Chapter 13

thirteen

A NGELINE WAS FUMING. She was so angry she couldn't express her frustration with words, only with scoffs.

Closing and opening her fists, she paced in the sitting room. Lord Havisham needed to hear her opinion. Oh, as soon as she was capable again of producing a speech that made sense, she'd give the earl a piece of her mind. Every time she started to say something, her anger blocked her, and a string of gibberish came out.

"Honestly," Mama said, drinking her tea as if the world weren't ending. "I don't understand why you're so upset."

"Why?" She skidded to a stop in the middle of the hessian carpet, creasing it. "I don't know how to play the piano. That's why. You agreed to invite a bunch of people to listen to me playing an instrument I know nothing about, and I don't even know why."

" Pff ." Mama rolled her eyes. "After all these years, after everything we've been through, you still doubt me. It hurts. Really."

"I can't become a skilled piano player in a matter of hours."

"Of course you can't, you silly. Nevertheless, you're going to play exquisitely and leave the audience in awe. Listen, I was shocked as well when Lord Havisham intervened with his preposterous claim, but while you stormed off, the earl and I talked after the concert. He explained to me he didn't like how Lady Redvers talked to you, so he wanted to teach her a lesson and said you were a great pianist. He admitted the affair went out of control. Never mind. Apparently, your success with the bow impressed him, and I have no problem admitting I was wrong and you were right about archery. Who would have thought? But I digress. Lord Havisham and I came up with the perfect plan." She grinned. "I would've never thought the earl could be so protective of you. His behaviour astonished me. Such a nice behaviour, after all."

Enough. Angeline gave up. She had to accept the fact her mother wasn't of sound mind any longer.

"Do you trust me?" Mama asked.

"No." She stomped a foot on the floor.

Mama glowered. "I truly am hurt."

"I'm sure you'll recover soon."

"Lord Havisham told me Lord Wharton is an excellent piano player," Mama said as if that clarified the confusion.

Not even a great piano player could speed up time and turn Angeline into a skilled musician in a matter of hours.

"He'll play on your behalf." Mama gave a wink.

"I don't understand."

"Let me explain." She walked over to the piano— the piano that Angeline had never touched, not even to dust it —at the end of the room. "We'll put some thick tea towels here." She opened the piano panel, revealing all the strings and hammers. "When properly placed, the tea towels will block the hammers, silencing the piano. While in the next room, hidden from view, we'll set up a proper piano, which His Lordship is going to play." Mama sat in front of the piano and pretended to play it. "You'll simply move your fingers as if you were playing while the actual sound will come from Lord Wharton's piano, and it'll be a beautiful sound." She wasn't finished. "We'll open this vent here." She pointed at a vent underneath the piano. "And add a horn bell like that of a phonograph, I'll disguise it, of course, and voila! You've become a pianist."

"Ah…"

Angeline didn't know if Mama had a stroke of genius, or if the whole idea was the most ridiculous thing ever produced after swan-shaped candlesticks because the wax dripped everywhere and the swan looked grotesque… goodness, she was losing her mind.

"We can't call the whole thing off. Lord Havisham will be humiliated, and Lady Redvers needs to think more carefully before she disparages you."

Actually, Angeline didn't care about what Lady Redvers did or said. "I don't want to do this."

"I know what you're thinking," Mama said.

"I seriously doubt that."

Mama pretended to play again. "You and Lord Wharton need to be coordinated, otherwise your fingers will keep moving when there's no music or vice versa, which would be a problem."

No, she hadn't thought about that at all. "Mama, this is…" There again. She was at a loss. No word came out. Anger caused her tongue to trip on the words.

"The baron will come here to practise with you." Mama touched her hand. "As I told you, I've thought of everything. I'm not going to let the viscountess win."

Well, two could play that game. "If I have to do this then I want something in return." Angeline jutted out her chin. "If I find a man I wish to marry, you won't do anything to stop me."

Mama's expression froze. "I'll certainly voice my opinion."

"But you won't do anything else."

Mama sighed. "Fine."

Sitting on the piano bench next to Angeline, Royston couldn't completely remove the sense of guilt gnawing at him.

The only reason Havisham had concocted this absurd plan was to allow Royston to be in Mrs. Haywood's house and search her study undisturbed.

He'd perform on the piano in the study, hidden from Mrs. Haywood's guests, and after that, while the guests enjoyed tea, he would search the room.

He kept going back and forth with his decision, but he had to admit he wouldn't have a better opportunity to find those documents since his solitary presence in the study was part of the plan. No need for breaking and entering.

