Waltz With a Stranger (6 page)

They made such a striking pair, Aurelia thought wistfully as she followed them back into the theater: Lord Trevenan so darkly handsome, her twin so radiantly fair. And she herself had cause to know that he was as kind as he was handsome, easily worth a dozen of Lord Glyndon. And wasn’t that what she wanted for Amy: a good man, an estimable man, who would value and cherish her? And his title, albeit the least of his attractions as far as Aurelia was concerned, would certainly provide all the social cachet her sister could desire.

Mastering the ache in her heart, she steeled herself with a new resolve.

She would not ruin this for Amy, no matter what it cost her.

…She never told her love

But let concealment like a worm i’ th’ bud

Feed on her damask cheek…

—William Shakespeare
, Twelfth Night

“A gentleman to see you, Lord Trevenan,” the butler announced. “A Captain Mercer.”

James looked up from his correspondence. “Did he state his business, Roberts?”

“Not entirely, but he says it’s a matter of some urgency, pertaining to his late lordship.”

Gerald?
Frowning, James put aside the letter he’d been reading. All was well at Pentreath, according to his estate manager. Mercer…the name was unfamiliar. Still, what harm could it do to hear his business? “Thank you, Roberts. Show him in here, if you would.”

“Very good, my lord.” The butler withdrew.

Of all the things to which James had yet to become accustomed since inheriting the title, being addressed as “my lord” counted chief among them. So did acting as master of this huge Belgravia townhouse he had entered no more than three times in his life. Perhaps one day he’d adapt to both conditions; his household had already adjusted with surprising ease. “Captain Philip Mercer, my lord,” Roberts announced from the library doorway.

The newcomer—a tall, brown-haired man perhaps in his thirties—advanced into the library. “Good morning, Lord Trevenan. I hope I am not disturbing you?”

“Not at all,” James said with more politeness than truth. He gestured to an armchair opposite his desk. “Pray, be seated.”

“Thank you.” Mercer came forward and sat down.

Navy?
James wondered as he studied his visitor more closely.
Or
perhaps
the
merchant
service?
Mercer had the sun-browned complexion and slightly rolling gait of someone who spent a lot of time at sea, but his accent sounded refined enough to James’s ears. For a sailor, he was quite the polished article, not at all like the hearty, sporting types with whom Gerald had usually kept company. “You wished to speak to me? On a matter of some importance?”

“Indeed, my lord.” Mercer leaned forward, his eyes—a striking pale grey—intent on James’s face. “At the risk of distressing you, I must inform you that this matter concerns your late cousin. He and I had become business associates in the months before his death.”

James raised his brows. “Gerald—in business?” To his knowledge, Gerald had displayed neither interest nor acumen in any business enterprise, much to the disgust of his father. Still, his cousin had always needed money to support his way of life in town.

“Last spring, Lord Alston—as he then was—acquired a number of shares in my company, Mercer Shipping,” the captain continued. “By autumn, he had taken a more active interest in certain…practical aspects of the business.”

“I see.” James could imagine Gerald, at his most arrogantly bullish, thrusting himself into the middle of things and trying to take over without any real understanding. Most people
would
find that galling, as Mercer clearly had, to judge from his tone and expression.

“Quite.” Mercer paused, brows drawing together. He appeared to be weighing his words carefully. “Alston…well, to make a long story short, part of a shipment from last December—just before Christmas—has gone missing, and I have been unable to determine its whereabouts. I have searched several warehouses, but to no avail. As your cousin oversaw the unloading of this shipment, I wondered if he might have redirected it to some other location, and if, as his cousin, you might have been privy to this information.”

James shook his head. “I am afraid I know nothing of this, Captain Mercer. Gerald and I were not close. Indeed, I was unaware until now that he had invested in your company.”

“Ah.” Mercer shifted in his chair. “That is another matter I hoped to discuss with you. As your cousin’s successor, you inherited the bulk of his estate, did you not?”

“I did,” James replied guardedly. “Except where noted in his will.” Although, if truth be told, Gerald’s will was a sketchy document at best. Like countless young men, he’d never considered the possibility that he might die prematurely and without heirs of his own body.

“Including his shares in Mercer Shipping?”

