Page 9 of The Viscount's Code
“Faith, would you like to play?” Hope asked now giving cause for Anthony to look over at where she sat in the corner, her hands folded demurely in her lap.
“Of course not,” Faith said with a frown. “You should.”
“Very well,” Hope said, standing and running her hands down the soft muslin of her pale blue skirts as she walked over to the pianoforte in the corner.
Then she sat, removed her gloves from her long, slender fingers, and began to play.
It was like magic filled the air, as Anthony never wanted her to stop.
And for the first time, in a long time, he felt completely at peace.
CHAPTER4
When Hope’s father and Lord Whitehall joined them in the drawing room, Hope hadn’t missed the tension that had followed them in. It was so thick; she almost wouldn’t have been surprised if they told her they had come to blows.
Which was why, when she had sat at the pianoforte as shockingly requested by the viscount, she had picked the brightest, cheeriest song she could possibly think of, one which had even brought a smile to Faith’s face, despite the fact that her sister wasn’t pleased about having to accompany Hope on the mandolin.
While Faith enjoyed listening to Hope’s music, she hated playing as much as Hope loved it.
Hope had been surprised by Lady Whitehall’s declaration that her son was a musician himself – she wouldn’t have guessed it, but then, what did she expect of the man, that he sat in his house brooding all day?
As she’d played, her mind had wandered, and hadn’t been able to help but wonder if the tension between the men had been caused by a discussion about the book that Lord Whitehall was here to find and study. Had he asked her father about it? It only made sense. Which was why Hope determined that she would solve this problem herself. It was the only way to keep the peace among everyone else.
They had all retired over an hour ago – mercifully earlier than usual, after the interminable chatter in the drawing room – and Hope had waited until she could no longer hear anyone walking about to let herself out of her bedroom. Instead of going directly to her destination, she followed the corridor the other way, pausing outside of her parents’ bedrooms. She placed her ear against her father’s door, pleased when she heard her mother prattling away. Her mother may have been in her own room, but her voice was loud enough that it carried through the open doorway into her father’s chamber. All were abed for the night, then.
Hope tiptoed down the hall, her slippers barely making a sound on the thick carpet that ran over the wood flooring. If she were her father, where would she keep a book of significance? She ignored the other question, the one that bothered her –whywould her father keep such a book hidden? If the duke recalled seeing the book here, why wouldn’t her father have wanted to share its secrets with her and Faith?
She paused in front of the library, peeking into the dark room, but quickly disregarded it. Her father would not have hidden a book he wanted to keep secret in a public room. It had to be his study. He spent a great deal of time in there alone, and at no time would anyone – besides a maid – be in there without her father present.
Hope stopped in front of the room at the end of the corridor, which was nestled in the back corner of the estate. The doors were shut but unlocked, and as she pushed them open, the scent of her father – cheroot smoke and leather with a hint of musty books – washed over her. Only embers smoldered in the fireplace, and she pulled her wrapper tighter around herself to ward against the chill. She’d had no choice but to change into her nightclothes, as her maid would have been suspicious if she stayed dressed in her dinner clothes.
The dark curtains were drawn, hiding the moonlight, and Hope lifted her candle, raising it to the bookshelves across from her father’s desk. Would he have hidden it here in plain sight? she wondered, concentrating on the titles in front of her.
She was so focused on her task that she didn’t hear a noise from the hall beyond – until a voice sounded right behind her ear.
“Boo.”
“Ah!” Hope exclaimed, her voice just below a scream, startled as she was by the unexpected presence. She whirled around to find the viscount standing there behind her, his arms crossed with a smirk on his face.
“Do you continue to do this to me on purpose?”
“I am not to blame for your inability to observe the room around you.”
“In one day, you have twice come upon me unexpectedly.”
“Except that it is now tomorrow.”
“Let us not make a habit of doing this once per day.”
Then the surly viscount, the man who never smiled and barely ever spoke, did something even more surprising. He laughed.
It was not a full-bodied laugh of joy, but it was a chuckle. And the true smile on his face nearly astonished her, for, while she had always silently appreciated his dark features that matched his broody demeanor, his smile made him downright handsome.
For a moment, she couldn’t find any words.
“Have you found anything?” he asked, the moment having passed, and Hope cleared her throat, turning away, hoping that he hadn’t noticed how affected she was by him.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I am assuming that you asked my father about the book?”
