Breathless (The House of Rohan 3)

No, maybe she couldn’t manage that. It was far too overwhelming. In fact, she hadn’t quite made up her mind about the whole thing. With Christopher St. John it had simply been nasty. With Lucien it was … demoralizing. Upsetting. All-consuming. It stripped her soul even as he stripped her body, leaving nothing left. Both times she’d somehow had to pull herself back together, and each time it had been harder.

It had nothing to do with the emptiness she’d felt after Christopher St. John had taken her to bed.

With Lucien, she felt too full, too overwhelmed, in a very real sense. She could shrug off St. John’s clumsy pawings, the hurt he’d dealt her.

Lucien would be a different matter entirely.

She ran her fingers over the keys, launching into a Bach prelude she’d memorized last year. She loved Bach, the mathematical precision of him, the joy and lightness. She played with great force, hoping to annoy Lucien wherever he was in the house. It was a challenging piece, and she tended to miss notes, but she still enjoyed herself tremendously.

“Please stop. ”

She let out a shriek, crashing her hands onto the piano and turning to glare at him. “You frightened me,” she accused him. “Must you sneak up on one like that?”

“You were playing so loudly I doubt you would have heard a dragoon of soldiers if they marched in. If you must torture a composer why don’t you choose one of his more lugubrious pieces?

?perhaps a fugue? Surely your repertoire must include pieces that don’t have to be played quite so loudly? One that you might, perhaps, know better?”

He was dressed in black, as always, and sunlight shone in on his scarred face. His pale eyes were unreadable as he watched her, and she could only hope she was equally inscrutable. Because she looked at his ruined beauty and her heart ached.

“I’m afraid it’s not the knowledge that makes me hit wrong notes, it’s the level of skill,” she managed to say sweetly, pulling herself together. “People say I play with great abandon. ”

“Yes. Abandoned to all sense of musicality. ”

“I suppose you can do better?”

“I can. I won’t. Please yourself, but a little more quietly, if you will. I have the headache. ”

She hit a chord on the piano, quite loudly, one note deliberately off, watching him wince before she left off and rose from the bench. “So tell me, at what time are we leaving for our visit?”

“As soon as you’re ready. I assume you’re longing to get away from here and back into company—you should enjoy yourself extremely. ”

That soon. “Actually I’ve been very happy here,” she said brightly. “I like having my own house, and I enjoy having it to myself. But I’m perfectly happy to go wherever you wish. I’m looking forward to meeting your friends. ” She summoned her dazzling smile, the one that didn’t reach her eyes. “My darling, I’ll do absolutely anything you wish me to. ”

His expression, cynical as always, did little to ease her anxieties. “I was hoping you’d say so, my dearest. I have great plans for you. ”

She could stab him, she thought dreamily. If he thought she was going to have anything to do with his nasty little friends she would have to disabuse him of the notion, but she didn’t quite believe he meant to go through with it. He was a man who valued his possessions, and a wife was, unfortunately, a possession, assuming he still meant to marry her. She couldn’t see him lending her out to his friends.

Author: Anne Stuart

Could she? For the sake of the revenge he held so dearly?

She would stab him.

She smiled sweetly. “Will we arrive in time for dinner? Otherwise I’ll have Mrs. Humber make us up a basket. ”

“We don’t eat formal meals. Don’t worry your head about such things—Mrs. Humber will take care of it. All you need to do is smile and be pretty. ” After a moment he lifted a well-shaped eyebrow. “What was that, my love? Did I hear you growl?”

Miranda’s fingers had curled into claws, and she quickly relaxed them. “Not at all, my darling. I’m looking forward to this. ” Bloody hell, he was good at this. What was the line? “That one may smile and smile and be a villain. ” He wasn’t Richard the Third, he was Hamlet, out for revenge.

Except it had been Hamlet speaking, had it not? She looked at him, wondering just how villainous he truly could be. Stab him, she thought, marshalling her courage.

“What are you thinking, my pet? Your lovely brow is now furrowed. ”

“I was thinking about Hamlet,” she answered with absolute truth.

“My lovely classical bride! Of course you were. ‘O smiling, damned villain,’” he said, and she jerked at how close he was to her thoughts. But then, that had been the way during the short, sweet time they had been friends. They had been curiously in tune with each other. He went on, “But even Claudius repents. I’ve already told you, the closest I can come is Richard the Third. ”

On impulse she reached up and touched the scarred side of his face. “Caliban,” she said softly. “Are you going to tell me how this happened?”