Page 8 of The Earl's Christmas Deal
That was how she had felt when the dukemet her gaze. His eyes had been assessing and calculating—she had felt like a prize piece of meat he had come to buy. It made her feel faintly ill.
She much preferred the blue-green gaze of the Earl of Bellebrook. Emilia opened her eyes at the surprising thought and cocked her head to one side, thinking through their interaction.
Perhapsattentionwas not the correct term, but there had been something deeply intense about the way the earl had looked at her. It was almost as though he had seen into her soul, observing the person and not the scandal. It had been exhilarating.
He is also impossibly handsome,a voice in her mind said unhelpfully.
Indeed, the earl was by far the most attractive man in the company and there was a hardness and intensity about him that stirred something within her. She tried to shake off the unusual feelings and the clenching of her gut as she remembered his dark gaze. She continued to play—throwing her full attention into the music once more.
Above the drawing room, where the piano’s music faded to almost nothing, many corridors twined behind rooms and through passageways as servants scurried about, seeing to the whims of their guests.
In one of the bed chambers, Adam paced before the fire, hoping to shake the tightness in his chest.
He felt as though the walls were closing in around him. Now alone, and without the company of his aunt and cousin, he was on edge, his skin crawling with the need to get outside into the open. He felt trapped in the house alreadyandhad not even managed an hour within its walls.
He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands and trying to get his mind to settle before he disgraced himself. The dinner bell had not yet chimed; indeed, he was not even dressed appropriately, but he longed to feel the breeze on his face and look up at the wide sky.
Somehow, going outside felt far more appealing than remaining in his room. Aware that his aimless wandering mightbe met with disapproval, Adam resolved to be quick about it, hoping his hosts would not take undue offence.
Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the fireplace, he straightened his cravat and ensured he was presentable before leaving his room as swiftly as possible. Perhaps he would find an unlocked door where he could escape, hiding in the gardens for a good while and enjoying the sun's pale glow on his face.
The corridors outside his bedroom were adorned with beautiful tartan bows on every picture he passed. The house smelled of cinnamon and brandy, and he sucked in a lungful of air, a strange nostalgiaand sadness mixing within him as, at first, he rejoiced at the scent before quashing the feeling at the memory of Anastasia.
He had made his way to the ground floor without being detected by anyone. He was relieved to find a cold draft of air coming from somewhere, which suggested a door had been left ajar, and his hopes for escape were a little more certain.
He followed the chill that crept against his skin, and as he turned a corner into a narrow corridor, his feet came to a halt without conscious thought.
Someone was playing a beautiful piece of music and the sound of it floated towards him, hauntingly familiar and evocative.
He breathed shallowly as he recognised the strains of Bach’s Little Fugue in G Minor. His mother had loved that piece. It instantly reminded him of her, her happy smile and bright, sparkling eyes leaping to the front of his mind as though it were his mother herself who was playing, conjured by the spirit of the season.
He was moving before he realised where he was headed, following the sound as a fox follows the scent of a hare,his escape forgotten, a new veracious need to find the player embedded within his mind.
He found himself in a wide corridor with high white doors all along it. One of them was partially open, and he made for it, knowing instinctively that the music must be coming from there.
He tiptoed to the crack in the door, aware that he was prying into a world he had not been invited to. Powerless in the moment, he could not help but move closer, and what he saw was an image that would stay with him forever.
Lady Emilia Sterling was the sole occupant of the room, seated at the pianoforte, her fingers fluttering over the keys as if they moved of their own accord. Her eyes were closed, her face softened in rapture as the music swelled and ebbed, ascending in glorious harmonies that filled the air with raw emotion.
But it was no longer simply the music that captivated Adam; it was the expression on the lady’s face. Her eyes remained closed, no sheet music to guide her—she was playing entirely from memory, utterly enraptured by the piece. Her body swayed with each crescendo, her fingers pressing the keys with such natural grace that it seemed as though the music had become an extension of her very soul. Every part of her was absorbed, as though she were wrapped in the tight, rich column of sound she alone had conjured into existence.
The passion in the room was almost tangible, saturating the air with an intensity that struck him to his core. At that moment, something inside Adam broke free—an unbridled flood of joy and longing that he had long thought locked away, perhaps forever. His heart raced in his chest, filling with a warmth he had not felt since before Anastasia’s death.
It was as if the music had somehow given voice to his own tangled emotions, loosening the knot of grief he had carriedall these years. His chest expanded, his shoulders softened, and his fingers gripped the edge of the door to steady himself, unable to look away from the vision before him. He was wholly, irrevocably transfixed, as though every forgotten feeling within him was being awakened by the beauty she summoned one delicate note at a time.
CHAPTER FOUR
Emilia was lost in thought as she played.
Her mind was still musing on the earl’s intentions and what he might have meant by looking at her in such a way. As the piece continued to flow through her, she opened her eyes, only for them to alight on the same blue-green gaze watching her from a crack in the door.
Her heart lurched into her throat—could he tell the subject of her thoughts by sight alone?
Her fingers froze on the keys, the final note reverberating between them like a ripple across a divide. Their eyes locked and held once more, and that strange force rose between them again. The air crackled with unspoken words, and in his eyes, she thought she discerned an echo of her own rapture, her own wonder at the love and joy music could bring.
Then, as though awoken by the pause in the music, the earl blinked, his face flushing slightly. She heard him clear his throat, and then he spun on his heel and away, leaving her wondering what had compelled him to watch her in such a manner and why she felt bereft at his absence.
Adam only noticed he was running when he skidded to a halt in the expansive foyer by the entrance of the house, startling a servant who looked up at him in surprise. He slowed his pace to a more leisurely speed and tried to quiet his mind from the whirlwind of thoughts that were bouncing around inside it.
