Page 33 of Brilliance (Diamonds of the First Water #5)

B efore Vincent could form an answer, his betrothed spoke up. “We want you to go to Scotland Yard and drop all charges against Lord Hewitt.”

He was touched that uppermost in Brilliance’s mind was his well-being.

Astonishingly, Ambrose nodded.

“If you try to sue us for the money made from my husband’s concerts,” Lydia said, “you will be sorely disappointed.”

“Going through the profits like flame through dry tinder, are you?” Vincent asked. She’d given him the barest hint during their brief association that she would be a profligate.

“Lydia has been a good wife,” Ambrose said, rising finally to his feet. “I wouldn’t be where I am today, as one of the most popular pianists in England, if not for her.”

Privately, Vincent thought it had been a high price to pay, losing their friendship along with the man’s integrity.

“You also wouldn’t be where you are today if not for my music,” Vincent reminded him. “And without it, I wonder where you shall be tomorrow.”

“We are ruined,” Lydia cried, tossing herself against the sofa back and covering her face with her hands.

Vincent rolled his eyes. And when he glanced at Brilliance, embarrassment drenched him at her knowing he had engaged himself to such a vain and vapid creature. Now that he loved Brilliance, he could not imagine why he thought he had been in love before. What a tepid life he would have lived had he married Lydia.

“I have a proposal,” he said. The timbre of his voice captured their full attention. Even Lydia stopped her caterwauling and lowered her hands.

He looked at Ambrose. “I will allow you to continue playing my music as long as you give credit to me as the sole composer both in the evening’s program notes and before you begin each and every concert.”

The man swallowed, looking a little ill at the notion. Lydia, however, had a question. “May he still thank his wife and point me out in the audience?”

Vincent shrugged. “I have no opinion on the matter, and thus, no opposition. That is up to your husband.”

He was not surprised by the difference in their two demeanors. Ambrose was dreading being discovered a liar, whereas Lydia was satisfied she would remain in the spotlight of each performance.

“And you want no remuneration for the past three years?” Ambrose asked.

Vincent sighed, wishing his old friend hadn’t asked such an insulting question.

“None. I don’t need your money, nor would I want what you have earned from your playing. It would feel like stealing. And I do not steal.”

Both of the Casterns had the grace to appear sheepishly guilty. At last!

“But you must drop the charges against Lord Hewitt,” Brilliance insisted.

“At once,” Ambrose agreed.

“And you have said nothing to the papers about my future bride’s reputation?” Vincent asked.

“Nothing,” Ambrose promised.

“Then we have concluded our business. I shall not pursue the lawsuit any further.”

With an unfamiliar feeling of lightness, knowing this ugly mess was resolved, he gestured for Brilliance and her maid to precede him from the room. With no sign of the young butler doing his duty, they showed themselves out.

When in the Earl Diamond’s carriage again, with Brilliance’s maid settling to one side and closing her eyes, Vincent’s future bride declared, “I am utterly relieved that we are not them.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “That’s not anything like what I expected you to say. But I completely agree.” Reaching out, he took her gloved hand in his. Just touching her, even with cloth between them, gave him pure happiness.

Brilliance gazed at their joined hands a moment and then her blue glance met his. Instantly, his breath caught in his chest. Her hungry thoughts matched his own, and hers were floating clear as day in her sapphiric eyes.

“We should stop at your home so you can change for dinner,” she suggested.

Resist the temptation, he ordered himself. “You must drop me off and go to your own home, lest your reputation be sullied.”

Brilliance wrinkled her nose. The adorable movement made him want to scoop her onto his lap. After all that had transpired that day, he wanted her in his arms or, more precisely, in his bed as soon as possible. Their engagement would be a time of excruciating torture, especially if she was so plainly willing to snag any opportunity for intimacy. After all, that evening, there would be little opportunity for any closeness under her parents’ watchful eyes.

You are a gentleman, he reminded himself.

“Come now, Lady Persia, don’t look melancholy. Everything has turned out for the best.”

When they drew up in front of his home, he jumped out and looked back at her. The devil take him! Five minutes alone could not hurt anything or anyone.

“If you could help me carry in these heavy satchels, I would most appreciate it.”

Brilliance frowned and then ... she nodded. Climbing down, she took one of the leather cases from him before turning back to her maid who was even then attempting to descend.

“I shall be back momentarily, Belinda.” She stepped away, and let him close the door in her maid’s face. They hurried up his steps, and the door opened because his butler was as superb as they came.

