Chapter 48 #2
Her dress would cause outrage for being too scandalous. But Grace looked like a goddess.
Poorly concealed gawking, envious stares, admiring leers from the elite—this was Grace’s revenge against the staples of high society.
Drasko couldn’t hold back a broad smile.
Her eyes found him in the crowd. She lifted her chin—she was taking the reins of who and what she wanted to be, and he was so bloody proud of her.
Elias nudged him with his shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I would have said that she was born a Bayne.”
Drasko took a sip of whisky, watching her over the rim of his glass.
“Thaaaat’s my wife… Brilliant,” he muttered, pride swelling in his chest.
The small orchestra on stage looked like a mere prop compared to her. The violins, cellos, flutes, and a harp could not take away from the pure magic of the piano under her fingertips.
For half an hour, the crowd was frozen on their feet.
Men licked their lips and smoothed their mustaches, feeling fooled by the fate that would never let them have a woman like her.
Women’s faces fell as they realized they’d never be her.
Drasko couldn’t look away, smiling at how flawlessly Grace performed, though he knew the everyday grueling practice that went into it.
His body hummed at the sight of her expert fingers racing up and down the piano keys, the same fingers that were fluttery and hesitant against his body the night they spent together.
And when the last piano notes echoed in the air, the ballroom erupted with applause.
Grace rose to her feet and slowly turned toward the audience.
Drasko greedily took in every detail—her graceful smile, the elegant nod and bow, the way her chin lifted just slightly as she dragged her gaze over the crowd as if it were her domain.
There was a new confidence about her, a regal calmness.
If these people were the cream of the crop of London’s high society, she was undoubtedly their queen.
As if she knew exactly where Drasko stood among hundreds of others, her eyes found his. Across the sea of people and applause and conversations and clinking of champagne flutes, their gazes locked.
And there it was again—a fleeting shift in her gaze, a second-long vulnerability as if she were waiting for approval, like she had done so often in the past with her guardians.
Drasko applauded louder, and mouthed, “Brava.”
The applause would not stop.
The marchioness walked on stage. “Dear guests,” she said, her elaborate dress fading next to Grace’s beauty, “may we ask Mrs. Mawr to perform an encore?”
The cheers were deafening.
Grace curtsied.
“An encore it is.” The marchioness nodded. “And Mrs. Mawr is singing one of the songs she composed herself! How wonderful!”
Grace took a seat at the piano again, a smile on her lips.
And when she touched the keys, Drasko knew the song, perhaps not the lyrics, but the sounds that had echoed through the hallway of his own house so many times, the sounds he’d learned by heart on the nights he listened to her music from behind the closed doors.
“ Silver burning in the heat ,” she started singing, a sensual tune so stark in comparison with the orchestral piece she had just played. “ Hazel drowning in the green .”
“What is the song about?” Elias inquired. “I cannot quite grasp the meaning.”
Neither could Drasko. At first. Until her next words.
“ Two shall whisper in the night. Two shall make the sun too bright. Two shall sing and make me wild and the lonely night alive .”
A wave of shock washed over him as he started realizing the meaning.
“Is she singing about lovers?” Elias kept guessing. “That would definitely cause more rumors.”
No, she wasn’t singing about people, or at least that wasn’t what “two” meant. Drasko’s silver rings. His green eyes. His fingers…
When the song was over and Grace stood on stage, smiling graciously at the applause, Drasko pursed his lips in quiet astonishment—his wife was more daring than he’d ever believed she could be.
“Mr. Mawr, but how are you so lucky?” someone cooed next to him.
“Your wife is so mysterious.”
“What is the song about?”
“Life, the past and the future,” he answered vaguely. “Excuse me.”
He walked toward the stage and waited for the others to make small talk with his wife, for the first time impatient and not wanting to share her with others.
“You were, as always, outstanding.” He gave her a peck on her cheek.
“Thank you,” she said, her cheeks flushed with that pretty pink he loved so much.
“You slayed them, darling. Your song was so sensual.”
“Was it?” She looked away with a nervous smile.
“The newspapers will print the lyrics tomorrow.”
She bit her lip.
“Do you mind telling me what the song is about?”
She was silent, avoiding meeting his eyes. “Where is Julien?” she asked.
Drasko stepped into her line of vision and dipped his head to meet her eyes.
“It’s all right if you don’t want to tell me,” he said with a smile, placing his hand on her waist and drawing her closer.
“I will tell you myself, and you tell me if I am wrong. Because your song”—he leaned over to whisper in her ear so no one could hear—“reminds me of my fingers pleasuring you one night in the music room.”
A scarlet blush enflamed her cheeks.
Two young women danced by, singing, “ Two shall sing and make me wild .”
He chuckled. “So, you not only performed a vague song about your husband pleasuring you, but you got the ton to sing along.”
“It’s art. My songs… They are art.”
“They are,” he said low in her ear. “Will there be a song about my tongue between your legs? Called, perhaps, let’s see, Eloquent Prelude ?”
“Oh, God. Stop it!” She took a step away from him, her face flaming red when he laughed loudly. “You are insufferable, truly,” she muttered.
He motioned to a waiter. “There, darling.” He passed her a glass of champagne. “To cool off your pretty, burning cheeks. Let me know if you need help writing those lyrics.”
She took a gulp of champagne, and he leaned over to whisper, “Perhaps, I can add my own. About you. The way your toes dig into the mattress when you forget yourself in pleasure.”
She bit her lip, staring at her champagne flute.
“Or how your lips part and your head tilts back, your pretty eyes widening as if you have seen God.”
Even the tips of her ears turned red, and he wanted to kiss them, kiss that blush away until a new one came—her being undone under him.
“Or the way you arch your back when I touch your nipples.”
“It is… I do not…” Her eyes were anywhere but on him.
“Another night, darling, and you will write so many songs.”
“You were absolutely marvelous!” a female voice came from behind them, turning them around.
Dammit.
The brunette was as always gorgeous in her lavish blue gown and diamond pendant—why, the one he had given her years ago. Her smiling eyes were on Grace.
“Mrs. Mawr. I am in awe of your talent.”
Grace nodded. “Thank you.”
“My lady.” Drasko smiled courteously. “What a surprise.”
Surprise it was indeed.
His former paramour, Madeline Andreu, a wealthy titled widow only in her thirties looked, as always, dazzling. Memories flickered in his mind—her sharp tongue, exquisite taste in jewelry, an inquisitive mind, the witchery she did in bed.
Drasko needed to walk away. He wasn’t interested and didn’t want Grace to feel uncomfortable.
“Excuse me.” Grace glanced between them, gave him a cold knowing smile, and walked away.