The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

The interest that lit his golden eyes was impossible to mistake.

More confidently, she went on, “If you agree to perform at least one piano sonata at six events spread out over the coming year, I’ll arrange for you to borrow those texts and folios.”

He stared at her for several moments, then asked, “Have any other scholars studied those volumes?”

“As far as I’m aware, they’ve been moldering in the abbey library for decades, certainly since before I was born. My great-grandmother was the one who bought them—she had an interest in music, too. No one in the family between her and me has been of a musical bent, so I suspect the books and folios have simply sat on the shelf.”

“But you’ve looked at them?”

She nodded. “And I can report that they’re in excellent condition.”

Frederick felt his resistance wavering, weakened by the desire to see those old texts and folios. “Three events spread over the year, and I play whatever piece I choose.?

??

Her eyes narrowed again. “Four events over a year, with a performance at least as long as a sonata, but you get to select the piece or pieces.” She paused, then added, “That’s my final offer.”

He would have laughed except he truly wanted to get his hands on those texts, let alone the folios. Often, significant discoveries were unearthed in just such out-of-the-way and forgotten private collections. His gaze locked on her face, he considered the stubborn set of her chin, the adamantine glint in her eyes. “I suppose,” he mused, more to himself than her, “that once I weather the first event, we’ll know how to handle it.”

She frowned in puzzlement. “Handle what?”

He paused, then replied, “The over-avid interest of the ton’s ladies. Trust me, I know of what I speak.”

She wasn’t about to be distracted. “So are we agreed? Four events on the terms I stated?”

He inwardly sighed. He wanted access to those tomes; who knew what they might contain? “Very well. Four events over the year, a sonata-length performance at each, with pieces chosen by me.”

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed eleven times; he glanced at it, then looked at her and rose. “If that’s all, I have an appointment I must keep.”

“All? But…we’ve only just started.” Dismayed, she looked up at him. “We need to discuss how the events will run, what form will best suit to introduce the younger musicians, the timing and length of performances, whether we should restrict the repertoire or at least impose some guidance as to what style of pieces should be played.” She flung up her hands. “There are countless details we need to decide, and not least of those is the date for our first event.”

He frowned; she was right, and he didn’t want her making those decisions alone. He met her eyes. “I’m due at the museum at half past eleven—a private viewing of an exhibition of ancient musical instruments and artifacts. The curator is an old friend, and he’s invited all the scholars of ancient music to peruse the exhibition ahead of the public opening tomorrow.” He paused, wondering at the impulse prompting him, yet went on, “You could accompany me—we can discuss the details of these events of yours in the carriage on the way, and you might find the exhibition of some interest.”

Her eyes opened wide, then her features eased, and she nodded with becoming eagerness and rose. “Thank you. I accept your invitation. I had heard of the exhibition and hoped to find time to attend. We can take my carriage—it’s waiting outside.”

He inclined his head and waved her to the door, and she turned and walked beside him.

“I’ve never been to a private viewing before,” she said as they passed into the front hall. “I daresay it will be much less crowded.”

“Very much less crowded.” Frederick took the short cape Fortingale offered and draped it over Stacie’s shoulders. “That’s one of the reasons every single musical scholar worth his salt will be there.” He turned with her toward the door. “It’s our chance to pore over things in relative peace.”

She slanted him a glance as they passed through the door Fortingale held open. “Scholars and crowds don’t seem to mix.”

“Indeed.”

They descended the steps, and he handed her into her carriage and followed.

The instant he sat beside her, the reality of them being in such close confines impinged, but there was nothing for it but to rein in his senses and pretend not to notice the way her breathing had changed.

The two of them traveling together in a carriage in broad daylight would raise no eyebrows, especially given their ages and their destination; that wasn’t the problem. Frederick determinedly ignored the brush of her skirts against his thigh and calf and the entrancing perfume that rose from her skin and hair to wreathe through his brain and tried his damnedest to keep his mind from the too-fast rise and fall of her breasts, from dwelling on the faint breathiness that had afflicted her as, speaking a touch too quickly, she launched into a discussion of the style of event she considered most suitable for their purpose.

He focused and listened and, when appealed to, duly gave his opinion. As the carriage rattled through Mayfair and on toward Great Russell Street, they traded ideas and suggestions on all the topics she’d mentioned and several others besides. Somewhat to his surprise, he discovered her opinions generally had merit and often mirrored his own. More, when he opposed some point, she proved to be flexible and willing to accommodate his sometimes-eccentric wishes.

All in all, dealing with her was less of a trial than he’d anticipated, to the point where he admitted, “On reflection, your proposed campaign of four events spread through the year will be ideal not only for introducing our selected musicians but also for establishing the concept of events based on local talent rather than the imported variety in the ton’s collective mind.”

“Precisely.” The carriage turned in to Great Russell Street, and she swayed, her shoulder briefly pressing against his arm. A second later, she cleared her throat, raised her chin several degrees, and stated, “I truly believe that, incorporating all the details we’ve discussed, our campaign will make best use of our inherent strengths—combining your reputation as a reluctant maestro with my social standing and connections within the haut ton.”

He nodded and sat forward as the carriage slowed. “All in support of our local musical prodigies.”