Mr. Chambers appeared greatly relieved.

“My lord, you have returned.”

To Vincent’s amazement, his normally staid butler turned to Brilliance and, for an instant, reached out as though he were going to take her hand. He stopped himself.

“The staff and I offer you our deepest appreciation, my lady, and our immense gratitude for freeing Lord Hewitt from jail.”

Brilliance appeared touched, and she gave Mr. Chambers her warmest smile.

“It was my pleasure, sir. I cannot wait to live here with all of you. Now, if you will excuse us, I am only going to help carry this into the drawing room, and then I will leave ever so quickly.”

“Yes, my lady.” Mr. Chambers’ gaze flickered to Vincent’s before he made a hasty retreat along the passageway. Superb!

They practically ran into the drawing room like children doing something they knew was naughty.

Dropping his satchel on the table, he turned to take the one she carried.

“You must be careful with these,” Brilliance admonished. “Please get them printed immediately with the original dates of composition, then return them to your mother. My mother assured Lady Winthrop of their safe return.”

Vincent laid the second satchel more slowly atop the first. He would not wish to get on the wrong side of either mother, and it nearly quelled his ardor. However, quick as a whip in a horseman’s hand, Brilliance plopped herself upon his sofa and held her hands out to him.

“Remember how it was that day at Mirabel Manor, the one before everything went wrong?” she prompted.

He had thought of her in his conservatory more times than he could count. Coming closer, he nodded, and when he took hold of her hands, she tugged him toward her.

“Let’s do that again,” she said. “Shall we?”

Vincent needed no second bidding. Joining their lips, he tilted his head until they were fused, with hers opening beneath his. Tongues fencing, stroking, teasing, his passion flared, and his arousal grew instantly.

In two shakes, she was under him, but her bonneted head hit the wooden armrest.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Never mind, carry on.” She slid her arms around him. But the sofa was also too shallow and too short. The other armrest was digging just below his knees, and he was in danger of falling toward the table and the precious satchels.

His tumescence softened as the situation worsened when she croaked, “I cannot breathe.”

Rearing up, resting one of his arms on the back of the sofa and the other on the table to prop himself, he apologized. “The wood is grinding into my shin bones, so I was resting on my upper body.”

She giggled. “Which was resting on me. I fear we must purchase a new couch at once.”

“Agreed,” he said, looking down into her sweet face. Still holding himself up awkwardly, he dropped another kiss on her perfect lips and then a trail down her neck before he tipped himself over into the space between the table and the sofa.

“That was inelegantly done of me,” he said, but it was precisely like the incident in his conservatory at Mirabel. And then she rolled off the cushions on top of him.

“Oof!” he expelled all the air in his lungs. When he could breathe again, he exclaimed, “My lady!”

Brilliance’s happy face loomed above him.

“ My lady,” he repeated softly.

Threading his fingers into her hair, under the bonnet she wore, he drew her down to meet his mouth in a kiss that promised hot and sensual things to come. Her plump curves were crushed to the front of him. With his arousal swiftly returned in earnest, he raised his hips so she could feel how she tortured him.

They spent the next few minutes prone and panting, their mouths everywhere they could reach without removing layers of clothing. But he could draw her skirts up the back of her and get two handfuls of her ripe, round buttocks. With this leverage, he rubbed her heated parts against his, blazing a scorching path between them.

“Vincent,” she moaned, wriggling and squirming like a flame flickering in a breeze. “I ... what is ... ? Please!”

For the first time since he was a youth, he was going to disgrace himself. And gladly, but ladies first. Releasing one of her sweet arse cheeks, he managed to get his hand around the front between their bodies and through the opening in her drawers. He found her damp and ready.

Barely touching her, after swift, sinful caresses into her curls, he felt her body tense. Brilliance’s eyes closed, and she lay her head on his shoulder while she ground against his fingers.

Entirely spent and limp, she stilled, resting heavily upon him while he finished with a few last arching strokes of his own.

For many minutes, while they returned to their senses, they remained where they were. He wondered if she had drifted off to sleep. She was so tranquil.

“Brilliance,” he murmured.

“Mm?” she answered.

“I am wedged and cannot move. Helpless as a newly whelped pup. Unless you get up and release me, I will miss dinner and have to remain on my drawing room floor forever. Which I shall not mind as long as you stay here with me.”

Starting to laugh, she raised her head and gazed down at him. “I love you, my pup.”