"And those are the movements of this piece," Royston said, finishing Strauss's Emperor Waltz.

Angeline focused and repeated the hand movements. They were only vaguely correct.

"I'm really sorry for this situation. I can't believe Mama agreed to this madness."

No, he was sorry. "Don't worry. I don't mind helping you, and I agree with the fact Lady Redvers shouldn't have disparaged you. Miss Taylor is a fine player, but what you do with a bow isn't easy either. You have talent. Lady Redvers shouldn't insult people."

"You're saving me. Again. I have a seriously enormous debt with you."

"No, you don't." He took her hand but released it immediately before he did something inappropriate.

"But your being here to help me proves I was right. You have a kind heart." She gave him one of her devastatingly beautiful smiles.

"You think too highly of me." He would have helped her anyway, but instead, he needed to get something from her mother.

She gently put her hand over his. "You're too modest." She glanced at her scarred hand, her brow furrowing. "You kissed my hand," she whispered.

"Because I don't care about the scar. Your scar has a story to tell. A story of survival and pain. No one should make fun of you because of it."

She stared at him with too much awe. "I'm happy to…"

"Yes?" he prompted when she didn't continue.

She laughed. "I don't know. I guess I'm just happy to be here with you. That's all. Your presence calms me. Your closeness makes me more confident." She seemed about to say something else but remained silent.

When she smiled, her lips became more inviting, stretching and curving up. His heartbeat stuttered when she tilted her head and a sable curl of her hair fell to her slender neck. Something was happening to him because he couldn't remove his gaze from her lips, her rosy cheek, or her inky eyes that took him prisoner, and he was a willing captive.

They were still sharing the piano bench, so their shoulders touched, and she was a breath away from him. So close. So tempting.

He inched closer. She parted her lips and inhaled deeply. They met midway. Or rather, their lips did. He pressed a kiss gently to her soft lips. His mouth captured her little moan. He wanted to do more, taste her with his tongue, but at the same time, he didn't want to ruin the precious moment.

Growing up in a brothel, he'd seen all sorts of kisses, some too savage for a proper lady like Angeline. He'd seen love-making positions that defied the law of physics. Hell, he'd performed some of those. But when it came to being gentle, he wasn't sure he could do it. Better to do less than too much.

Breaking the kiss required a ridiculously big effort. "Are you all right?"

Her cheeks were the colour of peaches, and her eyes shone like black diamonds. "Never been better." Her gaze dipped to his mouth.

He ought to remember that he might be a baron, but she was above his status. He came from the gutter. The title didn't count.

She moved closer again, her breathing speeding up. His pulse spiked, hammering in his ears and urging him to devour her pretty lips.

He was so afraid of being too rough that he shuddered. "Angeline…"

The door swung inwards, and Mrs. Haywood entered. Damn. He straightened, finding it hard to say anything. Oh, right. He should stand up when a lady was standing. He scraped back the bench with too much energy, causing Angeline to fall backwards. He caught her by the waist and sat her back on the bench.

"Sorry," they said together.

"I moved too quickly." He released her, but the brief contact caused him to shiver all over again as if it were the first time he touched a woman.

"Is everything going all right?" Mrs. Haywood said.

"Yes, madam. Your daughter learnt the sequence rather quickly." He pretended to be busy straightening his jacket.

"I had no doubts. Angeline has always been brilliant."

Angeline stood up as well. Her flush was still there. "Excuse me. My lord." She curtsied.

He watched her leave in a hurry. Perhaps he'd troubled her. Well, the bench hadn't been his peak moment.

"Many thanks for your help, my lord."

The maid entered the room and bobbed a curtsy. "My lord." She turned to her mistress. "Sorry to disturb you, madam, but…" The woman pointed a finger in the direction of the rear of the house. "There's someone asking to see you very urgently. Very urgently."

"My lord." Mrs. Haywood dropped a quick curtsy before she left in a flutter of skirts.

The urgency with which she left teased his curiosity. He opened the French window at the end of the room and quietly stepped outside, searching the garden. Once he rounded the corner, he paused.

Mr. Wright paced nervously in front of the back door, running a hand through his hair. The noise of the door being opened came.

"Madam," Mr. Wright said in an agitated tone.

"What are you doing here?" Mrs. Haywood hissed. "You can't come here whenever it pleases you."

"It's about the money. You must understand. I can't pay it." Mr. Wright lowered his voice to an inaudible sound.

Royston couldn't hear anything else, though, since Mrs. Haywood must have let him inside. He returned to the sitting room and closed the French window, cursing under his breath.