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She laughed, glad to see his interest in eating again after the state she’d found him in last night.
After they sat down at the huge polished table, Clara shook her head. “Until you filled your plate, I’d thought your cook misinformed about how many guests you had hidden in your bedchamber.”
He looked up before selecting his first bite from among the mounds of food piled high on his plate—bread and butter, sausages, eggs, and fish. “Only one guest, and not so hidden anymore.”
A great deal was on their minds, but they enjoyed a quiet breakfast in the light of day, an unbelievable luxury after months of stolen moments in the dark.
After breakfast, James lifted each of her hands to his lips in turns. “I have an idea. Something you might like to do with these beauties.”
“Oh, yes?” Her smile was seductive.
He murmured in his throat. “It benefits me the most, but you enjoy it as well.”
She slipped her hands under his shirt and onto his warm abdomen. “Oh,yes?”
“Lass, I meant play the piano, but if you’d like a turn onthisinstrument, who am I to deny you?”
Laughing in delight, she pulled her hands back to her own chest. “Piano first!”
“How often do you play?” He offered his elbow to lead her to the drawing room.
“Oh, every day. I’m always working onsomething.I’ll show you what I’m practicing lately with my new instructor, who’s positively obsessed with Mr. Liszt.”
“Tell me more.”
She smiled, certain he was listening, but equally certain he couldn’t actually care about the details. “I find some of Mr. Liszt’s works very challenging, but not as enjoyable as Mr. Chopin’s.”
“Mr. Chopin of the rain storms?”
“You remember! Yes! It’s actually through Mr. Liszt that I learned of him. One of the last events I attended with my mother before she died was a recital of Mr. Liszt’s here in London, and he performed some of Mr. Chopin’s pieces.”
“Did your mother play?”
“Her favorite instrument was the harp, but she adored music. Playing piano was one of the ways I felt closer to her after she died. It’s been an important comfort.” She sat down on the bench. “Including this week. I was worried about you, so I played fiendishly.”
James met her gaze solemnly. “I wish I’d known that. That you were in Mayfair playing for me.”
“I was nothing but nerves, but somehow it helped me with my practice. My very demanding tutor has me working on arpeggios.” Demonstrating, she played a series of notes, one at a time, then again and again, faster, until she keyed the finger pattern with wicked speed.
Warmed up, she smiled. “This is one of Mr. Liszt’s Transcendental Études.”
After taking a breath, she played the technically challenging piece she’d been working on. She stumbled through a few particularly difficult measures.
“One more time,” she told James distractedly, and played through again.
“Just one more time.”
How many more times she played, she was unsure, but when she became aware of James and the rest of existence, he was there, looking bemused.
“This piano was made for your fingers, lass.”
Catching her breath from playing, she smiled. “I do believe there’s another instrument in this house I’ve been itching to practice on again. Might you remember where I can find it?”
His eyes darkened, and he extended his hand to her. “Follow me, my lady.”
When they reached the bedchamber and shed their clothing, he obliged her request to recline on the bed.
Clara stood, appreciating this view of him. His powerful thighs and calves remained impressive in repose, his large feet turned out. Not quite horizontal and not vertical, his erect shaft jutted, rising, as ever, at its angle of entreaty.
