But then with a flourish of his quill, he left a jot, no doubt a full stop at the end of the sentence. Giving a nod of pleasure at his own completion of a task, he wiped the quill, blotted and sanded the paper, and pushed the desk away.
He looked up at her. “Hello, my dear,” he said. “How are you today?”
“I am very well,” she replied, enjoying the endearment but still feeling it was more of a performance than a reality. She gave him a warm smile. “There is nothing to complain about.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied, stretching his shoulders. Immense shoulders which seemed to carry the weight of the world in this moment. “And if there is anything to complain of, you must speak with the housekeeper, and she will ensure that anything that you need is made yours.”
She nodded. Was he fobbing her off? No. He truly wished her to be at ease. But she wasn’t about to head off in search of the housekeeper to assist her with what she truly needed.
“Oh yes. Thank you,” she rushed. “I will take note of that. And Mrs. Cleary has most certainly made me feel very welcome indeed. And given me everything that I might want, but ...”
He looked up at her with those eyes of his, those eyes that always made her feel as if she was aloft, about to fall into them, and she took a bold step forward. “There is something that I do require.”
“And,” he said carefully, “Mrs. Cleary is not able to supply it for you?”
Her lips twitched. “Most certainly not. I require a conversation with my husband.”
“Oh,” he said. He cocked his head to the side, confused. “The library, is it not suitable?”
“Of course it’s suitable,” she assured, knowing his attempts to please her were important to him. “I love it beyond all things. But Peter,” she said, “I wish us to be closer. You see, I come from a large family, and I’m used to being with my sisters and brother. In your home, I am entirely alone. And I find that I don’t like it at all.”
He frowned as understanding dawned. “Forgive me. You see, I was an only child, and I’m quite used to being alone.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” she asked, daring to take another step into the room.
“No, I find it to be quite normal, but I don’t wish you to be lonely. So, of course, you must join me.” And then a solution seemed to strike him. “Why don’t you join me every day? We can get a desk set up for you beside mine. You can do whatever work you like as do I mine, though I shall likely be most distracted.”
She nodded. “How very generous of you. Thank you. And I shall do my best not to bother you.”
“Oh dear,” he said. “I realize that sounds rather cold, doesn’t it? I didn’t mean to imply you might bother me. It’s just that I do a great deal of work sometimes. There’s much to be done in the running of the country.”
She laughed gently and crossed to him, determined not to be silly about this. “I should not wish to get in the way of your running of the country, Peter. What you do is very important, and I thank you for the offer of your companionship. You see, I should like to get to know more of what you enjoy. What do you like to do?”
He leaned back in his chair and blinked. “What I like to do?” he echoed.
“Yes,” she affirmed, standing so close now that she allowed the hem of her gown to skim his boots. Her heart raced at his nearness, and she prayed he would allow them to be intimate in more ways than just physical. Don’t you know what you like to do?”
He frowned. “Well, I ride, I box. I read, and I go out.”
She nodded, encouraging him. “Yes, but all gentlemen do that. But what do you prefer? What gives you joy?”
He was silent for a long moment as if he was reticent to confess it. But then he cocked his head to the side and admitted, “If you must know, I enjoy playing the pianoforte.”
“Do you?” she asked, delighted.
“Indeed.”
Her heart leapt. She was relieved he was sharing this with her. “Do you have any composers that you particularly like?”
“Beethoven,” he said quickly, his whole demeanor changing as he shared his passion with her. “Of course, I liked Bach and Mozart very well, but there’s something about Beethoven.”
A smile tilted her lips, so broad that it almost ached. She’d done it. She’d found something that he truly enjoyed speaking about, and not just in a passing sort of way.
She could see the passion growing in his eyes and hear the way it deepened his voice.
“Would you play for me, Peter?” she asked.
His sensual lips parted in surprise before he said, “Yes, if you would like me to. Most people are not particularly interested in hearing a gentleman play. They’re far more interested in young ladies performing.”