“I would assume so.” James kept his tone neutral. “Only our family solicitors know the whole of Gerald’s assets.”

“I see.” Mercer cleared his throat. “Well, I would very much like to buy back your cousin’s shares, and I’m prepared to negotiate a fair price for them. Starting at—” He paused and then named an amount that made James blink.

Control must be the crux of the matter, he realized, after the first shock had worn off. Having endured Gerald’s interference in his business, Mercer clearly did not wish to tolerate anyone else’s; James could scarcely blame the man for that. But he was in no position to grant Mercer’s request. “I fear I cannot make a decision of this nature without first consulting my solicitors. Given the extent of Gerald’s debts, they may advise against such a course at present.”

Something inimical flickered in Mercer’s eyes; for a moment, James thought he was about to protest, then, abruptly, he capitulated. “Very well. I understand your concerns, my lord. But if you should decide to part with those shares, would you be so good as to contact me?” He took out a silver card case and handed James one of the cards. “This is my direction in London.”

“Thank you. I will bear your offer in mind,” James assured him, setting the card down on his desk. Somewhat to his relief, he heard the mantel clock chime the hour. Eleven o’clock—he was expected at the Newbolds’ this morning. He rose to his feet, a signal for his visitor to do likewise. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I have an appointment I must keep. Good day to you.”

Perceptive enough not to overstay his welcome, Mercer tendered his own farewells and departed. James waited five minutes, then asked for the carriage to be brought around.

***

As the carriage headed toward Grosvenor Square, James mulled over his conversation with Mercer. Missing shipments, goods vanishing without a trace…the whole thing disturbed him more than he cared to admit. For all their mutual animosity, he did not like to think Gerald might have been a thief as well as a bully and a lout.

And yet…he could not dismiss the possibility that his cousin might have done something underhanded, especially if he’d needed the money badly enough. Mercer had not been exactly forthcoming about the nature of the goods his ships transported, but if they were sufficiently rare and costly, might Gerald have sold them secretly and pocketed the profits for himself? Or planned to do so, before he met his death on the cliffs?

Unease prickled at the back of his neck, but he could not have said whether he was more troubled by Gerald’s possible theft or the all-too-real glimmer of hostility he had sensed beneath Mercer’s polished veneer. The man was determined to regain those shares, and left to his own devices, James might have obliged him. But something seemed…off, somehow.

He’d talk to his solicitors at the earliest opportunity, he decided. And if they thought he should sell the shares back to Mercer—well, he would do so. Mr. Newbold had already advanced him a considerable portion of Amy’s dowry to make repairs to the estate where she would one day be mistress, but James was reluctant to spend any of it on settling Gerald’s personal debts.

Arriving at 17 Grosvenor Square, he was shown into the sitting room, furnished in Heppelwhite and decorated in soft blue. The family would be informed of his arrival, he was told. Idly studying the rather uninspired landscape painting over the mantel, he heard rippling notes of piano music coming from the room just down the passage. He listened as the notes ran up and down the scale, then shaped themselves into a somewhat familiar air.

Chopin
, he thought, after listening for a few more moments—a composition he’d heard a few times before when his cousin Jessica was practicing. But this player, while no virtuoso, was far more proficient than poor Jess. Intrigued, he left the sitting room to investigate the sound.

What he found in the music room made him smile. He hadn’t known Amy even played the piano, much less this well. From the doorway, he glimpsed her straight back and the proud set of her head and shoulders, though wisps of spun-gold hair had escaped from her chignon to tease the tender nape of her neck. Seemingly unaware of this distraction, she played on, her fingers skimming over the keys with exhilarating speed and unerring accuracy.

Well, perhaps not entirely unerring, he amended, as she struck a wrong note.

“Drat,” she muttered, just audibly enough for him to hear. And then, more vehemently, “
Merde
,” just before she resumed playing with the same fierce concentration.

James stared at her, astonished. His own French was little more than passable, but some words one did not forget. Then his mouth quirked; truly, his fiancée had unknown depths. And far from shocking him, her lapse made her seem more endearingly human, less a golden goddess than a flesh-and-blood woman with the same imperfections and insecurities as other mortals.

