Read Online Rakehell's Widow by Sandra Heath - Free Book Online Page B

going to give tuition, isn’t he, Your Grace?”
    “I believe so.”
    Lord Gainsford eyed Jillian for a moment. “I presume, then, that you are a talented player yourself, Lady Jillian.”
    “I play a little,” she said, flushing prettily and with a genuine modesty, which probably made Charles Allister even more wretchedly her slave than he already was.
    “Then I don’t know whether I should advise you to seek tuition from the Count,” said the old lord, smiling at her, “for he is said to be most unorthodox, thinking nothing of playing a black key with his thumb, or of crossing a longer finger over a shorter one.”
    Jillian was nonplussed that anyone of such stature could disregard the basic rules. “Surely you are wrong, sir.”
    “I believe that that is how he achieves such fluency, but what he can master so effortlessly would surely be impossible for lesser mortals. I gather that his own compositions are so diabolically difficult that another fellow attempting to emulate him was well advised to have an eminent surgeon at hand to attend the finger damage which resulted.”
    Octavia and Alabeth laughed, Jillian looked primly dis approving of such criticism of her idol, and Charles looked baleful, obviously despising the handsome Count well in advance.
    Lord Gainsford chuckled a little and then smiled kindly at Jillian, “I am teasing you, m’dear, so don’t take me seriously. I have always liked to hear a pretty gal playing the pianoforte, so will you indulge me a little and play for us now?”
    “Oh, I don’t know….”
    Charles was brighter suddenly. “Please do, Lady Jillian.”
    “If you would really like to hear me…. ”
    The two gentlemen stood immediately, Lord Gainsford managing somehow to offer her his arm first. “Of course we would, m’dear, it would be the perfect end of an excellent evening.”
    Alabeth and Octavia commandeered Charles between them, the Duchess chiding him just a little as they ascended to the music room some way behind Jillian and Lord Gainsford. “Do smile a little, Charles, for you look so gloomy that I fear poor Alabeth will think she has lost her touch as a hostess.”
    He was aghast. “Oh, please, Alabeth, never think that.”
    “I shall if you continue to frown.”
    “You both know why I’m frowning.”
    “We do indeed,” Octavia replied firmly, “and I, for one, think you’re going about it all the wrong way.”
    “I’m not a beau. I haven’t got the wiles of a skilled lover,” he grumbled.
    “No, you’re just moping around with spaniel eyes, and it ain’t the way with a minx like young Jillian,” said Octavia. “Ignore her a little, it will do her good.”
    They entered the music room, where an alert Sanderson had already placed some candles, and Jillian took her place at the pianoforte and began to play. The beautiful notes of a Mozart minuet stole out into the silent room, her delicate little fingers moving softly and expertly over the keys. The performance was faultless, the work of someone who was already very accomplished.
    She smiled with justifiable pleasure when they all applauded her afterward, although her smile froze a little when Charles made so bold as to take her hand and raise it to her lips. She was not interested in him and she showed it in the way she coolly removed her hand, her eyes flickering on to smile at Lord Gainsford, who was most effusive with his praise. Octavia frowned a little at Jillian’s conduct, especially when she saw how low the snub had brought poor Charles.
    He went to where Alabeth was standing by the window. “Oh, Charles, I’m so sorry—” she began.
    But he was suddenly and surprisingly firm. “She is the one for me, Alabeth, and I’m set upon winning her.”
    “Nothing would please me more than to welcome you as my brother-in-law, Charles, but I cannot say that I have seen anything encouraging in her manner toward you.”
    He smiled a little ruefully. “Nor I, but I must try, for I have never