“Sir?” She hardly knew what to say. “Please explain yourself.”

“Viscountess Merrowstone.” The stranger’s voice was rich and complex, the syllables of her title unexpectedly smooth to her ears. “Mr Nicholas Jameson, at your service. I’ve come to substitute for Mr Bent, who has been called away unexpectedly.”

“This is most irregular. I was not informed there was to be a replacement.” She faced him squarely, ready to send him on his way. That was what she intended to do, but the words came out all wrong. “You play quite well.”

He tipped his head, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “That would be a requirement, wouldn’t it?”

“One would assume so.” Though his bearing made her think he would be more suited to leaping a stallion over hedgerows than giving piano lessons to a twelve-year old. “You’re quite certain you’re a piano tutor?”

“Let me assure you of my qualifications.” He extended an envelope. “I’ve a letter of recommendation from Lady Pembroke. You’re acquainted, I believe?”

Diana nodded. Indeed, Lucy was a good friend, possessed of a generous spirit — though she was more than a little scandalous. Henry had not approved of their friendship. Diana’s gaze slipped past Mr Jameson to the portrait of her late husband, Lord Henry Waverly, Viscount Merrowstone. His stern, formal features watched impassively, a cultivated remoteness in his expression. Solid and predictable in the portrait, just as in life. Lucy had annoyed him to no end.

Swallowing a sigh, Diana turned her attention to her friend’s curling script.

Dearest Diana — I commend Mr Nicholas Jameson to you as a piano tutor. He has provided my own Charlotte with lessons and has proven quite satisfactory. May I also point out — in case you had not noticed — that he is extremely handsome? He strikes me as a perfect diversion now that you have finally come out of mourning. I encourage you to take him on — in whatever capacities suit your needs. Pianists have such skilled hands.

Diana felt her cheeks burn as she glanced up at the gentleman in question. No doubt it had amused Lucy to have Mr Jameson deliver such an outrageous “reference” in person.

“I see that she recommends you highly, sir,” Diana said, biting her lip to avoid an embarrassed giggle. “I suppose we might consider having you.” Oh dear, that hadn’t sounded quite proper. She cleared her throat. “I mean hiring you. It wouldn’t do to neglect Samantha’s lessons while Mr Bent is away.”

“Oh, please hire him,” Samantha said, peeking out from behind the doorway. She came in and stood on tiptoe to whisper in Diana’s ear. “He seems ever so much nicer than Mr Bent.”

It was quite outside the regular course of things, yet there was no mistaking the eager note in Samantha’s voice. No mistaking that Mr Jameson was, as Lucy had mentioned, a very handsome man.

Her stepdaughter turned to him. “I heard you playing. It was marvellous! How do you do the part with your left hand? Could you show me?”

“Of course.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s simple once you get the trick of it. Have you played any Mozart?”

“Oh yes!”

“Then you’ll be able to master it easily. That is …” He raised a questioning brow at Diana.

“Oh very well,” she said. “It appears you will be our replacement tutor until Mr Bent returns.” She ignored Samantha’s muffled squeal. “Can you begin today?”

A spark leaped into his eyes. “Immediately.”

Looking at him made heat creep into her cheeks. Despite herself, Lucy’s advice rang in her head. As if she would consider something so scandalous as commencing an affair with the piano tutor. Really, her friend had no sense of propriety.

Samantha hurried to seat herself at the piano bench. “I’m ready!”

Diana was not sure whether she herself was ready, but events seemed to be carrying her along. She settled into the nearby wing-back and straightened the rich indigo skirts of her new dress. It was odd to wear colours again. She had grown so accustomed to the solid black of mourning that she felt vulnerable without it. A part of her wanted to retreat back into its safety — but that was not fair to Samantha. Diana could not deny the hopeful light in the girl’s eyes, the flash of her rare grin as she attempted to mimic Mr Jameson’s command of the keyboard.

As was customary during Samantha’s lessons, Diana picked up her newest copy of the Ladies’ Monthly, but the fashion plates held no interest for her. Her eyes kept wandering from the illustrations to steal quick glances at the new tutor — his long-fingered hands as he played a run of notes, the way his brown hair tumbled over his collar. More than once he seemed to sense her attention and she had to quickly drop her gaze back to the unseen pages.

