Once Upon a Tower

Page 82

Edie began to smile, slowly. “Your Grace, are you, by any chance, saying that you intend to work less? That you might make a place on your schedule for a wife, aside from dinnertime?”
“I want to be with you,” he said, dropping a tender kiss on the end of her nose. “I want to watch you play your cello. I want you to perform for me naked.”
She laughed aloud. “I couldn’t!”
He disagreed, and she ended up on her back, kissing him fiercely. After a while, Gowan rolled over, bringing her to a sitting position on top of him, because it was time to try all the things he’d dreamed of, and since he had a wife who was as confident in her sensuality as she was in her love for him . . .
Later, Edie wandered over to the window, followed by Gowan. He pushed her hair to the side and licked her neck. “Essence of Edie,” he murmured. “And sweat.”
She made a face at that—and then, “Gowan!”
“Mmmm?”
“The river,” she gasped.
Overnight, the Glaschorrie had swollen to a torrent, burst its banks, and now surrounded them. The river was split in two by the tower, flowing around it and coming together on the other side, continuing its dash to the ocean.
But the rain had stopped, for the moment at least. “Imagine,” Gowan said, pushing the window open wider. The sun had broken through the clouds, and the water below glinted as if thousands of gold sovereigns were hidden just below the surface. “We won’t be able to leave the tower for at least a day.”
Edie’s eyes had grown wide. “We’re trapped!”
Gowan leaned back against the sill, happier than he had ever been. “Thank goodness Bardolph left a ham and a plate of dumplings and a chicken pie.”
He was more interested in the vision before him. Edie’s skin was covered with a pattern of little love bites—the road map. He didn’t need any maps, though he didn’t bother to tell her. He was learning by sound and touch: the catch in her breath, the sob in her throat, the way her fingers tightened on his shoulders, and the way her body shook in his arms . . .
Edie leaned out the window again, transfixed by the floodwaters, which were lapping at the tower’s lowest windows. “Don’t,” he said. “That sill is entirely too low; you might topple out.”
“You’re a fine one to say that,” Edie retorted, laughing.
Gowan didn’t argue, but wound his arms around her waist from behind, and pulled her away from the window.
“You’re going to have to stop that,” she said, giving him a naughty glance over her shoulder.
“What?”
“Oh, trying to get your own way.”
His hands were on her breasts again. “I have an idea,” he said, brushing her hair over one shoulder so he could kiss it.
“Is it about becoming a man who listens to his wife and always takes her advice and never thwarts her in any way?”
The Duke of Kinross knew better than to make promises he wouldn’t keep. “A better idea,” he said silkily, tucking her gorgeous bottom under the curve of his stomach.
“Gowan!”
It was amazing how a woman could sound scandalized, intrigued, aroused . . . all in the same moment.
Forty-two
Six years later
No. 37 Charles Street, London
The Duke of Kinross’s town house
At eleven years old, Miss Susannah was a quite accomplished violinist. In fact, she was something of a prodigy and she knew it, even though her mama always hushed her father when he said anything about that. Her mother thought it was much more important to be a nice person than to be a genius.
Personally, Susannah thought you could be both. Her tutor, Monsieur Védrines, nodded at her from his seat at the piano, and she raised her bow.
She knew the piece to the middle of her bones. And she knew everyone in the room as well. There was her dear mama and papa, and Lady Arnaut, who also played the cello, although she complained that these days she couldn’t play because her stomach was too great with child.
That was a paltry excuse, as Susannah could have told her, because Edie had played all the way through both of her confinements.
The first notes spilled from the piano and Susannah felt her heartbeat quicken. There was no reason that she should be so nervous, though perhaps it was because Jamie Arnaut was in the room, sitting by his father and mother. He was thirteen and seemed tremendously grown-up.
It was her turn, and her bow came down on just the right spot . . .
Afterward, she was flushed and smiling and terribly pleased. But there was still one piece left to play, a surprise for Edie. They’d all been keeping the secret for ages and ages, to the point where Susannah wondered whether Edie actually knew the truth and was merely pretending not to know. Grown-ups did that sort of thing.
Jamie came up with his father, Lord Arnaut, so she told herself not to blush, and dropped into a curtsy. And then she blushed anyway, because Jamie gave her a smile and said that he thought she was a wonderful violinist. He didn’t say, for a girl, and he didn’t even look as if he was thinking it.
Edie watched the color rise in Susannah’s cheeks as she accepted young Jamie’s compliments and smiled to herself. They had never been able to determine whether Gowan and Susannah’s mother had remarried, so a fearful person might worry about Susannah’s future acceptance in society. But it was obvious, even at eleven years old, when she was still all knees and elbows, that she would be a tremendous beauty some day. And her brother was one of the most powerful men in England and Scotland. Edie wasn’t worried.
Layla popped up at her side and drew her to a chair in the very front row. “The recital is not over yet!” she said, giggling madly. “There’s still a birthday surprise for you.” There was a great deal of laughter from her assembled friends and family, though Edie had no idea why.
Monsieur Védrines sat himself back down at the piano. A footman placed a straight-backed chair next to the instrument.
“Is someone going to play a duet for my birthday?” Edie asked Layla. Layla’s eyes were shining and she couldn’t stop giggling, even though she was risking waking up one of her twins, draped over her shoulder fast asleep. Edie wasn’t sure which one, since they were identical. All she could see was a cloud of golden hair against Layla’s shoulder.
“You’ll see,” Layla said now.
“I can guess,” Edie said, smiling. “I don’t see Father. He’s going to perform a new piece, isn’t he?”
“Something like that,” Layla replied.
Edie sighed happily. “What a lovely birthday present. Where has Gowan got to? I don’t want him to miss it.”
Layla looked about vaguely. “I’m sure he’s here somewhere.”
At that moment Edie’s father strode out onto the floor, carrying his precious cello. He settled himself in the chair and nodded at Védrines. The family counted it as one of their luckiest days when the young Frenchman agreed to be their castle musician.
“We shall play Vivaldi’s Concerto in D Minor, in honor of my daughter’s birthday,” Lord Gilchrist announced, giving Edie a smile before turning to place his music on the stand.
“He must have made a special arrangement,” Edie told Layla. “That piece was written for two violins, a cello, and strings.”