Page 12 of From Rakes to Riches

Guy began the next piece, a sonata for keyboard by Johann Christian Bach, the more famous Bach’s youngest son who’d become music master for Queen Charlotte. Gemma loved his music, so clear and lucid, though she’d never been very good at the pianoforte.

Guy’s fingers flew through the piece, the music sweet and flowing. Gemma followed along, quickly turning each page as Guy reached the end of it.

Music bathed her senses, the pianoforte vibrating under her hand as she rested it lightly on the music stand. The notes drowned out the conversation beyond the instrument, encasing her and Guy in a private space of sound.

He nodded at her to turn another page, and his arm brushed hers as he reached to the top keys for the notes. The tingle the movement caused was decidedlynotmusical. Gemma heated all the way through, and he sent her a wink, continuing his playing without missing a note.

The piece ended far too soon. The ladies and Aunt Margot applauded, and the gentlemen joined in grudgingly.

One gentleman, Mr. Townsend, whom Gemma considered a bit stiff, did nod in true appreciation for Guy’s skill. Mr. Townsend was twenty-five, excruciatingly polite, and was considered rather bookish against the dashing and scrape-prone bloods who fluttered about Sonia.

Mr. Townsend was the least objectionable suitor so far, Aunt Margot and Gemma agreed, but dull, Sonia had declared. Tediously so.

Mr. Slater rose to his feet, applauding Guy. “You must step aside, Lovell, and let Mrs. Cooke have a go. I imagine she’s brilliant at fingering.”

Aunt Margot’s brows snapped together in disapproval, but all others in the room let the innuendo fly past, either from politeness or because they didn’t understand the double entendre.

Guy sent Mr. Slater a bland stare. “An excellent idea.”

“No,” Gemma said at once, rising. “I am nowhere near as talented as you, Lord Guy. Perhaps you could play another piece.”

Guy flexed his fingers. “I am always happy to show off, be warned. But here.” He pulled out a piece of music from the stack on top of the pianoforte. “I came across this as I sifted through,but it needs four hands. Can you play the upper part while I take the bass?”

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For a moment, Guy thought Gemma would refuse. She flushed, clearly uncomfortable, but as she scanned the sheet, she relaxed a bit. He’d picked a piece whose melody was a fairly easy run of notes, probably purchased for the novice players in the house.

“Now, now,” Lord Steven called. “Do not keep her all to yourself, Lovell. Leave the poor chit alone.”

Gemma’s cheeks burned scarlet at the wordchit, and she quickly resumed her seat. “By all means,” she said in a loud voice. “This will sound grand.”

“Excellent,” Guy said, trying to put her at her ease. Lord Steven needed to feel the rough edge of Guy’s boot. “Shall we?”

Guy’s part began the piece, Gemma coming in a few measures later. The music was scored in A minor, which meant no sharps or flats except the occasional accidental. Gemma seemed happy with that. She was a competent player, but her fumbles told Guy she wasn’t a prodigy.

Even so, they moved well together through the music. Gemma grew interested in the piece as they went, her bodyswaying slightly in the chair. Guy’s foot worked the pedal beneath, which made his thigh brush her skirt.

The warmth that came to him through the fabric madehisfingers skip a few notes, which he hoped she did not notice.

The music again raised a barrier between them and the others, muffling the low nasal whine of Lord Steven. The man was an ass. He’d squandered the inheritance his father had been kind enough to bestow on him, though he was a second son, and his brother, a duke, had had enough of him. Lord Steven leered at Gemma, as though she’d fall to her knees and beg him to marry her.

Slater wasn’t much better. He had money and was actually careful with it, his only redeeming quality. He leered as well, believing Gemma would fall for his idiotic charms.

Guy’s ill-tempered thoughts made him increase his pace, though this section was markedadagio—slowly and easily. Gemma glanced at him in puzzlement, and he calmed the tempo.

Pulling his thoughts away from the irritating gentlemen, Guy recognized that he and Gemma harmonized well together. Her arm sometimes touched his when their hands drew close on the keyboard, and thighs contacted as Guy depressed and released the pedal.

Guy decided he’d like to perform a duet with her again. Not here, though, in front of foppish and oafish gentlemen, very young ladies, and Gemma’s formidable aunt-in-law. No, he and Gemma would be alone, in candlelight, playing together. The music would grow softer as they wound their way to the end, finish in pianissimo, and then Guy would take Gemma in his arms and kiss her softly.

His heart thumped. He wanted this, wished he could suspend time and float away with Gemma to a place they could be private.

When the devil had he grown so romantic? Guy was the least romantic man he knew. Women—the right sort of women—werefor having fun with. They hung on his arm as he played for blood at cards, and he enjoyed a liaison with them afterward, with no promise, on either side, of anything more. Widows seeking entertainment or courtesans who understood the rules of the game were Guy’s usual partners.

Gemma was a widow, true, but in spite of the gossip about her—had she hastened her husbands to their graves with her insatiable passion?—he’d never seen her flirting with gentlemen or sending hints that she desired a rendezvous. She’d been married thrice, but her behavior was as innocent as that of her stepdaughter.

Guy caught Gemma glancing sideways at him. The glance took in his entire body, and when their eyes met, her face went brick red.

Aha.So not quite an innocent. Guy sent her a grin, and Gemma looked hurriedly back at the music.

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