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That thought made him pull back – madness? What if it lay in his blood too, as it did in Maggie’s? She frowned slightly, then spoke at barely a whisper.
“Yes. That is one thing I want. But also, I want…” She moved her hand to trail across the pianoforte keys. “I want to play that duet again, as I would wish to play a thousand duets with you, forever, if each could feel even a tiny part as good as I felt when we played at Violet’s wedding breakfast.”
He wanted that too, he realised as she said it – a lifetime of magical duets with this woman, whose heart and soul seemed so utterly in tune with his. He could not say that, could not admit how right it felt to hold her, he should run from the room now before he did something unforgiveable, and doomed her to sharing the miseries of his daily life. Music seemed far safer than words, and he could not bear to leave her, when they had the chance to create that magic again. He reached out a hand to the keys, slowly allowing his other hand to release her waist, sad only that the price of playing with her was no longer cradling her against him. Then, thighs pressed hard together, they began to play, the first notes of the piece filling the room.
It was as if his fingers on the keys declared his feelings, saying all of the dangerous things which he could not permit to exist as words, or even clear thoughts, and a great sense of rightness wrapped him around. It was a remarkable moment, but it lasted barely past the first few bars of the piece, before the sudden opening of the door shattered everything.
>>>
Thorne stepped into the hallway of Lady Gillieston’s home beside Merryfield, who had suggested that there were actually things in the library here worth seeing – and Merryfield should know, as Lady Gillieston was his aunt. They had taken but a few steps in the direction of that library, when a shriek rang out from further down the hall.
“What on Earth?”
“I’ve no idea – but I expect we should investigate.”
They hurried towards the sound, which had come from an open doorway – a doorway which proved to lead to a music room, in which a drama of epic proportions was playing out. A drama in which his sister, Iris, appeared to be playing a leading role.
Thorne stood there aghast, listening, trying to understand what was happening, despite the sinking feeling which filled him, of a frightening certainty about the matter.
>>>
Iris was floating. He had kissed her! And now they were playing. Life was, at that moment, perfect, no matter what might come later. It was a perfection which shattered into a million shards of horror seconds later, as the door opened, crashing back against the wall.
“What is the meaning of this? Greenleigh, what have you done?”
At the voice, they had both turned where they sat, hands dropping from the keys to leave a last, nearly discordant, tangle of notes fading away. Iris recognised one of the two women who stood there – Greenleigh’s mother – but not the other, older woman – although from the look of her, Iris would guess that she was Lady Greenleigh’s mother – Lord Greenleigh’s grandmother. She could feel the tension in the man beside her, where their thighs still lay so close together.
“Grandmother. We are simply playing the pianoforte.”
The old woman drew herself up and positively sniffed in disdain.
“Alone in a closed room, with an unmarried young woman. There is nothing simple about that. There is, however, everything scandalous about it. And for this kind of scandal, there is only one remedy. Marriage. You’ll have to marry her.”
Iris gaped at the woman in shock, then forced herself to compose her expression. She did not like being told what to do, especially by strangers. But, came the insidious thought, marrying Lord Greenleigh would not be a bad thing, surely? Still, she should protest, should declare the innocence of their actions, for, despite that kiss, it was not at all fair that he should be forced to something because she had sought him out here.
“But we were just playing a duet. Surely there can be no…”
“Of course there can, young woman, and there is. It’s utterly scandalous, and now you’ll have to marry him. What is your name? I don’t believe that we’ve been introduced.”
Iris swallowed, and drew herself up, determined not to be intimidated.
“I am Lady Iris Gardenbrook, daughter of the Duke of Elbury. Might I know your name in return?”
The woman studied her, and Iris thought that there was a spark of amusement in her brown eyes.
“So, you’ve some courage about you, have you? And a Duke’s daughter? Things could be worse, could be worse indeed. Greenleigh, at least you’ve had the sense to disgrace yourself with a woman suitable to be your wife. I am the Dowager Lady Neelsham, and this reprobate’s grandmother.”
Even as Lady Neelsham spoke those words, behind her, in the doorway, Iris saw Thorne and Merryfield, and past them, a small crowd of other people. If there had ever been any hope of keeping this from public knowledge, that hope was gone.
Iris turned her gaze back to Lord Greenleigh, who had sat through that exchange, silent beside her. What was he thinking? What would he do? Would he reject her now? For if he did, that would be even more scandalous. Not that her father would force her to marry him, should she choose not to, but to not do so now would add a whole extra layer of scandal, and doom her to never finding a good match at all.
He met her eyes, and for a short time they simply sat there, ignoring everyone and everything around them. Emotions chased themselves across his face in rapid succession – some compound of sadness, regret, hope, and almost, desire? Then he smiled at her, a smile which made him seem magnificently handsome, and which steadied her – surely, he would not smile so if he was going to reject her?
He lifted his hand and gently cupped her cheek, as if no one else was present.
“Lady Iris Gardenbrook, if you will have me, I would marry you, and resolve this… difficulty... we find ourselves in. Will you be my wife?”
Across the room, she heard movement, and a flurry of whispering. She held Lord Greenleigh’s eyes, wanting to be sure, and finding certainty there – whatever it was that worried him, it was not her. She had dreamed that there might come a time when she would marry him, but this was certainly not the circumstance in which she had expected it to occur. Why he might have so rapidly acquiesced to his grandmother’s demands, when he had been so avoiding of any contact for months, she did not know – but she would not turn aside such a gift as he had just given her, especially as she wanted him.
