"Good evening, Carters," he said, handing the butler his walking stick, hat, and cape. "How is our guest faring?"

"When I last saw her, as she returned from her errand, she appeared quite well."

"Errand?"

"Yes. Late this afternoon Mrs. Brown asked if I knew a reputable antiquities expert in the city. I of course directed her to Mr. Fitzmoreland."

Curiosity raised Robert's brows. "Did she say why she required an antiquities expert?"

"No, Lord Robert. She merely asked for a referral, then inquired about transportation. I arranged for a hack and a footman to escort her."

"I see." Annoyed at himself for not thinking to do so earlier, he made a mental note to arrange for a carriage to be placed at Mrs. Brown's disposal. "And where is Mrs. Brown now?"

"In the drawing room."


"Thank you." Robert headed down the corridor, his strides slowing as the sounds of piano music drifted toward him. He silently entered the room, then leaned back against the door, observing Mrs. Brown in profile.

She sat at the pianoforte, her head bent over the ivory keys, her brows and lips puckered in concentration. She was again dressed in stark black, making the curve of her smooth cheek appear impossibly pale, like fragile porcelain. The waning vestiges of daylight glowed through the tall windows, bathing her in a subtle stream of gold. Without her bonnet, she proved incorrect his earlier impression that her hair was merely brown. Indeed, her shiny tresses were a deep, rich chestnut, shot with streaks of red. She'd arranged her hair in a simple chignon at her nape, lending her a regal air.

Her fingers continued to caress the ivory keys, but he did not recognize the tune she was playing. Of course, that may have been because-his face puckered in a grimace-she was appallingly bad.

Her hands suddenly stilled, and she turned her head. When she saw him, she snatched her hands away from the keys as if they'd bitten her. A rose-hued blush colored her cheeks, and he bit back a smile. Except for the mourning gown, she looked like a child caught snitching sweets from the kitchen.

"Lord Robert. I did not hear you come in."

He crossed to the pianoforte, then made her a bow. "I was listening to your concert. I was not aware you played."

She looked up at him, and his breath caught when he detected a tiny flash of what appeared to be mischief in her eyes. "How polite you are. If you'd been listening, however, you would know without a doubt that I cannot play. I've always wished I could." She cast a wistful glance at the keys. "I love music."

"As do I. Unfortunately, not one member of my family possesses an iota of musical talent, neither for the pianoforte nor singing, and I fear I am the most tone-deaf of us all. However, my philosophy has always been that if you cannot play well, play with enthusiasm, and if you cannot sing well, sing loud. A source of great embarrassment for the entire family, I'm afraid." He smiled at her, but she did not smile back. Not even the slightest twitch of her lips. Making this woman laugh was fast becoming a quest, just as it was with Carters. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see the joyful woman from Elizabeth 's sketch. "Tell me, Mrs. Brown, can you sing?"

"Worse than I play the pianoforte."

"Excellent. Shall we have a duet?" He perched himself next to her on the bench and made a great show of flexing his fingers. "I can only play one song. It's all my family would allow me to learn. For some inexplicable reason, some emergency or another always seemed to pop up whenever I sat down to play as I was growing up." He looked around, as if to ensure no one could overhear, then confided sotto voce, "Actually, the truth is that, in spite of the family's best efforts to squash my budding talent, I did manage to learn a few other ditties, but I fear that as I learned them in pubs, they are not suitable for a lady." He cleared his throat and nodded toward the music. "I'll play the upper notes, and you can play the lower. Ready?"

She hesitated, her serious gaze roaming his face as if looking for something. After several seconds, she nodded. "I'll try."

They each played their parts, most often with her several notes behind him. Instead of improving as the song went on, however, it seemed their efforts yielded worse results. By the final verse, their voices were raised in jarring harmony:


The sunlight reflected her features so fair

As she waited and wondered, to see if he’d dare.

And he did not disappoint his lovely young miss,

For upon her sweet lips he did bestow a sweet kiss.


The final discordant note lingered, then faded into silence. With laughter rumbling in his throat, Robert shook his head and turned toward her. "Egad, that was stupendously awful."

"Awful, indeed," she agreed in a somewhat breathless voice. "I don't believe I played one correct note. And I am forced to admit you were correct."

