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She wasn’t foolish enough to think she might be able to perform as a professional musician. That was a career only awarded to men. But she could write music. As C. Moorish, she’d already begun to send pieces to other players for purchase.
Normally, a father might not support such a career for his daughter but with four of her sisters about to marry, Cordelia was certain hers would agree to allow her to become a spinster. Well…perhaps certain was a bit confident. But she did have reason to think he might consider the idea.
Thomas Moorish didn’t wish to travel to London to see her matched, the only place she was likely to find a suitable candidate, and besides, he was a lover of the arts. Some part of him would rejoice at her chosen path. Hopefully.
Which was why she couldn’t explain her sudden fit of longing. She didn’t want a man of her own, he’d only hold her back. And yet…the party tonight had sparked some sort of secret wish. When she thought about a stolen kiss, or a hand at her back, her breath caught. For the first time, she considered what she might be giving up.
Each of her sisters had become engaged, one by one. And each now glowed with a happiness that left her feeling…empty.
Her fingers flew over the keys as she attempted to drown out the ball just across the hall. Her desires had forced her from the room, and she’d retreated to her bench, a place to remind herself who she was and what she wanted.
“Lovely,” a male voice said behind her. The low baritone of his voice skimming down her spine and making her tingle with all sorts of secret longings.
Despite the champagne, or perhaps because of it, Cordelia’s vague notions about a man’s touch sharpened. She didn’t want just any man. In fact, she’d only had these thoughts when one very particular male had arrived at her door a few days ago. Lord Dashlane.
She’d recognized his voice now. “Thank you,” she said, not turning to look at him. That would only muddle her thoughts further. He had golden blond hair and flashing grey-blue eyes like the ocean after a storm. His square jaw was softened by full lips and a ready smile that likely put many at ease but only served to make her more on edge.
No, she didn’t need to look at him now. She’d memorized every detail already, so instead, she lifted her glass of champagne and drained the last of the bubbly beverage, feeling the drink tickle its way down her throat. “I’ve always loved to play.”
His low chuckle made her skin shiver. “I wasn’t talking about your skills at the pianoforte. I was referring to you.”
Cordelia sat straighter on the bench, her eyes fluttering closed. Her body pulsed at his low words, the intimate tone of it, and once again, she blamed the champagne. She knew what he was. A rake. He’d likely told a hundred women tonight the very same line. It would be folly to change her path now for such a man, even if she wished to. Which she didn’t. “Liar,” she mumbled softly, letting the single word settle between them.
“I beg your pardon?” he said, and she could hear that he moved closer as he spoke.
She slid her hands off the keys, gripping the bench she sat on. “I said that you were a liar, my lord. My playing makes me lovely. But I am…” she drew in a breath, searching her muddled thoughts for the correct word, “plain.”
“Plain?” he whispered just behind her back. He was near now, his heat touching her skin. She gripped the bench tighter. “There is very little that is plain about you, Miss Cordelia Moorish. Hidden perhaps, even disguised. But not dull.”
Liar, she thought again but this time she didn’t voice it. Instead, she pushed the bench back, until it just brushed his knees, forcing him to take a half step back and then she stood, shuffling away from the pianoforte. Cordelia reached for her glass and plucked it off the top of the instrument just before the crystal stem was out of reach, and then she retreated to the other side of a settee before turning to look at him.
Which was a very smart plan if she did say so herself. Because every time she looked at him, she might swear that he grew more handsome than the last and tonight was no exception.
Her breath caught in her chest, making her head swim as she studied the broadness of his shoulders, the thickness of his chest, the way his torso tapered to his narrow hips, perfectly accentuated by his expertly tailored coat. “So kind of you to say,” she murmured, taking another swallow, only to discover her glass was empty. Drat. She had drained it, hadn’t she?
He cocked a single brow and began crossing toward her again.
She started to back up, certain she was like a deer in the woods being stalked by a beautiful beast. “Lord Dashlane,” she said, holding up a single hand. He was too tempting, far too distracting, and she’d had too much mind-muddling beverage to allow him any closer.
He ceased moving forward and instead smiled. That glorious smile that made her insides melt to pudding and her most intimate area ache and flutter with longing. “I only wished to offer you another glass of champagne.” And he held one of two glasses up to her.
She squinted, looking at the delicate little bubbles rising up in the glass. Her father ran a shipping company, and he imported some of the most wonderful wines from France. “I shouldn’t…” she started, but her hand was already reaching for the stemware. Even she understood this was a terrible idea.
He was so handsome, a known womanizer, offering her more alcohol. Their fingers brushed as she took the glass and she couldn’t quite hide the gasp that fell from her lips as a tingling spread up her arm from th
e touch.
He quirked a one-sided smile. “I thought we might toast.”
“Toast?” she asked, cocking her head to one side. “Why would we do that?”
His half smile transformed into a full grin. “Because. All of my friends are marrying your sisters. You and I are the last men standing, so to speak.”
She tsked, a sound her sister Juliet was much better at. “I’m not a man.” It was a thought she’d had more and more often these days. If she had been of the male species, her life might be completely different. Then she nearly cringed but managed to just hold herself still. He didn’t understand her hopes and dreams. To him she just stated the obvious.
“No.” He gazed at her, cruising down her body and making it heat in all sorts of strange places as he looked at her from her head to her toes and back again. “No, you certainly are not.”
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