Whoever the woman thought of, the notes of the aria throbbed. “It’s beautiful,” Beth whispered.
“I can play this piece note for note,” Ian said, his breath warm in her ear. “But I cannot capture its soul.” “Oh.” She squeezed his hand, hurt for him welling up inside her.
Ian almost said, Teach me to hear it as you do, but he knew that was impossible.
She was like rare porcelain, he thought, delicate beauty with a core of steel. Cheap porcelain crumbled to dust or shattered, but the best pieces survived until they reached the hands of a collector who would care for them. Beth closed her eyes to listen, her enticing curls trembling at her forehead. He liked how her hair unraveled, like silk from a tapestry.
The soprano ended the piece on another long, clear note.
Beth clapped spontaneously, smiling, eyes glowing with appreciation. Ian had learned, under Mac’s and Cameron’s tutoring, how to applaud when a piece stopped, but he never understood why. Beth seemed to have no trouble understanding, and responding to, the joy of the music.
When she looked up at him with tears in her blue eyes, he leaned down and kissed her.
She started, her hands coming up to push him away. But she rested her hands on his shoulders instead and made a soft noise of surrender.
He needed her body under his tonight. He wanted to watch her eyes soften with desire, her cheeks flush with pleasure. He wanted to rub the sweet berry between her legs and make her wet, he wanted to drive into her until he released, and then he wanted to do it all over again.
He’d wake with her head on his pillow and kiss her until she opened her eyes. He’d feed her breakfast and watch her smile as she took food from his hand.
He drew his tongue across her lower lip. She tasted of honey and whiskey, sweet spice. He felt her pulse pounding beneath his fingertips, her breath scalding his skin. He wanted that hot breath on his arousal, which was already hard and aching for her. He wanted her to touch her lips to it like she touched them to his mouth.
She wanted this—no maidenly vapors, no shrinking away from him. Beth Ackerley knew what it was to be with a man, and she liked it. His body throbbed with possibilities. “We should stop,” she whispered.
“Do you want to stop?”
“Now that you mention it, not really.”
“Then why?” His lips brushed her mouth as he spoke. She tasted whiskey on his tongue, felt the firm brush of his lips, the roughness of his chin. He had a man’s mouth, a commanding mouth.
“I’m sure there are a dozen reasons why we should stop. I confess I can’t think of any good ones at the moment.”
His fingers were strong. “Come home with me tonight.” Beth wanted to. Oh, she wanted to. Joy shot through her entire body, a painful ache she’d thought she’d never feel again.
“I can’t,” she almost moaned.
“You can.”
“I wish . . . “ She imagined the newspapers blazing the gossip all over London tomorrow. Heiress Abandons Fiance for Sordid Affair with Lord Ian Mackenzie. Her origins were murky—would anyone be surprised? Blood will out, they’d say. Wasn’t her mother no better than she ought to be?
“You can,” Ian repeated firmly. Beth closed her eyes, trying to press aside sweet temptation.
“Stop asking me.. ..”
The door of the box banged open, and harsh, gravelly tones cut through the audience’s thunderous applause. “Ian, damn it, you were supposed to be watching Daniel. He’d down dicing with the coachmen again, and you know he always loses.”
Chapter Three
The giant walked into the box. He was bigger than Ian, and had the same dark red hair and eyes like chips of topaz. His right cheek bore a deep, angry scar, a gash made long ago. It was easy to imagine this man fighting with fists or knives, like a thug.He had no trouble pinning Beth with his gaze. “Ian, who the devil is she?”
“Lyndon Mather’s fiancee,” Lord Ian answered. The man stared at Beth in amazement, then burst out laughing. The laugh was large, like he was, deep and booming. Some of the audience looked up in annoyance. “Good on you, Ian.” The man clapped his brother on the back. “Absconding with Mather’s fiancee. You do the lass a favor.” He looked Beth over with bold eyes. “You don’t want to marry Mather, love,” he said to Beth. “The man’s disgusting.” “It seems everyone knows that but me,” Beth said faintly.
“He’s a slimy bastard, desperate to get into Hart’s circle. Thinks we’ll like him if he tells us he enjoys reliving his days of schoolboy punishments. You’re well rid of him, lass.” Beth could hardly breathe. She should leave in a huff, not listen to things no ladies should listen to, but Ian’s hand was still laced firmly through hers. Besides, they didn’t try to comfort her with banalities, tell her pretty lies. They could be making up all this to part her from Mather, but why the devil should they?