Page 18 of The Duke of Seduction
Stifling a groan, Lavinia tried to ignore the stares of too many people eager to detect why the Duke of Seduction had chosen her to write about. She wanted to know that too.
She situated herself and stared straight ahead, ignoring all the intrusive eyes, as the musicians took the dais. She didn’t want the Duke of Seduction’s assistance. He needed to stop his meddling before it caused trouble. She’d do whatever she could to discover his identity and ensure he ceased his ill-conceived scheme.
* * *
The musical performancewas to be a quintet of strings. Rarely was there a guitar, but tonight, Beck was in for a treat. At least he hoped he was. The young Miss Fortescue was making her debut on the instrument, and he was eager to hear her play.
Guitar or not, he rarely missed a musical performance. Typically, he arrived just as it was about to begin, then stole away during the applause. On a few occasions, he endeavored to speak with the musicians, but he kept the conversation relatively oblique. It wasn’t that he hid his interest in music. He was simply private about that aspect of his life, and no one needed to know how deeply it affected him.
Or how much he needed it.
He’d heard the Fortescues play before, and while they were accomplished, they lacked a certain flourish. By the middle of the first piece, Beck could see the young guitarist suffered from the same inadequacy. Beck wished he could take the girl aside and show her how to relinquish herself to the music. Perhaps she was just nervous. Beck probably would be, not that he’d ever played before an audience outside of his friends at school. So in that regard, the Fortescues had one up on him.
As his interest in the music waned, he found his attention kept drifting to the middle of the seating area, where Lady Lavinia sat between her friends. The more he watched her, the more he realized she squinted. Almost constantly. At least when she tried to focus on the dais. Every so often, her features would soften and she’d simply close her eyes and listen, her lips curved up in a slight smile. It seemed she enjoyed the music.
This made him unaccountably pleased. He reasoned that he was always pleased when someone appeared to like music. And not just for dancing, but for the sheer joy of being transported by a melody or simple notes that struck a chord.
His gaze moved over the spectators, and for the most part, they were less interested than Lady Lavinia. More and more, he looked only at her.
Then the Fortescues launched into a piece that stole his breath. The young guitarist played a solo, and it seemed that yes, she’d perhaps been nervous. Beck closed his eyes momentarily and found himself urging her on, as if she could hear his encouraging thoughts. She seemed to, as her notes climbed and cascaded and took him to another place.
He opened his eyes when the others started playing once more. And once more, his gaze found its way to Lady Lavinia. Only this time, her head was turned and her narrowed, myopic eyes were directed at him.
Had she been watching him as he’d listened to the guitarist? He felt suddenly exposed. And he wasn’t sure he liked the sensation.
She returned her attention to the dais, but Beck’s pulse took a moment—or four—to slow. The remainder of the performance passed somewhat quickly, with just two more pieces, both of which weren’t as good as the guitarist’s solo.
When everyone stood to applaud the musicians, Beck considered leaving. However, he wanted to compliment the young guitarist and tell her to keep playing, no matter what.
Except people crowded the musicians, and Beck didn’t want to push his way to the front. Instead, he somehow found himself facing Lady Lavinia. “Good evening, Lady Lavinia. Did you enjoy the performance?”
“I did, thank you. Did you?”
“Yes, the guitarist was quite good.”
“I thought so too. I haven’t heard many guitarists. I like the sound of the instrument. I wonder if it’s difficult to play.”
“It depends,” he said before he could censor himself.
Her dark auburn brows lifted slightly. “Do you play?”
“A bit.” He was desperate to change the subject. His music was the most private part of himself, next to his lyrics and poems. But since he’d begun to share some of those—for the benefit of the young women he sought to help—that left him with just the music really. “I notice you were squinting at the dais.”
A faint pink bloomed in her cheeks. “I was trying to see what she was doing with her fingers on the strings.”
“I’ve seen you squint across the room and at the park. Do you have spectacles?”
“Yes.”
“You should wear them.” He lowered his voice and inched closer to her. “They wouldn’t detract from your beauty.”
Her flush deepened. “I’m not allowed.”
He blinked, thinking he couldn’t have heard her right. “Not…allowed?”
“Your opinion notwithstanding, my mother says they’re unflattering to my face.” She tipped her head to the side and seemed to overcome a bit of her embarrassment.
He felt horrid at causing her disquiet. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You shouldn’t have to squint to see.”
