He nodded to the case sitting next to her on the couch. She nodded too, and reached out to place her hand protectively on the travelling case.
‘Yes, it’s always with me.’ She’d left her other violins, those she used for practice, stored with the orchestra. This one would remain by her side—especially now.
‘I’d like to hear you play.’
Her heart jumped, pounding at her ribs. Once, she’d loved playing for anyone who asked. The joy of it...the way the music sang through her. Now it was as if the pain in her hands was a punishment—a sign of beingweak. Her confidence in all things had been shattered.
She stretched her left hand again. It had suffered during the kilometres upon kilometres when she’d clutched the steering wheel in a strangling grip.
Lucy tried to ignore the stiffness plaguing her hand, reached out and grabbed some bread, cheese, meat. Made herself an open sandwich.
She wondered if she’d ever really play again. Whether she’d want to—whether the passion remained to make her strive for greatness and perfection when everything seemed so broken. Though in not playing, she was only half a person. Since the age of five, she’d rarely been without a violin in her hands. Lucy didn’t know who she was without it.
‘Maybe later,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long drive.’
She couldn’t admit her injury to him—not when she hoped to impress rather than disappoint the man who held the future of her violin in his hands. Her inability to play had left her bruised and vulnerable, as if an essential part of her had been lost.
But that was a thought for another day. The food was too tempting, and her stomach grumbled, so she took a welcome bite of her sandwich. She savoured the explosion of flavour in her mouth, the spice of the meat, the creamy saltiness of the cheese. She closed her eyes and almost moaned in delight at the combination.
‘Ooh, this isdelicious.’
All the while she had a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, as if she was being watched. She knew that Stefano was looking at her—that was normal, they were in the room together. This was something more. As if she was being studied. Not that it was an unpleasant sensation—rather a blistering awareness of somethingmore. Like being drizzled with syrup and...licked.
The shock of that thought zapped through her like an electric current.
Lucy opened her eyes and Stefano leaned forward, forearms on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, long fingers, perfect nails. Firelight flickered in the depths of his dark eyes. There was the merest of frowns on his face. She pressed back into the couch, her heart kicking up its thready rhythm again. It should scare her, but she wasn’t sure fear was what her rapid heartbeat was trying to tell her.
She couldn’t sit there any longer without saying something. ‘What? Have I got food on my chin?’
It was as if the words shook him out of a kind of trance. He leapt from his seat, and she was forced to look up at his imposing frame.
‘Forgive me. I’m being a poor host. It’s been too long since anyone’s stayed here. You’ve had a harrowing day and must be exhausted.’
‘Thank you. That’s—’
‘I’m sure you’d like to use the facilities and rest. I’ll prepare your room.’
Then he stalked out through the door, and she once again watched him go. Wondering what on earth she’d done wrong.
CHAPTER THREE
STEFANOKNEWHOWto be a gracious host. He’d held countless parties and soirees, allowing him to navigate polite society, and had once been able to slip into the role as if it was another of his bespoke suits. Yet nothing about him felt gracious or polite tonight.
He sat at the vast table in his ancestral home’s dining room. A place where he’d not eaten for years, preferring the castle kitchen or his suite for his meals. The memories here were of lonely dinners, where children had most definitely been seen and not heard—decorative items to be brought out and cooed over, once bathed and polished, then kissed on the forehead and tucked into bed.
His parents had often left them to the nanny and taken themselves to the capital, where they’d stay for weeks. Only occasional phone calls to check on his schooling had reminded him that he had parents at all. Court intrigue and maintaining their position in society had been their preferred and natural environment. Children were a necessity to maintain the family line, and so long as they appeared to be following their lessons and behaving it was enough.
He had never been viewed as an individual by them, but as a means to ensure his family’s power. His father had been a remote and imposing figure, whose lessons had been all about duty and not disgracing the family name. And his mother’s last words to him, when rumours of Stefano’s fall had reached her ears, had told him all he needed to know about where her thoughts lay.
‘It’s a blessing your father isn’t alive to see you now.’
But those weren’t the thoughts driving his dark mood tonight. He’d sat in his study after taking Lucy to her room. Engaged his investigator to cease his efforts in chasing a ghost and turn his attentions instead to Lucy and her family. Then he’d heard it, drifting through the lonely castle halls. The sweet sound of a violin. Not a tune, as such, but the heavenly swell of a few perfect notes.
He’d forgotten how much he missed music, here in his mountain exile. His patronage of Lasserno’s orchestra had never been an obligation for him, but a true labour of love—much to Celine’s disdain, because she didn’t enjoy classical music.
Rather than concentrating on his task of retrieving the Crown Jewels, he’d spent too many hours straining to hear more of the pure, single notes Lucy played. He’d researched her achievements. She had strings of awards and accomplishments. And then there were the videos... No sight of the windblown waif who’d arrived unannounced and unwelcome on his threshold, but a glimpse of perfection, with polished skin and smoothed strawberry gold hair. Lucy played like a celestial being. With her face a study of emotional pain mixed with joy, she looked like an angel about to fall.
Stefano craved to be the man who caught her.