“Don’t stop.”
“That was the first suite. I don’t want to bore you.”
“Never.” Humbled, her voice caught. No wonder he’d been chosen by one of the world’s most applauded musicians.
With a nod, he dove into the second suite and as he played, perspiration beaded on his brow and his chest. His bare feet remained planted on the floor, and his knees kept the instrument in check. Time ceased yet again, and she didn’t realize tears were streaming down her face until she tasted salt on her lips.
But it wasn’t only the music that kept her enthralled. It was the man, his passion, his exuberance. And it seemed that the longer he played, the more he moved into that other world again. Far from her and every other human.
He played longer this time, performing the entire piece.
Physically, they were together in this room but in every other sense, he might as well have been playing on the moon.
And when he ended on the final note, he was breathing heavily and seemed to require a moment to return to mundane life as everyone else in the world experienced it.
He had labored at this passion for the past half an hour, or however long it had been, and after the room fell silent, she became aware of his breathing, the ticking of a clock on the mantle, and a carriage rumbling along the street outside the window.
But of course, that was how he maintained his strength and physique. He’d told her that some days he practiced more than ten hours.
“You will be Bickford-Crowden’s finest student.” It was all she could think to say. After tonight, she would gradually be relegated to a fond memory from his past.
“I hope I don’t disappoint him.” He rose and, just as he’d done that first night they’d been together, lovingly replaced the cello into the case.
She’s more than a possession. She’s my life… And for now, she owns my heart.
He had not been exaggerating.
“But enough for now.” He crossed the room and bent down, lifting her into the air as though she hardly weighed anything. “Tonight my only purpose is to coax music out of you.”
When he lowered her to the bed, she didn’t hesitate to lift her face for his kiss. If his music had a taste, it was this—velvet and passion. The melody from Bach’s cello piece continued playing through her mind.
“I can’t bear to leave you. Come with me to Brighton.” Heat brushed her jaw where he spoke against her skin.
It was what she wanted to hear. But… “You don’t mean it.”
“I do.” He’d pulled away to look into her eyes. “Marry me.”
For a moment, the entire world fell away, and she could almost imagine spending her life in the embrace of this man’s love. She wanted to say yes to all of it. Yes to Brighton, yes to marriage, yes to Peter Spencer forever.
“I know I sound crazy, but I don’t need months to know how I feel about you. And I don’t want to end it when we’ve only just begun. This is right. This is good.” He was on his elbows now, his gaze unwavering, looking determined and eager. “And you’ll never have to be alone again. We will be a family. You will have a family. I have an estate in Essex. And although it isn’t massive, it’s respectable. My father will be happy for me to settle down. Say yes, Miranda.”
In her mind’s eye, she saw everything that could never be—children with eyes the color of the sky—running and playing, the two of them sitting in a drawing-room on a cold winter night, a fire burning in the hearth…
And a distant look of longing in his eyes. Because sitting in the corner, Rosa seemed to taunt her.
Greatness awaited him. He’d spent his life preparing to rise above the feats of normal human beings.
“But you have your apprenticeship. And after that… You are being impulsive, foolish. We barely know one another.”
The excitement in his eyes diminished slightly. Because she was right. Of course, she was right. She pressed her advantage. “You don’t know me. It would be a mistake, Peter.” She gestured toward the bed. She would make this easy for him. “To leap into marriage, just because of this…”
“But I love you.” It was possible he’d even surprised himself with his declaration.
“You don’t know me,” she repeated. Although hadn’t she just been imagining that she might be falling in love as well? “You can’t give up your dreams.”
“I wouldn’t have to give them up.”
“It’s impossible. After Brighton, Sir Bickford-Crowden will invite you to tour the Continent with him.” Peter moved his mouth as though he might argue with that, and she shot him a disbelieving look. “You know it is likely. I won’t take that from you.”
“Come with me.” He was so full of optimism. For the first time since they’d begun this affair, she felt much, much older than him.
It almost sounded possible. But she would become a burden. And after they tired of one another, she’d return to England even more of a fallen woman than she was now.
His proposal had been made impulsively. He hadn’t meant it.
“It’s too soon.” She clutched the sheet to her chest, needing to get out of that hotel room before she gave in to what he wanted. She wanted the fairy tale with him. Of course, she did, but it would be a mistake. Even if he abandoned his music, he’d want children. She’d failed Baldwin in that regard. She couldn’t bear to know the depths of that disappointment again.
He sat up on his haunches, his skin glowing almost bronze in the candlelight. “I love you, Miranda. And I think you love me.”
“It wouldn’t matter.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Your dreams are right before you. I would hate myself forever if I kept you from following them.” Because of course, she loved him. How could she not love him?
He stilled, staring across the room with an unseeing gaze. “I’m rushing you.”
Miranda trailed her fingers down his chest. She was going to miss him dreadfully. How did a person go about falling out of love?
“The apprenticeship ends December twentieth.” He broke into her thoughts.
He seemed to be working something out in his mind, his eyes thoughtful, his jaw clenched. “I’ll meet you here, in this room, on Christmas Eve. If you don’t come, then I’ll accept that you don’t love me. If I’m not here, you’ll prove yourself right. But if we both come, then we’ll know…”
“We’ll know what?” Because he couldn’t come… he would be preparing to go on tour.
“That you and I are destined for one another.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the romance of it. He was so beautiful, so talented, so inherently good and untarnished.
“I won’t come.” She didn’t want him thinking he owed her anything. She didn’t want him to feel guilty when, while sitting with his family on Christmas Eve, he realized he’d forgotten all about her.
“I will come.” And in his words, she heard something she hadn’t expected—certainty. “I’ll reserve this room, number eight, for Christmas Eve, of this year.”
How could she deny him this? Such a foolish promise, though, might make their goodbye less final. To imagine this attachment they’d developed wasn’t on the cusp of breaking forever.