” Drasko let a smile out to play. He liked my husband on her lips.
He turned his attention to Julien, running right into his admiring gaze. How peculiar. Drasko knew that sort of stare, usually from women.
“Unfortunately, Julien, my wife will not play for me,” Drasko said with intentional sadness.
“We shall change that! Right away!” Julien exclaimed enthusiastically, then added in a lower voice, “Though she is not herself today. By the way, the grand piano is outstanding, Mr. Mawr. What an exquisite wedding present!”
Wedding present? Drasko bit back a laugh.
Julien motioned to Grace. “Gracie, dear, would you play us something from your old repertoire? Albéniz, perhaps? Mr. Mawr, do you like his work?”
“I love his work.”
Drasko flashed a daring grin at Grace. “Marcha Militar” by Albéniz was the piece she played that night, years ago, when they were first introduced at Canterbury Music Hall. The night she so rudely dismissed him. Something she probably didn’t remember and he would never forget.
“Gracie, please!” Julien theatrically waved his hand in the air. “Indulge us!”
And what do you know? Grace took a deep inhale and obeyed.
Drasko studied his wife, her back perfectly straight, determination on her face as she started playing “Spring” by Vivaldi.
Pompous chords thumped through the room. The dry staccato lifted the corner of his mouth in a smile. Stac-cato —he had learned that word that was more appropriate for a gun name. Or her attitude when they married. In spring .
But then the softer higher-pitched trills came in, playful and sensual. Could that be the indication of how she felt these days?
He could have listened for an eternity if Julien hadn’t motioned to the ceiling frescos.
“I do love those, by the way,” he whispered.
Drasko knew exactly which ones.
“The explicit imagery—truly fantastic.” Julien’s eyes returned to Drasko’s. “The East is so much more romantic and sensual than the rigid West, wouldn’t you say?”
“Agreed.” Drasko motioned upward. “I hope it creates an inspiring ambiance for my wife.”
Julien broke out in laughter.
Grace faltered, eliciting a momentary surprised frown from Julien. But then Julien asked Drasko about India, and Drasko talked, intentionally quietly, so he could hear the music.
Soon, Grace seemed at ease, for the first time playing for him, perhaps, getting used to his voice.
If he had to entertain the instructor to hear his wife play, he would talk until the next century.
He would sit in this room until dawn, as long as he could watch the elegant dance of her fingers over the keys, effortless and sensual.
The pinkish-gold glow of the piano in the soft lamplight was magical.
Everything about her was when she did what she loved.
Grace finished the music piece and smiled at Julien’s compliments, her cheeks flushed as her gaze met Drasko’s.
He ordered brandy. At Grace’s permission, cigarettes were lit. The playful tunes of Mozart’s sonata followed as Grace resumed playing.
Time slowed. Drasko lost track of it, didn’t care, wished the night would last forever, just the three of them.
It might take a long time, or never—he tucked the hurtful thought away—for her to want to be alone with him.
So, he would bring her friends around, he decided, make more friends, and give her something that the Sommervilles, he realized, had never given her—the feeling of being cared for.
And he wanted more of her music, that enchanting torrent of sounds, sweet sounds and those that tasted bitter, seductive ones and those that cut deep into his soul.
She was music. It was in the imagined taste of her.
In her shy smiles and endearing little frowns, depending on what she played.
As well as the elegant swaying of her body like that of a flower in the wind.
“Tell me about her practice routine,” Drasko inquired softly and let Julien talk just so that he could lose himself in her music.
It grew dark outside as they found themselves deep in a conversation interrupted by Grace, who stopped playing. “It’s dinner time.”
“Will you stay for dinner, Julien?” Drasko suggested and caught Grace’s hopeful gaze at the instructor.
“Oh, that would be a pleasure!” Julien exclaimed.
The pleasure was all Drasko’s.
He found it endearing how her resentment changed into eagerness she couldn’t hide, the glow on her face and frequent smiles when she heard Julien and him joke.
What had the Sommervilles done to make her so desperate for friends yet so afraid to bring them around?
Julien told stories about the musical world. Drasko shared his. After dinner, they moved back to the music room, late into the evening but all of them eager to spend more time together.
Grace was at the piano again, brandy coloring her cheeks, her eyes sparkly. Drasko caught her glances at him from beneath her lashes, her pursed lips that tried to hide a smile, all those little bits and pieces of her that were making their way deeper into his soul.
He couldn’t look away from his wife. Her music and voice were a warm fantasy, for as soon as she stopped playing, the dirty world pulsated back, reminding him of his past and his losses and more to come.
A sudden crash on the upper floor made Grace still in the middle of the music piece.
Drasko cocked his ears, listening to more sounds.
The doors flew open, and Tripp and Nina stormed into the room.
“Sir, we have a situation upstairs,” Tripp announced, a gun in his hands. “A break-in. There are men in the house. They ran into one of the maids. Two of ours ran upstairs. There might be more intruders.”
A gunshot echoed from upstairs.
Both Julien and Grace jumped up from their seats.
Drasko rose abruptly and stomped toward the sideboard, nodding to Tripp and Nina. “You are staying here and guarding the doors.”
He reached behind the sideboard and pulled out a loaded revolver. There were many of them hidden throughout the house. There were plenty of thugs who thought that the house held treasures that would make them rich.
Never had they made it inside the house before.
Until now.
They will bleed .
Drasko checked the bullets, then met Grace’s worried gaze.
“Drasko?” she called out to him in a shaky voice, and her eyes dropped to his cocked gun.
Was that worry on her face? How sweet…
“It will be all right,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Play, darling. Play something fierce.”
He winked at her and stomped out the door.