"Of course I was. About what?"

"You, sir, are indeed tone-deaf."

An oh-so-brief, yet this time unmistakable, spark of mischief gleamed in her eyes and his pulse jumped. A tingle started in the region of his heart, and zoomed down to his… feet.

He pulled himself together and smiled. "And you, madam, cannot play worth a jot." He rubbed his hands together, then offered forth his most evil chuckle. "I cannot wait for us to entertain the family with this song."

"They'll run from the room screaming."

"Then we shall simply have to play and sing louder."

The slightest twitch touched one corner of her mouth, and he stared at her, his heart thumping at twice its normal rate. His gaze lowered to those incredibly full lips, and another tingle shot through him, this one settling directly in his groin. His attention riveted at the beguiling dimple gracing her chin, and his thumb itched to trace the shallow indentation.

Drawing in a much-needed breath, his head filled with her delicate scent, shooting heated awareness through him. She smelled lovely. Like some sort of flower, but not one familiar to him. He inhaled again, straining to catch the elusive fragrance, somehow resisting the growing urge to lean forward and simply bury his face in her enticing neck.

She blinked several times, then her expression went blank as if she'd drawn a curtain, and she abruptly stood. Crossing to the fireplace, she stared into the flames.

He remained seated, pulling in several unflowery-scented deep breaths, and mentally berated himself. Not well done at all, you nitwit. Finally get her to give you a tiny twitch of the lips, then what do you do? Stare at her mouth as if you're starving and she were a meat pie. Then sniff at her as if you 're a hound and she were a lamb chop.

Bloody hell, where had his finesse disappeared to? Not to mention his decency. Good God, he'd never before considered himself a cad, but who else but a cad would feel lustful urges for a grieving widow? And as much as he hated to admit it, he could not deny that what he'd experienced was lust. Certainly he was familiar enough with the feeling to recognize it when he felt it. Yet the smacked-in-the-head sensation this woman gave him was definitely unfamiliar territory.

So, perhaps it wasn't lust. Perhaps he'd merely been… charmed. And… pleased to see the beginnings of a smile from her. The poor woman needed to laugh. Hadn't Lady Gaddlestone said as much? And even if she hadn't, a blind person could see Mrs. Brown needed a bit of fun.

He just hadn't planned that the merest hint of a grin from her would impact him like a punch to the heart.


*******

Allie sat at the long, mahogany dining-room table, trying to do justice to the delicious meal of creamed peas and savory beef, but her thoughts were too jumbled to concentrate on her dinner. Peeking up from under her lashes, she covertly observed the man sitting across from her.

Lord Robert was engrossed in cutting his meat. Her gaze settled on his hands, holding his silver cutlery. Large, long-fingered, strong-looking hands. She'd noticed them when they'd played the piano. They looked like they belonged to someone accustomed to the outdoors rather than a gentleman of leisure.

Warmth suffused her cheeks as she recalled their impromptu duet. She'd been unable to resist his teasing invitation, yet she'd allowed herself to get far too carried away, singing with such abandon. But it had been so long since she'd done something silly. For just a moment, exhilaration had filled her and she'd forgotten whom she was with.

A charming, handsome man. A man she barely knew. A man who laughed easily, but whose gaiety did not always reach his eyes… eyes she recognized as guarding secrets. A man who'd looked at her in a way that made her heart pound.

Just like David.

David and Lord Robert were so obviously cast from the same mold. How could she have forgotten herself that way? But even as she asked herself the question, the answer came to her. Because David never let you play the pianoforte. And he never would have encouraged you to sing. Indeed, David had laughingly told her she sounded like a frog in the meadow, and she could not disagree with him. Still, her family had not minded, and except for her mother, they were all dreadful singers. Yet that had not stopped them from singing together every Tuesday evening, which they'd designated as "music night." David had hated music night, and after they'd married, he'd found any number of reasons to tempt her to stay home on Tuesdays. Most often he'd bring her to their bed and-

She sliced off the thought and ruthlessly buried it. She'd enjoyed the marriage bed, at least in the beginning, but that part of her life was over. Scooping up a forkful of peas, she again peeked at Lord Robert. And discovered his dark blue gaze upon her.