But the occasional error notwithstanding, her dedication to her music amazed him. He would never have guessed she could play with such intensity, such single-minded passion. Never before had she revealed this side of herself to him. Never before—

He froze, struck by a sudden realization. And took a closer look at the pianist.

Not Amy. Aurelia.

Why hadn’t he remembered she was musical? The image of her swaying in time to the waltz flashed into his mind with blinding clarity. Such unconscious grace, despite her professed infirmity, and now, such unexpected skill, displayed just as artlessly.

Loath to interrupt, he remained in the doorway, watching and listening. She’d come a long way from the girl she’d been a year ago, and yet she drew him as strongly now as she had then. Not from pity this time, but admiration—and something more he did not care to name.

***

Someone was watching her. Aurelia could feel the weight of that unseen gaze upon her, but she continued to play, working her way through the alternating slow and fast movements of the piece to the last chords, which ended as softly as a sigh.

Lord Trevenan’s voice spoke from behind her. “Well done, Miss Aurelia.”

Aurelia wondered why she was not more surprised to discover it was he. But then, she reflected wryly, last night had taken the cake as far as surprises went. “Thank you, Lord Trevenan.” To her relief, her voice sounded steady and calm. “Have you been listening long?”

“Long enough.” He came further into the room. “I was not aware that you played.”

“I hadn’t, not for a while,” Aurelia confessed. After the accident, she had shunned anything that might call attention to herself, including music. “But I discovered that I regretted giving it up. There was a piano at our hotel in Bad Ems, so I asked if I might practice on it. I hope to regain some degree of proficiency soon.”

“From what I heard, I would say you already have.” He paused beside the piano.

Aurelia made herself look at him and smile, grateful that her face did not show the ravages of a sleepless night. “That is kind of you to say, my lord.”

“Not at all. As a Cornishman, I can be very exacting about music,” he explained. “I’ve heard my cousin perform this piece, but not so well. Chopin, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Waltz in C sharp minor.” She felt the betraying color rising in her cheeks; it
would
have to be a waltz she was playing!

Lord Trevenan glanced aside, and Aurelia had the sudden impression that he felt just as self-conscious and awkward as she. Then he looked back, his gaze locking on hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “Talking of waltzes…perhaps you might favor me with another some evening.”

Aurelia stilled, hands clenching in her lap. He’d done it now, dismantled last night’s mutual pretense in a mere handful of words. “You remember, then.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. But I wasn’t sure if you did.”

Oh, God
. When every moment of that waltz seemed permanently etched upon her memory—and her body. The warmth of his hands, the scent of his skin…

The flood of longing that had nearly overwhelmed her at their last encounter threatened to rise again; she forced it back with grim determination. “I remember,” she told Amy’s fiancé. “But last night did not seem an appropriate time to mention that—we’d met before.” She attempted a light shrug. “Life has changed so much since then, for both of us.”

“So it has,” he conceded.

Aurelia took a steadying breath. “So, perhaps it’s best if we go on as if we only met for the first time last night, because in a way, we truly have.”

Something stirred in the depths of his eyes; she could not tell whether it was relief or regret. Then, “No doubt you’re right,” he said, almost too quickly.

Aurelia stifled a sigh, refusing to be hurt by his ready compliance. What good would it do to dwell upon the past? “That settles that, then. May I wish you every happiness with Amy?”

“Thank you.” He paused, then continued, almost diffidently, “I’ve come to know your sister better over this past month. She is lovely and charming, and—I believe we would suit.”

There were few things less pleasant, Aurelia discovered with a sinking heart, than hearing the man of one’s dreams praise another woman, even if that woman was one’s beloved sister. But Amy’s happiness meant more to her than those secret yearnings—and so did her own recovery. Her twin’s impending marriage to Lord Trevenan could not take away what she had accomplished: the long journey back to health and strength. She would not falter now.

Lifting her chin, she mustered her brightest smile. “How could anyone
not
love Amy? I should be happy,” she managed not to stumble over that word, “to welcome into the family any man who cherishes her as she deserves.”

He smiled back. “I would be no less honored to call you sister, Miss Aurelia.”

And she must learn to call him
brother
, Aurelia told herself firmly. “Since we are to be related, I think you can leave off the ‘Miss,’ Lord Trevenan.”