The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

With a graceful inclination of her head, she turned, and side by side, they walked to the corner and crossed the street. They’d almost reached the pavement on the other side when a youth wearing a courier’s vest and carting a heavy leather satchel darted past, dodging between pedestrians as he raced to make his deliveries.

The lad bumped Stacie, knocking her off balance. Into Frederick.

He caught her elbow and steadied her.

Despite the flow of others all around, he was acutely aware of the tension that shot through them both—the sudden hitch in her breathing, the shockingly abrupt focusing of all his senses on her—and the impulses having his fingers clamped about her elbow sent surging through him. He wanted to draw her closer—a lot closer.

They gained the pavement safely, and he forced his fingers to ease and let her go.

She paused to look down and twitch her skirt straight. “Thank you.” Her tone was even, but distinctly breathless.

He waved ahead, and they walked on, toward a black carriage that bore the Raventhorne coat of arms and stood waiting by the curb.

Determined to appear unaffected, Stacie raised her chin and ventured, “Please know you have only to ask if you require more details of my proposal in order to make your decision.”

They reached the carriage and halted beside it. She raised her gaze to Frederick’s face and told herself that when he’d steadied her, his touch hadn’t held anything more than the usual protectiveness men like him—like her brothers—displayed toward ladies of their class; there was no reason to read anything more into the action.

His golden-brown eyes held hers. After several seconds, he replied, “If I need more information, I’ll let you know—when next we meet.”

Subtle challenge glowed in his eyes.

That seemed a propitious moment to part. Her footman had already opened the carriage door. With an easy smile and a dip of her head, she steeled herself and gave Frederick her hand and allowed him to help her up.

She settled on the seat, and the footman closed the door. Once again, as the carriage started rolling, Frederick raised his hand in a salute—this time, the gesture appeared more natural. More intentional.

When next we meet.

She wondered when that would be—specifically, how long she should wait before engineering another meeting.

Impatience urged her to track him down the next morning, but caution of a different stripe raised its head.

She examined the lingering constriction about her lungs and the strange breathlessness it caused, considered the tightness still afflicting her nerves, and wondered if, in seeking to lure Albury from his self-imposed social seclusion, she might have bitten off more than she’d expected.

Regardless, he was the only performer who could guarantee her scheme’s success; she was committed to her purpose and was determined to triumph.

Chapter 2

Two days later, Frederick strolled down Oxford Stree

t on his way to Arthur’s Music Emporium. After dwelling on the music sheets he hoped to find, it was a short step to considering what pieces he might play should he agree to be a part of Stacie’s scheme.

He hadn’t initially imagined he would agree, yet increasingly, he couldn’t see himself disappointing her. He had a long acquaintance with importuning females; most, he found irritating in the extreme. Stacie, however, hadn’t fallen into the trap of being too pushy and overstepping his line. She’d laid her request before him and, thereafter, had done nothing more than give him opportunities to accept, rather than badger him, seeking to make up his mind for him.

Indeed, he felt perfectly certain she’d crafted her approach deliberately to avoid provoking him into digging in his heels and categorically denying her. His mother and sisters must have warned her that was a real danger, so she’d taken steps to find her way around it. Her actions displayed a greater degree of intelligence and subtlety than ladies usually deployed in dealing with gentlemen, certainly those of his class, and that, in turn, left him more inclined to give her request genuine consideration.

The prospect of agreeing had slid across his mind more than once in the past days. However, no matter the likely positive outcomes—namely him spending more time basking in the warmth of Stacie’s smiles and helping worthy fellow musicians—the drawbacks were significant. Him agreeing to perform at her function would open the floodgates to requests from his mother, his sisters, and every connection he possessed; they would all demand and expect him to perform for them as well, and he would have to expend considerable effort—and bear with significant aggravation along the way—to hold against them. He could and would do it, but just thinking of the battle made him weary.

In addition to that, performing in the ton again would inevitably reignite society’s avid interest in him. Every grande dame and hostess, let alone every gossipmonger, would want to know how Stacie had lured him out of his self-imposed exile.

When gauged against those negatives, the positives didn’t seem weighty enough to tip the scales.

Admittedly, he wouldn’t be playing any composition of his own; he hadn’t composed a single piece since the long-ago debacle that had prompted his retreat from the drawing rooms.

The thought drew his mind back to his hypothetical question of what he would play were he to agree to Stacie’s request. Raising his gaze, he saw the board hanging above Arthur’s door just ahead; he would cast his eyes over the new pieces Arthur had got in and see if any appealed.

Frederick opened the glass-paned door beneath the ornately lettered sign and walked inside. Light streamed through the south-facing windows; he closed the door and surveyed the rows of tables hosting countless thin-walled wooden boxes filled with sheet music. Arthur’s had been a favorite haunt of his since before he’d been sent away to school, and every time he’d returned to London, he’d agitated until either his father or mother had brought him there to find and purchase fresh pieces to attempt.

The proprietor, Arthur Arthur, had been a canny judge of customers even then; he’d always given Frederick his personal attention, and on his part, Frederick hadn’t been reticent over learning all he could from someone who truly knew music.