Page 19 of The Viscount's Promise
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Malcolm lay awake staring out the window of his bedroom two mornings later, his eyes dry and itchy from lack of sleep. Disgusted with himself, he blew out a breath and turned over. The covers bunched up about his legs. He kicked out at them, then sat up and pounded on his pillow, turning it to the cool side before lying back down. But he was no more comfortable than when he’d started.
What had he expected last night when he had retired? To awaken in the morning, fully rested and ready to take on the day? He snorted into the gloom of predawn. One of his dearest friends was to be married in mere hours, an event Malcolm had been dreading since its announcement nearly a fortnight ago. Sleep had never been in the cards for him.
The most galling thing, though, was that Willbridge’s wedding was not the cause for his sleeplessness. No, that blame landed squarely on Lady Emily Masters’s slender shoulders. He’d had an unhealthy interest in her since his arrival that had nothing whatsoever to do with the promise he had made to Willbridge and everything to do with the woman herself.
But why? Why, damn it?
He had to stop thinking of her. He shifted again, flipping to his other side.Yes, that was it.He would put her from his mind. No more would he contemplate Lady Emily’s smiling face from two nights before. He would forget the slight unevenness of her rosy lips, the way her eyes lit up, how her soul had seemed to glow from within her like a river of gold when they’d danced...
Groaning, he forced his gaze to the window. The sky, he saw, was changing, from the deepest indigo to a flat gray. Blowing out a disgusted breath, Malcolm threw off the covers and swung his bare feet over the side of the bed. All day yesterday she had been busy with wedding preparations and he had hardly seen her. He thought the break from watching over her would have helped him forget the unwelcome reaction he’d had to her. But to his disgust, it had seemed to make it sharper.
What he needed was a brisk walk to clear his head. He would have a hard enough time getting through this damn day without being disoriented from lack of sleep. Throwing on clothes haphazardly, he strode from the room, letting the faint morning light lead the way. He moved past the closed doors of bedrooms where people still slumbered peacefully, his footsteps muffled by the thick rug that ran the length of the hall.
Which door led to Lady Emily’s bedroom?
The thought flashed through his head with startling clarity. He reeled, his steps faltering, before he tucked his chin against his chest and plowed on.
The house was already awake, with the servants rushing about on silent feet, preparing for the important day ahead. They didn’t give him a second glance. And why should they? He was merely a mad English lord running through the house as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Soon he would be outside in the cool morning air. Then he could leave everything behind and calm his mind.
He was at the side door that led to the gardens, the handle tight in his grip, when he heard it—the faintest music, moving through the air with a wrenching melancholy. It wrapped about him like the soft arms of a lover. His hand fell back to his side, his head tilting to better hear the tune. Who could possibly be up so very early? An image of Lady Emily flashed through his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. It could not be her. The music she had played in the drawing room two nights ago had been lovely, but it had not possessed this haunting quality. No, this was something altogether different. As if a glowing golden string had attached itself to him, he unconsciously followed the sound. There was no choice but to go where the music originated.
The polished wood door to the music room was cracked open, but there he stopped, not wanting to disturb whoever was within. The music, though still soft, was louder here, washing over and through him. Such emotion emanated from the plaintive notes. Such feelings, long thought forgotten, welled up within him. He caught his breath at it, overwhelmed with the need to learn the source.
He moved closer, angling his head to see as much of the room through the crack between the door and the jam as he could. But the pianoforte was on the other side of the room, well beyond view. Blowing out a frustrated breath, he placed one hand on the panel and pushed as gently as he could. The door was blessedly silent, the hinges well oiled. Not so the floor. As he took a step forward, following the door as it swung slowly inward, a floorboard gave a distinctive creak.
Malcolm stilled, not wanting to startle whoever was playing, listening with the breath frozen in his chest for any indication that he had been overheard. But no, the music played on. Breathing a small sigh of relief, he renewed his efforts. A small push more, a few inches, and he could clear his head through the opening and take a peek.
Without warning, Malcolm was rammed from behind. He lurched forward and slammed into the door, barely hearing it crash against the wall as he went tumbling to the floor. Behind him he could hear a small, feminine cry of dismay. The music halted with a discordant jumble of notes.
He closed his eyes, praying this was all just a dream and he was safe in his bed. But a small voice, trembling with fear, made him see the futility of such a wish.
“I’m so very sorry, sir. Please forgive me, sir. I never meant to topple you. Only my arms was full of linens, you see, for the wedding breakfast, and I didn’t see you over the tops of them.”
Malcolm resolutely opened his eyes and glanced up. A young maid was standing in the doorway, wringing her hands, looking for all the world as if she were about to burst into tears. At her feet lay a good quantity of fine white cloth.
“Please think nothing of it,” he said, hauling himself to his feet. “It was my fault entirely, I assure you. I should not have been lurking in corridors.” He retrieved the linens, placing them back in the maid’s arms.
Stammering her thanks, the girl beat a hasty retreat. And now, Malcolm thought as he straightened his shoulders, it was time to face the music. So to speak, considering the music itself had stopped at his not-so-graceful entrance.
Turning, he plastered an apologetic smile on his face in preparation for some well-needed groveling...and lost his ability to speak as he gazed upon the startled face of Lady Emily Masters.
• • •
Surprisedwas not the word Emily would have used when Lord Morley tumbled through the music room door. A more apt word would have beenstunned, or evenflabbergasted. But even those did not do justice to what she felt, for it had been that man, and that man alone, who had been on her mind while she sat on that narrow bench and poured her heart into the music.
To say she had thought about him since their dance two nights ago would have been an understatement. He had been one of the few things she’d thought about. How it had felt to glide about the floor as if on a cloud, the music moving through her like something alive. The feel of his hand in hers, his eyes shining on her face as they passed in a turn.
That she had been called to help her mother with the preparations for the wedding the day before had been a blessing. Though the dance with him had been one of the most wonderful things she had ever experienced, her family’s reaction to it had told her all she needed to know: that the world of dancing and laughing and making merry was not her world. More importantly,hewas not part of her world. And he never would be.
She had often wondered how different life would have been if that accident from so long ago had not occurred, if she had not lost her brother and been disfigured by a horrible whim of fate. She had always been shy, but with her twin brother, Jonathan, she had been more of the person she most wished to be; his mischievous ways and high spirits used to draw some of the same out in her. Even so, she had always been a private person, craving peace and solitude at times the way others might crave food. It was a necessity of life for her.
Since that fateful day, however, she had not only needed isolation, she had used it like a shield. She could not be hurt, after all, if there were no one around to hurt her. And in the beginning, people did hurt her. Their reaction to her face always left her feeling ashamed, so that keeping to herself, pushing others away, was more than a simple defense mechanism. It became who she was.
Since Lord Morley’s arrival and his constant haranguing of her, though, a desire had risen in her for more. He had woken something she had thought to never feel.
Now he stood before her looking absolutely stunned. There was none of the typical haughtiness he usually adopted in her presence. No, he looked almost vulnerable. Emily’s heart twisted in her chest.
