Page 25 of Lady Mary's May Day Mischief
“Then I claim it for you. And praise you for it. Your parents would commend you for what you learned and what you built and what you endured.”
He considered the keyboard, but finally raised his head. “I am proud of what we did, but more of what we learned. After Badajoz, we knew our weak points and how to correct them.”
“And that,” she said as she squeezed his hands, “is what we celebrate the most.”
“Until this moment,” he said as he took in her hair, her eyes, her mouth, “when you and I celebrate what we were and what we can become.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her.
“I say! Good morning!” Lady Courtland greeted them from the doorway. Behind her came two of her friends and all three took chairs across the room.
“So much for privacy.”
He silently cursed. His agenda would have to wait. To the music then.
Mary cleared her throat as she scooted away from him. “We had a repertoire, as I recall. A very good one.”
“I know.” Hip to hip, he winked at her. “Let’s do the simple Mozart first.”
“Our lullaby.” She brightened as once she did as a mischievous child.
“Ours, yes.” As children they’d chosen one of Mozart’s simpler piano piecesand dubbed it their own. Cooperating at first for their own amusement, they’d adapted his works for four hands. They became so good at their innovations that they performed for their families and for larger gatherings. “Try the first chords. I’ll follow.”
She flexed her fingers as she examined the keys. Then she grinned at him. “A simple round first?”
He nodded, thinking she spoke of their renewed relationship more than of music. “We start slowly.”
Her blue eyes rested in his. “I never thought to see you again…or play the piano with you.”
“We correct that now.” He tore his gaze from hers and focused on the keys. “Begin.”
She started off slowly and simply, but as she approached the second refrain, he set his fingers to begin his own accompaniment. He felt, rather than saw her laugh, and they both approached the next with more confidence. The third round was more elaborate, she with the theme, adding as she could, and he creating a new digression. By the fourth round, they played with enthusiasm and an audience of two gathered round. Another approached and yet one more. By the end, they gained hearty applause.
He stood to extend a hand toward her for the guests’ approbation. She rose, curtsied and he led her toward the garden doors. They stood together, perhaps too close, secluded from prying eyes at least partially by heavy drapes. “You were wonderful, Mary.”
“I never would have thought to try it.” Her cheeks were pink, the twinkle in her eyes his reward. “Thank you.”
“Shall we play tonight?”
“During the ball? Oh, no,” she said. “You must dance.”
He could not contain his need of her. “With you, I will.”
“Oh, Blake, I won’t embarrass myself.”
“Let me hold you.”
He heard the breath leave her lungs.
“I need to dance with you, darling.”
She worked at words, blinking.
He chuckled. “Did you think I would not wish it?”
“I—no. I told you I still do not dance. I haven’t had a partner. Not before you. Not after you.” She put two hands to her cheeks. “Oh, I am flustered. You terrible man.”
He caught her wrists and lifted both to his lips. And on each warm and tender pulse, he placed a tender kiss.
