Page 67 of With Love in Sight
For a moment she thought he would confide in her. But then he took up her hand, placing a delicate kiss on her knuckles. “Tomorrow,” he decreed. “Tomorrow I shall tell you everything. For now let us enjoy the night. I have waited an age to hear your voice. Please sing for me.”
If the words had not been enough to do her in, the vulnerable look in his eyes would have. He appeared fragile, as if he were about to shatter. She had never seen him thus. He had always appeared so strong, so capable. She never dreamed his naturally high spirits could be brought so low as they had been the last few days.
But the proof was before her. He was hurting, dreadfully. And if she could help alleviate that pain for even a small while, then she would do it. No matter how her stomach roiled at the thought of singing for him.
“Very well,” she replied.
Relief seemed to explode from him in a sigh, and his lips turned up in a very real smile. He led her over to the pianoforte. Imogen sat at the bench and began to rifle through the music sheets laying there. Her hands trembled, the papers shaking in her grip. She forced her trepidation down as brutally as she could. This could be another gift she could give to Caleb, she decided. And perhaps, even more than that, it could be a gift to herself. She could not verbalize her feelings for him, or even allow him to guess at them. But she could put her very heart into this performance, to let him know in her own secret, private way just how deeply she felt for him.
She decided on “Sweeter Than Roses,” a seventeenth-century aria. She spread the music before her and then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she positioned her fingers over the keys.
She started the song off low and languid, letting her voice dip into the notes, rising and falling with graceful melody. It was not an easy piece by far. But she put all herself into the song of passion. Every bit of love, every bit of desire, was poured into the words.
“‘Sweeter than roses, or cool evening breeze,
On a warm flowery shore, was the dear kiss,
First trembling made me freeze,
Then shot like fire all o’er.
What magic has victorious love!
For all I touch or see since that dear kiss,
I hourly prove, all is love to me.’”
She was achingly aware of Caleb at her elbow, his gaze hot on her face, his body but a short distance from her own. Her chest swelled with emotion, tears burning behind her eyes, and still she kept on, letting the words pour from her.
As the song picked up momentum she recalled the way he had loved her, how his body had fused with and moved within her own. She allowed the joy of that magical moment to enter her heart, to come through in her voice.
The song swept her along, until, finally, it came to a finish. Imogen closed her eyes as the last of the notes on the pianoforte faded, unable to bear being back here in the drawing room with their families. She positively ached for him. How would she live through this?
There was a long moment of silence. Suddenly the room broke out in applause. She hastily wiped at her damp eyes before facing her audience.
Her father, beaming, came to her and took up her hands. “My dear, never have you sounded better. What a waste that you hide that voice away from all of us.”
She rose and allowed him to lead her to Lady Willbridge and her daughters. As she accepted their praise with silent smiles, she glanced at Caleb.
He was still standing by the pianoforte, watching her. His face was impassive as stone, but his eyes burned.
If only he loved her, she thought, turning back to the others, she would never have to leave him.
• • •
The night dragged on. There was a peculiar tension in the air like there had been the night of the thunderstorm, an electricity of anticipation. Strangely enough, it only touched Caleb and herself. Everyone else seemed blithely unaware.
When it was time to retire, Imogen was surprised to find Caleb at her side.
He held out his arm to her. “Will you allow me to escort you upstairs?”
She looked at him a long moment and then directed her gaze to the others. They were chatting amiably and already heading out the door.
Gingerly she placed her fingers on his arm. “Of course.”
As he led her from the room, his steps slowed. She could feel an unexplained strain rolling off him in waves. More than once she thought he was about to say something as he tilted his head in her direction, but to her frustration he remained steadfastly silent.
By the time they reached her room, the hallway was quiet. The wall sconces glowed golden at intervals, not emitting enough light for her to see his expression clearly. His eyes in particular were deep in shadow.
