“Will you play another for me? A merrier one this time.” He surprised her by sinking onto the piano bench beside her, his broad shoulders grazing her slight shoulders as he settled awkwardly, obviously feeling pain with his every movement. He made no attempt to draw away. Did he realize that their bodies were still touching?
Dillie felt a rush of heat to her cheeks, not to mention her heart was still thumping so violently it threatened to explode. “Of course. I’ll look through these.”
He leaned closer to peruse the folios propped on the piano’s music stand. She caught the scent of lather on his now beardless jaw, and the subtle scent of sandalwood soap along his throat. She ached to tilt her head and nuzzle his throat, shamelessly inhale great gulps of Ian air.
The folios fell from her hands and clattered to the floor. The smaller, unbound music sheets simply wafted across the room. “I’ll get them!” Her twin often eeped when she felt uncomfortable. No one had ever made Dillie feel uncomfortable until now. Her cheeks were on fire as she jumped to her feet and began to gather the scattered papers.
She sensed Ian’s amused gaze on her as she bent and twisted her body under various pieces of furniture to gather every last one of them. Her face was flushed, something she could blame on her exertion and not on her heated response to Ian’s stare.
He grinned at her when she sank onto the piano bench, folios in hand, and attempted to prop them against the music stand. “Here, let me help you,” Ian said, no doubt taking pity when she failed miserably to right them. He reached out to catch a few of the music sheets that were once again slipping away, and accidentally caught her hands, which were all over those folios.
“Eep.”
His big, warm hands remained on hers.
“Eep. Eep.”
He grinned, that sensual Ian grin all mothers warned their daughters about.
“Ian, I can’t play while you’re holding my hands. Eep. Eep.”
He appeared reluctant to release them, but it couldn’t be so. “What’s wrong with you? Do you have the hiccups?”
She nodded. “I often get them when I play the piano. Eep.” She turned away and rolled her eyes. He wasn’t the idiot. She was. She shot off the bench and rang for Pruitt, ordering tea and lemon cake for Ian and herself. To keep herself busy until the tea arrived, she made a show of clearing her throat, as though attempting to rid herself of the hiccups she never had. Satisfied with her turn at theatrics, she returned to her seat at the piano, careful not to touch any part of Ian’s big body. Even the slightest contact would cause her heart to burst.
She imagined what the gossip rags would report. Remains of one Daffodil Farthingale were found exploded all over well-used piano in the family’s music room. Notorious rakehell Duke of Edgeware last to see her alive. Cause of death was determined to be excessive rapture. “You’ll be more comfortable over there,” she said, pointing to a pair of cushioned chairs by the hearth.
“Are you that eager to be rid of me?”
She nodded, though it wasn’t for the reason he believed. A delicious heat radiated off his body. That heat, mingled with his divine scent and glorious, sinewy strength, was devastating to her resistance. In another moment, she’d be cupping his face in her hands and drawing him down so that his mouth met hers. All that stopped her was that she didn’t know how to kiss. Indeed, she was ridiculously incompetent at it. She’d only been kissed the one time, two years ago, and Ian had been the one doing the kissing. “I don’t wish to accidentally hurt you. I play with my elbows out and I might jab you.”
Ian shook his head and sighed. “I’m not delicate, Dillie. Ah, tea is here. Set the tray down on the table beside the hearth, Pruitt.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Ian winked at Dillie. “See, he doesn’t call me an idiot.” He held out his hand to her. “Join me. You can play that merry tune afterward.”
She ignored his hand, but agreed to move from the piano. She was eager to put some distance between them, though the chairs beside the fireside were only slightly separated by the small table upon which Pruitt had set the tray. She and Ian would still be too close for her liking, but not practically atop each other as they were on the piano bench.
He surprised her by taking her hand and placing it on his forearm. “I’m not delicate,” he repeated when she hesitated putting any weight on his forearm. “My injuries are healing nicely.”
“But they were serious. Half your body is still bound in bandages.”
He shrugged. “They’ll come off soon.” Then he shook his head and laughed. “I’ll give you fair warning before anything else comes off.”