Thinking the impromptu concert over, the men continued their search of the dwelling and, alone with Griffin, Darcy left her chair and crossed to the piano. “If that’s the type of music I inspire, then we ought to go our separate ways before your career suffers irrevocable harm.”
“Impossible. Besides, it’s important for a composer to have both range and depth.” He patted the bench. “Sit here beside me while I play something for Astrid.”
Still unnerved, Darcy sank beside him, but her spirits rose when she recognized Chopin’s Polonaise. It was a thrill to watch Griffin’s graceful touch upon the keys, and the music flowed as though the notes leaped to meet his fingertips. Seated so close, she was surrounded by the beautiful melody, but that his own music was so desperately sad still disturbed her.
The first time she’d seen him on the path at Defy the World, she’d suspected he might have a melancholy bent. Then he’d flashed a smile that had made it impossible to think at all. She feared her thought processes were still muddled.
She drew in a deep breath and tried to float on the beauty of the music. Later, she moved back to the comfortable chair, and he was playing one of Chopin’s sweet nocturnes when two white-suited men arrived in a hearse.
Griffin left the piano to greet them, while Darcy stood at the foot of the hospital bed grateful all evidence of Lyman Vaughn’s death had been so skillfully erased.
“Griffin, please tell them not to remove the CD from Astrid’s hands. We should have looked for her clothes. Do you suppose she has any nice things here?”
“I doubt it if she’d been sick for a year, but we’ll buy her something new.” He took the morticians’ card so they would know where to have the clothing delivered, and then insisted that Darcy come upstairs with him to pack rather than watch them take Astrid away.
She held his hand tightly as they climbed the stairs. She’d been frantic with worry when they’d arrived at the chateau, and now she felt completely drained. “Thank you,” she murmured softly, “for being the man you are.”
Griffin tried to take that as a compliment, but he was not entirely convinced that it was.
The Hotel Meurice was located on the Rue de Rivoli. Beautifully restored with fine replicas of the original furnishings and decor, it was described by guide books as among the city’s grandest hotels. Darcy didn’t even want to know the cost of Griffin’s spectacular suite overlooking the Jardin des Tuileries when it was so far above anything she would ever be able to afford on her own.
Her jaw dropped when she saw the baby grand piano. “Do all the suites have pianos?” she asked.
“No, but I stay here because they have this one for me.”
Darcy gazed out at the garden below, and beyond it, she glimpsed the Siene. “You’re a bigger celebrity here in Europe than at home, aren’t you?”
Griffin came up behind her and rested his hands upon her shoulders. “Well, let’s just say the Europeans have a longer tradition of classical music and therefore a more enthusiastic appreciation for classical musicians.”
“That’s very diplomatic of you.”
“How else can I be?” He began to knead her shoulders gently. “I could play ‘Great Balls of Fire’ and you’d swear it was Jerry Lee Lewis banging on the piano. Would you like that better?”
Darcy dipped her head to encourage his touch. “I’d really love to hear that, but rather than outrage the hotel, better wait until you get home.”
Griffin wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’m sorry everything turned out so badly. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid as to think Lyman Vaughn would allow me drop you off here before I met him.”
“You are never stupid,” she scolded. “Perhaps no one could have successfully predicted what he might do.”
“Thank you for being so forgiving, but it was a colossal blunder that could have cost you your life. I’m still furious with myself—that’s why I played ‘The Garden of Doom’—but I didn’t mean to depress you.”
Darcy turned in his arms. “We’re both here, in what has to be one of the world’s most beautiful hotels. I know I’ll cry all the way through Astrid’s funeral, but for now, please, let’s not be maudlin.”
Griffin kissed her deeply rather than agree, but he’d been shaken clear to the marrow by how narrowly they’d escaped death that night, and not merely once, but twice. Darcy had been the best of partners, but what woman would remain with a man who exposed her to that level of risk?
One who loved him, perhaps, but he doubted even Paris with all its magic would be enough to help him win her heart.
Chapter Nineteen
Griffin gave Darcy a last brief kiss, then stepped back. “Are you hungry? I could call room service to send up some breakfast.”
“The sun’s not even up yet.” She paused to cover a wide yawn. “Besides, I didn’t sleep more than ten minutes at the chateau, and I know you didn’t sleep either. Can’t we just go to bed?”
“If you like.” He moved into the suite’s bedroom, ripped off the heavy brocade spread and dumped it on the floor at the foot of the bed. Then he peeled away the blanket.
Darcy followed him into the bedroom in time to see him shuck off his clothes and toss them onto a gilded chair. Still wearing his sexy silk boxers, he climbed into the king-size bed. He punched the pillow, stretched out and looked ready to sleep the day away.
She thought he’d probably expected more from her, but she had absolutely nothing left to give. At least he hadn’t sneered openly at her lack of interest in him, but then he always behaved as a gentleman should even if he had to grit his teeth while doing so.