Page 97 of Desperate Proposals
Chapter Twenty-Five
Evelyn awoke to thefaint sound of music.How droll, she thought as she rolled over. Someone must be playing the piano. Her mother-in-law? Selina? The melody was too light, too cheerful to come from someone who’d had their hopes so thoroughly shattered the day before. Certainly not Selina, then. Evelyn frowned and opened her eyes.
Alongside her the bed was empty, though the pillow was indented and the sheets rumpled. Without thinking she reached out a hand, feeling for her husband’s warmth. The bed was cold; he must have been awake for some time now. She turned to look at the small porcelain clock upon the mantelpiece. It was blurry.
With a sigh she reached over for her new spectacles on the bedside table. After a quick glance at the clock—startling her with the lateness of the hour—her gaze fell upon the dressing table. She had not had a proper look at herself wearing them yet, and, despite what her hus—whatMarcushad said the night before, she did not believe they would suit her. He was a politician, after all, and weren’t all politicians prone to flattery?
Even so, as she crossed the room to examine her reflection, she wore a small, fond smile as she recalled his never-ending praise from the previous evening.
Oh dear. She clutched at her chest. Somehow she looked even more haughty and severe than she’d thought. Leaning forward, she stared intently at herself. Were those…freckles?! Aghast, she pulled back, her hand now covering her mouth.
He had mentioned her freckles before, but she had not believed him.
The piano had paused for a moment, she realized, before kicking up into another buoyant tune. Evelyn glanced about the room; even Milburga had gone. Smoothing down her plait in the mirror one more time, she straightened up. The music, it seemed, was coming from nearby. Donning a wrapper with handsome trimming, Evelyn set out into the hallway, closing the door gently behind her, and listened.
The melody now plinked haltingly, hitting an off note, then repeated from the beginning of the same measure only to hit another sour note. A dog yowled in response.
She smiled. The noise was coming from Marcus’s room.
Evelyn had never been in his room before, and once would never have dreamed of entering. Now, although her newfound boldness gave her enough confidence to go in, she still could not help but gently knock first.
“Come in,” her husband called, and the music restarted once more, this time dancing past the confounding note with ease.
“If it’s the post, Bray, leave it in my study for now,” he said merrily, his back to her as he sat at a modest but well-maintained piano.
Milburga leapt up and bounded over to her, tail wagging. With a warm heart Evelyn bent over to pet the collie, smoothing down her ears.
Then she stood and looked around, drinking in her surroundings. The windows were high, the drapes tasteful. The walls were papered in a lush, colorful floral design done in the modern fashion. The furniture was light and polished, including a pair of spindly occasional tables that were exceptionally handsome. Even the bed seemed to take the piano’s presence into consideration, for it was as large as Evelyn’s but somehow seemed less ostentatious, lacking the heaviness of hers. Although several small portraits hung from a rail, the room lacked any other overt decoration; no ceramics, no oddities or antiques. The relative spareness lent the room a calming effect.
She had assumed his quarters would be the least pleasant in the entire house, judging by the condition of his London house and its lack of comforts. But this place was a sanctuary.
Irritated at being ignored, Milburga barked.
The music halted. Marcus swiveled around.
“Your quarters…” Evelyn began. She felt her cheeks pinken. Somehow this admission cost more than her naked, sweaty shouts of the previous evening. “They’re pleasing.”
Marcus grinned.
“I did not expect them to be.”
“Let’s stop there, shall we?”
Evelyn fluttered her lashes. “You play?”
Marcus gestured for her to come forth. When she finally moved to join him on the piano bench, he turned back to the keys and began picking out the tune once again.
“A bit.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know this one,” she said, attempting a casual tone.
Another incorrect note rang out, and he chuckled. “Neither do I, it seems.”
“What is it?” Her voice rose to the highest pitch she could manage.
“Nothing suitable for your ears, my darling.”
Evelyn raised an eyebrow in a silent demand.
