The Mister

The notes swell and fill the room…and my heart.

She loves me.

She said so.

I’ll have to get to the bottom of why she thought she’d be better off leaving. But for the moment I’ll listen and watch her play. Hearing a muffled cough from outside the room, I look up. Danny and Jessie are poised on the threshold, listening. I wave them in….

I want to show Alessia off.

This is what my girl can do.

They tiptoe into the room and stand watching Alessia with the same look of amazement that I’m sure I had when I first heard her play. And they can see she doesn’t have the sheet music—she’s performing this from memory.

Yeah. This is what she does best.

Alessia plays the final two bars, and the notes fade into the air…leaving us entranced. As she opens her eyes, Danny and Jessie burst into applause, as do I. She smiles shyly at them.

“Brava, Miss Demachi! That was exceptional,” I exclaim as I walk over and bend to kiss her, my lips grazing hers. When I look up, Danny and Jessie have gone, as discreetly as they appeared.

“Thank you,” Alessia whispers.

“What for?”

“Saving me. Again.”

“It is you who has saved me.”

She frowns as if she doesn’t believe me, and I sit down beside her on the piano stool. “Trust me, Alessia, you’ve saved me in ways I can’t even begin to fathom, and I don’t know what I would have done if they’d taken you.” I kiss her once more.

“But I’ve brought such trouble into your life.”

“You have done nothing of the kind. This is not your fault. For God’s sake. Never think that.”

Her lips thin for a moment, and I know she doesn’t share my point of view, but she reaches up and strokes my chin.

“And for this,” she whispers, and glances at the piano. “Thank you.” She leans up and kisses me. “Can I play some more?”

“All you want. Always. I’m going to make some calls. My flat was burgled over the weekend.”

“No!”

“I suspect it was the same two bastards who are now in the custody of the Devon and Cornwall Police. I think that’s how they found us. I need to talk to Oliver.”

“The man I spoke to on the phone?”

“Yes. He works for me.”

“I hope they did not take much.”

I caress her face with one hand. “Nothing that can’t be replaced—unlike you.” Dark eyes shine at me, and she leans her face into my hand. I brush my thumb over her bottom lip and ignore the fire that lights low in my belly.

Time for that later.

“I won’t be long.” I give her a swift kiss and head toward the door. Alessia launches into Louis-Claude Daquin’s piece “Le Coucou,” which I learned when doing my grade six, and the bright and breezy notes follow me out of the room.

From my study—not Kit’s—I call Oliver. Our conversation is all business. He’s handling the fallout from the burglary. Mrs. Blake and one of her assistants are at the flat clearing up, two members of the construction crew in Mayfair have been dispatched to repair the front door, and a locksmith will change the locks on the entry to the street. The alarm is untouched and working fine, but we decide to change the code. I choose Kit’s birth year as the new number. Oliver is keen for me to return to London; he has documents that I need to sign for the Crown Office to register my succession to the earldom and entry onto the Roll of the Peerage. With Alessia’s assailants under arrest and in custody, there’s no reason for us to stay in Cornwall. When I finish with Oliver, I call Tom to see how Magda and her son are faring. I tell him about the attempted kidnapping.

“Well, that’s fucking audacious,” Tom splutters. “How’s your young lady? Is she okay?”

“She’s tougher than all of us.”

“Good to hear. I think I should keep an eye on Mrs. Janeczek and her son for a couple of days. Until we find out what the police are going to do with those scumbags.”

“Agreed.”

“I’ll report anything suspicious.”

“Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“Peachy.”

Tom laughs. “Good to hear. Over and out.” Moments after I hang up on Tom, my phone buzzes. It’s Caroline.

Damn. I told her I’d call next week.

Shit—it is next week.

I’ve lost track of time.

Sighing, I answer the phone with a terse “Hey.”

“There you are,” she snaps. “What the hell are you playing at?”

“Hello, Caroline, it’s nice to talk to you, too. Yes, thanks, I’ve had a great weekend.”

“Don’t start with your bullshit, Maxim. Why haven’t you called me?” Her voice cracks, and I know she’s hurt.

“I’m sorry. Events have been a little beyond my control down here. Please let me explain when I see you. I’ll be back in London tomorrow or the day after.”

“What events? The burglary?”

“Yes and no.”

“Why all this subterfuge, Maxim?” she whispers. “What’s going on?” Her voice drops lower. “I’ve missed you.” Her grief echoes through each syllable of her response. And I feel like shit.

“I’ll tell you when I see you. Please.”

She sniffs, and I know she’s crying.

Fuck.

“Caro. Please.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. As soon as I’m back. I’ll come see you.”

“Okay.”

“Bye for now.” I hang up and ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. I have no idea how she’ll react to what’s been happening here.

Yes, I do. It’s going to get ugly.

I sigh once more. My life has been complicated beyond recognition by Alessia Demachi, but even as the thought pops into my head, I smile.

My love.

We could head back to London tomorrow. I can see for myself the damage done to my flat.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Danny enters. “Sir, Jessie’s prepared some lunch for you and Alessia. Where would you like us to serve it?”

“In the library. Thank you, Danny.” I think the formal dining room might be a little overwhelming just for the two of us, and the breakfast room is a little dull. She likes books, so…

“If it suits your lordship, we’ll be set up in five minutes.”

“Great.” I realize how hungry I am. A quick glance at the Georgian wall clock above the door tells me it’s two fifteen. Its steady tick reminds me of the times I waited in this office for the bollocking my father administered whenever I’d transgressed—which was often. Right now the clock says…way past lunchtime.

“Oh, Danny,” I call her back.

“My lord?”

“After lunch can you go to the Hideout and retrieve all our belongings and bring them here? Put everything in my room, including the dragon night-light that’s beside the bed.”

“Will do, sir.” With a nod she departs.

As I approach the bottom of the staircase, I hear the music. Alessia is deep into another complex piece—one I don’t know. Even down here it sounds amazing. I quickly head up the stairs and stand just inside the room watching her from afar. I think this composition is by Beethoven. I haven’t heard her play any of his work before. A sonata, maybe? The music is rousing and passionate one moment and then quieter and softer the next. Such a lyrical piece. And she plays it exquisitely. She should be filling concert halls.

The music spirals down to its close, and Alessia sits for a second, her head lowered, eyes closed. When she looks up, she’s surprised to see me.

“Another great performance. What was it?” I ask as I stroll across the floor toward her. r />

“It is Beethoven. ‘Tempest,’ ” she says.

“I could watch and listen to you play all day. But lunch is served. Rather late. You must be hungry.”

“Yes. I am.” She jumps up off the stool and accepts my outstretched hand. “I love this piano. It has a rich…um…tone.”

“Tone. That’s the correct word.”

“You have so many instruments here. I only had the eyes for the piano at first.”

I grin. “Only had eyes for. No ‘the.’ You really don’t mind me correcting you?”

“No. I like to learn.”

“Cello is my sister Maryanne’s instrument. My father played the double bass. The guitars are mine. The drums over there were Kit’s.”

“Your brother’s?” she asks.