AllFreeNovel
Share Us
James acceded silently, placing a hand to her elbow to conduct her out of the room.
A few paces short of the door, he stopped, and Clara followed suit. She couldn’tmeet his eyes, not without revealing the dreaded sentimentality.
“Clara,” he began, then paused. When he continued, his voice softened. “Do not misunderstand me. Our connection is…unusual.”
Clara stared at a gilt frame on the wall, her attention focused on the joint where the two pieces met to enclose the painting.
It sounded as if they’d contracted the same disease.
“Yes, I understand. And neither of us could resist it,” she whispered.
∞∞∞
James’s brow furrowed. An affair with a lady was a complicated matter. Why wasn’t he seeking to dispense with the complications yet?
Here he was, devouring her compliments on his home as if she was bestowing her approval on him and each of his accomplishments.
Why did he agree to return to the bloody drawing room?
It was worth it, however, to hear Clara’s most enthusiastic and excited praise of all. She glowed as she inspected the Broadwood grand piano.
“Do you play?” She walked around the instrument, housed in carved, gleaming walnut.
“No. Do you?”
He expected her to demur and admit only to playing “a little,” as he imagined a lady answering.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, nodding confidently.
James’s smile was appreciative. Seeing her expectant look, he granted permission with a wave of his hand, and she sat on the matching walnut bench with relish.
“This is very similar to Mr. Chopin’s. It’sbeautiful!”
“Beautiful, yes,” James agreed as he stared at her.
He’d now seen Clara in various moods, witnessed her experience exquisite pleasure. But he was inordinately taken with her pure appreciation of the piano.
Remembering what she’d said, he asked, “Whose piano?”
“Mr. Chopin—a composer, recently passed, sadly. But I was fortunate in the extreme and was a pupil of his whilst he resided in London.”
Gently pressing on a key and listening to the superb sound, she closed her eyes dreamily, remembering. “It was a true indulgence. Something I never had time for when Aunt Violet was alive. Nor would she have approved.”
Seeing her eyes mist, James stepped behind her. He wasn’t sure what she found most difficult to remember—how occupied she was when her aunt was ill, the lack of her aunt’s approval, or the loss of the indulgence of lessons.
Clara was already stretching her fingers; seeing that she wanted to play, he swallowed his questions, and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Will you play for me?”
“What shall I play?”
He opened his mouth to answer that she should choose, but she continued, obviously having spoken only to herself. “Something of Mr. Chopin’s.” Her fingers entwined, and she flexed her wrists. “Would you mind if I played a piece I could never perform in front of others? It’s far too fervid. But it’s what I’d like to share with you.”
He was glad that her attention was so keen on the ivory- and ebony-covered keys. He couldn’t hide emotions provoked by her desire to share with him.
“Do you like rainstorms?”
He laughed. “I’m from Scotland, lass. It rains there more than it shines.”
She turned to look at him. “Yes, but that doesn’t require you to like it.”
