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The idea came to her then, unbidden, carried on a desire so intense that it took her breath away completely for a moment.
Did she dare? Would he permit it if she tried?
Surely, here, in a room full of people, there could be no impropriety in it? Surely here, even if he thought there was, he would not reject it, for fear of even greater perceived impropriety?
As that thought slid through her mind, she almost laughed – of course there could be impropriety in it, but not so much as to be a scandal. She moved forward, knowing that she was going to do it, to take the risk.
She reached the edge of the narrow bench on which he sat, and he, somehow aware of her presence, glanced up. His eyes met hers, and something passed between them, something inexplicable, yet distinct. She reached out one hand, even as she bent slightly, as if to sit. He understood instantly, a flash of something compounded of alarm and delight crossing his eyes. For one moment, she thought that he would reject her, but then he swallowed, all the while never missing a note as he played through the spiralling, complex piece, and edged across to one end of the bench.
She allowed her movement to complete, until she was sitting beside him, their thighs hard against each other, the scent of him intoxicating around her. Then, she closed her eyes for one moment, and allowed all of her awareness to sink into the music. Anchored in it, sure of her place, she opened her eyes again, and reached out, finding the space around his moving hands, and beginning to play – a second part to the melody, a complex, interwoven strand of the piece, echoing and supporting the main part that he played. As she did, he adjusted his own playing, leaving sections of the pattern which he would have played if playing alone for her to play instead.
It was the most wonderful moment of her life. She did not care what anyone said, what anyone thought – this was worth any price.
If she never had such a chance again, at least she would have this, a memory to hold close.
>>>
Leon had considered not attending the wedding breakfast for Lady Violet Gardenbrook – at least in part because it meant that he was likely to see Lady Iris Gardenbrook. But also, as always, because he really had no interest in the social events of the ton. Despite his mother’s hopes, he had no intention of marrying in the near future – he would not expose a young lady to the home life which he suffered for most of the year.
It was fortunate that his country estates were only a short distance from London, or coming away even for a few days at a time would have been impossible. Or perhaps, he thought wryly, that wasn’t fortunate at all – if Greenleigh Park had been further away, then perhaps he might have avoided London altogether, when his presence was not absolutely required in the House of Lords.
But here he was, in a ballroom which currently contained the vast majority of the ton, to celebrate the marriage of the daughter of a Duke he barely knew. The first thing that he had noticed, on entering that room, was the pianoforte – it was a magnificent instrument, even if the person playing it, as part of the small orchestra, was of barely adequate skill. It was beautifully made, and perfectly tuned – its mellow tones made his fingers ache to caress its keys.
Perhaps, later in the day, the chance might come for him to do so, and the gossips opinion of that be damned.
He allowed his mother to almost drag him about the room, she using the occasion to introduce him to any young woman she could find whom he had not already met. He smiled when required, and made sure that he appeared as dull and uninteresting as possible, so that none of them developed false hopes. Eventually, she tired of it, and with an irritated admonition to him that he should dance, went to speak with her own group of friends.
Which left him free to take advantage of the fact that the orchestra had just paused in their playing.
Casually, he wandered across the room, and settled onto the padded bench before it. His fingers traced its polished timber surface and the ivory of its keys, for a moment simply appreciating the craftsmanship of its construction, but then, unable to wait any longer, he began to play. The piece came to him instinctively – he knew it so well that it was ingrained in his soul – it was a piece that he played when he needed to be reminded of the beauty in the world, despite all troubles.
Soon, as it always did, the music consumed him, leaving him barely aware of the room around him, and washing away all of the frustrations which normally came with attending any social event. Time passed as he played, until the presence of a shadow beside him made him glance up.
Lady Iris Gardenbrook stood there, her blue eyes fixed upon him, full of an emotion which he had not expected, and did not entirely understand. His fingers continued, uninterrupted, while his mind processed what he saw. She understood – he knew that from their few conversations about music – but what did she want, that she would disturb him now?
And then she shocked him to his core. She reached out a hand towards the keys, and moved slightly as if to sit.
She wanted to join him! This was a piece which could be played as a duet, with the melody splitting into two threads to interweave to make a whole – did she know it, that well? And could he take this risk? If he allowed it, she would need to sit hard up against him, and his mouth went dry at the very thought of it. What would people think? It would be verging on scandalous.
Yet… he wanted it. Even if she did not have the skill, he still wanted to try. He’d had no one to play closely with for a very long time…
A kind of madness filled him, and he nodded slightly, shifting himself across to make room for her, even as his hands simply continued playing, completely based on instinct and practice. She smiled – a devastating thing which almost made him falter, and carefully settled to the seat. Her thigh pressed against his, and he could feel her warmth, even with all of those layers of fabric between them. The scent of her wrapped about him, subtle, something not quite floral, mixed with warmer, more exotic elements. His head spun from her nearness.
She stilled completely, and closed her eyes. He could almost sense her allowing her mind to drop into the music, aligning herself with it, and with him. Then she reached out, and her fingers came to the keys, her hands effortlessly interweaving with his, as he shifted his playing to the two-part structure, and she took up the other thread of the melody.
His heart soared – she had far more skill than he might have expected, perhaps more than he had, himself, despite all of the years of practice, and she seamlessly melded her playing into his, until they moved almost as one entity, utterly sure of each other, and every momentary location of each finger.
He had never before experienced anything quite so perfect.
No matter what gossip might come of this moment, it was worth it. He wished, in that instant, that it might last forever.
Inevitably, though, the piece came to an end, and they each drew back their hands, allowing the last notes to drift into silence. A silence from which people watched them, he realised. A silence which gave way, after a few moments, to applause – applause which was led by the members of the small orchestra, who had returned, ready to play again.
Leon took a deep breath – which only served to make him more acutely aware of the scent of Lady Iris. Their eyes met, and he wanted to speak of what had just happened, to somehow prolong that perfect accord in which they had floated. But here, watched by the entire room, there was nothing he could do but deliver her a seated bow.
“My thanks, Lady Iris, for your skilful accompaniment of my playing.”
“And mine for yours.” She smiled again, her eyes speaking far more than her words. “I would hope that we might find a chance to do this again, in the future.”