The sound of his voice was so different from Mr Bent’s dry tones, and his praise and encouragement drew another flashing smile from Samantha. Something inside Diana uncoiled a notch, a deep tension she had not realized she had been carrying.

The shape of his muscular shoulders was barely concealed by the cut of his coat as he leaned forwards to demonstrate some point. He radiated confidence and mastery. She imagined that everything he did would benefit from that focused energy.

From this angle he was in profile. His jaw was firm, his nose straight, his mouth strong, yet sensitive. She traced her own lips with a fingertip, then caught herself and hurriedly dropped her hand before he could notice.

Mr Jameson turned to face her. “Will you?” he asked.

Diana’s breath faltered as their gazes held a heartbeat too long. Clearly she had missed an important turn in the lesson while daydreaming.

“Sing for us,” Samantha said, a touch of impatience in her voice. “Mr Jameson has been showing me a marvellous pattern for accompanying songs, but I don’t think I can sing and play at the same time.”

Diana set aside her magazine. “Oh, I really couldn’t. It’s been so long.” There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room for her to breathe, let alone sing.

“Of course you can.” Mr Jameson’s tone was assured. “Miss Samantha says you have a lovely singing voice.” There was a challenge in his expression, as if he were curious to see what she would do.

“Please, Mama. Let’s do ‘The Meeting of the Waters’.”

“Very well. If it’s part of the lesson.” She stood and took her place beside the piano, oddly reluctant to disappoint Mr Jameson. Still, it had been a very long while. What if she had lost the knack altogether? “Samantha, you and Mr Jameson must help by singing with me.”

The piano tutor counted the tempo then signalled Samantha to begin. Diana took a deep breath and sang the first words. Mr Jameson’s rich baritone joined her, while her stepdaughter concentrated on the keyboard.

At first her alto sounded husky to her ears, the notes unsure. Soon enough, though, her body took over and she remembered how to breathe, how to put herself into the song and carry each tone to fullness. Mr Jameson was solid beside her, his singing voice even fuller than she had imagined. When her pitch wavered, he was there, and soon their voices began to blend in a most pleasing manner. Unbidden, her eyes met his, and the appreciation there nearly made her lose the words. She forced her concentration back to the final phrases of the song.

Samantha was giggling as she played a last flourish on the piano.

“Splendid!” Mr Jameson said. “Miss Waverly, you have a deft touch on the keyboard. And Viscountess — your voice is lovely.”

Diana smiled back at him. The parlour had not rung with such happy sounds for too long. It seemed that Mr Jameson would be a splendid substitute.

The clock on the mantel struck the hour, and Samantha let out a protest. “So soon? But we’ve just begun!”

Indeed, the time had sped.

“Thank you, Mr Jameson. Shall we expect you next week?”

“I would be delighted.” He took Diana’s hand and, bowing, lifted it to his lips.

The warm press of his mouth on her skin sent a shock of sensation through her. It was very forward, yet she could not bring herself to reprove him, not with the heat of his kiss disordering her senses.

Still clasping her hand, he looked into her eyes — a look full of promise that made her heart race. “Until next Wednesday.”

The tea shop on Bond Street was filled with the cheerful babble of conversation. Diana had requested a table in the nook — the safest place for a chat with Lucy, whose voice had a tendency to carry.

“Tell me, darling—” Lucy arched an elegant eyebrow “—is Mr Jameson proving to be … satisfactory? I’d like to know if my recommendation was well advised.”

Mr Jameson. Diana let out a slow breath.

She could not stop thinking of him — his grey eyes and handsome features, the confidence that accompanied his every movement. The past three Wednesdays had found her with a giddy lightness of spirit. She was attuned to each nuance of his expression, addicted to the desire that his slow smiles sent through her. At the conclusion of every session, he had kissed her hand. Last Wednesday, his lips had seemed to linger, the heat of his breath playing against her skin for a long moment. The memory of it sent a fluttery breathlessness winging through her even now.

“He …” Diana ran her fingertip back and forth across the rim of her cup. “He seems an excellent teacher — very patient with Samantha, and kind. She is enjoying music lessons far more than she ever has before. It’s a pity he’s only a temporary tutor. There’s a certain quality about him …”

She took a hasty swallow of tea. Goodness, she shouldn’t be prattling on. Whatever secret thoughts she had of the new piano tutor should stay exactly that — secret. Although, of anyone, Lucy would understand.