Page 18 of The Viscount in her Bedroom
He hesitated, and she thought he betrayed a hint of frustration and even uncertainty. She relaxed, confident of victory—for today.
“You know you are not a prisoner.”
She waited.
“My lord,” Manvil interrupted, “might I remind you that you’re due at the miller’s to discuss the repairs on the mill?”
Lord Wade sighed. “Well I can’t go dressed like this. I’ll have to change.”
For the first time she noticed that he wore no cravat, and the top button of his shirt was undone. The bare skin at the hollow of his throat seemed almost indecent, but she couldn’t stop staring at it. And was that perspiration making his shirt stick to his chest beneath his coat? The day wasn’t even hot.
What had he been doing?
He gave Louisa a nod. “Good day, Miss Shelby.”
“Good day, my lord,” she answered, suddenly reluctant to see him leave.
~oOo~
After dinner, Louisa was invited to the drawing room for the evening. Lord Wade joined them after his private meal, and her senses sharpened into heightened awareness. He only had to walk into a room and she noticed him, from the sound of his walk to the faint odor of his cologne. He was cheerful once again.
Manvil escorted him to a chair, then stepped back into the corridor.
“Grandmama, how was your day?” Lord Wade asked easily, stretching out his legs and crossing them.
Louisa noticed how relaxed he always strove to be. His legs did not come near to hitting the coffee table, and she wondered if he knew precisely where everything was situated. Was this also something he had worked to perfect?
While Lady Wade chattered on about Lady Perry, without any of the hurtful details, Louisa tried to pay attention to her own book. She had to stop concentrating on her employer’s grandson. It was embarrassing how many times she found herself watching him when no one was looking, as if he were her personal classic sculpture come to life.
Miss Wade lifted her novel from its place at her side, and after explaining to Louisa the general plot, began to read aloud. Her voice was sweet, and she gave a dramatic turn to each character, occasionally leaving her brother chuckling. It was obvious she played to his reactions, and would do anything for him. It reminded Louisa of the closeness she shared with her sisters.
When the next chapter began, Lady Wade interrupted. “Miss Shelby, will you take a turn?”
“Of course, my lady,” she answered, remembering how often she’d read to Lady Ralston.
But having Lord Wade in the room made everything different, and she felt on display. No wonder he didn’t like being stared at. In the past, she would never have been nervous around men! His disability didn’t bother her—it was the man himself, the man whose request she was disobeying.
Though he could not see her, she had his attention. He solemnly faced her, not watching, but again focusing on her. But he did not laugh when she read an amusing line, and his sister overcompensated by laughing too loudly.
When Louisa had finished a chapter, Lady Wade smiled. “Miss Shelby, with such a lovely reading voice, your singing must surely be pleasant. Will you please do us the honor of performing for us?”
Miss Wade was obviously trying to hide her discomfort, as she kept glancing at her silent brother. Lord Wade said nothing, just continued to wear a pleasantly blank mask that made Louisa want to know what he was thinking. Was he offended that others would dare to sing when he would not?
Simon admitted to himself that he was curious. What was his grandmother up to? She had not asked him to sing, once he’d professed he would not; since then, no music had been played in the house. Though he hadn’t requested a ban, it had been easier that way.
Now he listened to the rustle of Miss Shelby’s skirts as she walked past him, heard her seat herself at the piano and begin to play. She was no great musical prodigy, but she had a light, pleasant touch at the keyboard.
And then she began to sing, and the blow to his gut was unexpected and disturbing. She had a deep, husky singing voice. Couldn’t everyone hear the sultriness, the way she was able to bring out the emotion of the piece? She’d flirted with dozens of men with that voice, and now it wove a spell around Simon himself. He almost wanted to send Georgie from the room so that she wouldn’t try to imitate it. This wasn’t how virginal women were supposed to sing.
He could imagine Miss Shelby touched by candlelight in the night, that red hair shining. Did she sing with her eyes open or closed? Did she wet her lips? Only a year ago, he would have been able to feast on the sight of her as well.
Only a year ago, he wouldn’t have imagined needing to live with his grandmother, or memorizing a house by counting the paces of each room. But everything was different now, and it was a daily struggle to prove to himself that he hadn’t let blindness change him.
Surely it was only a mark of his seclusion that he would read so much into a simple song. When Miss Shelby finished, his grandmother applauded enthusiastically and requested another. She would have been the first to notice something inappropriate.
It was celibate Simon, overreacting to a woman’s presence. He couldn’t protest; he couldn’t leave. He was forced to endure the way the gooseflesh rose along his arms at the pure power of her voice. When the second song was finished, he had to stop the performance.
“Miss Shelby, you have true talent,” he said, forcing a smile. “And I thought your sister, Lady Thurlow, was the musical genius in your family. Is she still composing?”