“I love you, my muse.”

London, February 1855

It was Brilliance’s favorite time of day, which was an inaccurate notion because the sun had long since set. She lay in bed with her new husband, entwined in one another’s arms. Lovemaking usually happened as soon as they shed their clothing. Tonight had been no different.

Would it always be so ardent? Her gown, petticoat, shift, and corset had gone flying hither and yon, while his coat, shirt, and trousers went in all directions. Under a minute, almost desperately, they were pressed together, still standing, kissing frantically with hands roaming each other’s bare skin.

Sometimes, by mutual agreement, they would fall back onto the mattress, their mouths still fused. That night, Vincent had swept her up against him with his arm under her knees and carried her to the turned-down bed, laying her upon the downy white sheets of softest cotton.

As their passion increased, they had feasted on one another. And then, with his most capable fingers, he had made her sing his name, and quite loudly, too.

“You are my favorite and finest instrument,” he murmured one evening as he played her body so perfectly she was light-headed when she climaxed — a stringendo, he called the fast tightening of all her muscles .

That night, when she came back into herself after a heart-pounding crescendo, Brilliance was still breathing hard as he doused the lamp, plunging them into darkness.

This was their time for chatting if one or the other didn’t fall asleep too quickly.

“It will be spring soon,” Brilliance said, “and I plan to make our garden a showcase.”

“Do you?” Vincent asked his lovely bride of five weeks. “Why?”

Her eyes were already adjusting to the moonlight coming in through the window beside the bed. “Because it has been neglected.”

“It’s still winter. How can you tell?”

“Mr. Chambers told me so. Apart from Cook’s small herb garden, he said the rest is in a sorry state.”

Vincent chuckled. “He is usually correct. I haven’t done anything to it since I moved in. There is a single mature apple tree, which blossoms early, but there are no showy flowers that I can recall seeing around the perimeter. Just a few weedy perennials. Why, I haven’t even furnished the terrace.”

“We’ll have a swing for two,” she suggested. “And some rocking chairs. What more could we need?”

He chuckled. “Those will keep us and everyone who visits slightly off-kilter, my love. We ought to have a table and comfortable chairs in case we entertain.”

“And I’ll plant roses and lilies and forget-me-nots. Maybe a small herb garden for Cook.”

“Is that really what you want to discuss tonight? Or are you working your way around to bringing up the Casterns?”

She punched him softly in the shoulder, and he captured her hand, holding it against his chest.

“How did you know?” Brilliance asked.

“I saw the newspaper open in the drawing room.”

“What do you think of Mr. Castern’s decision to go to Denmark?”

She felt Vincent shrug. “Financially, it was probably for the best. I didn’t realize attendance would go down at his private concerts once he disclosed he was playing someone else’s music.”

“The listeners want to hear and see the composer,” she said, freeing her hand to brush her palm over the sprinkling of hair upon his chest.

He tucked his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles, relaxing in a quintessentially manly way that she loved.

“I predict Ambrose will gain new fame as the premiere soloist for the Royal Danish Orchestra,” Vincent said. “And Lydia will be introduced to a new legion of concert goers. Unfortunately for that fame-hungry harpy, it is unlikely Ambrose will be allowed to introduce her at the beginning of each concert.”

After a pause, he added, “And it serves her right.”

Brilliance could not sustain any anger toward Mrs. Castern, but then it wasn’t her music stolen, nor her heart broken.

“In truth, I cannot hold a grudge against her,” Brilliance said, letting her fingers trace circles across her husband’s bare stomach. “Mrs. Castern must love Mr. Castern very much. After all, she gave up the title of viscountess, which she could have had with you. Many women would consider that the grandest prize of all.”

“I suppose it depends on what you value.” Lowering his hands from under his head, he ran a single strong finger in a line between her breasts to her navel, which he circled, making Brilliance squirm. She batted his hand away to stop the tickling sensation.

“There are dozens of titled ladies in London, after all, but few famous composers’ wives. When she realized I didn’t have the ambition to become a concert pianist, she betrayed me. And Ambrose went along with it.”

“Now that he has left the London stage,” Brilliance said, “perhaps you might offer the deprived listeners a concert or two.” She hoped he would not discount her idea out of hand.

“Deprived?” he asked.

“Of your music,” she insisted.

“I still prefer composing to performing.” His fingers had reached her inner thigh. “Except for family and friends.”

“And your wife,” she added.

“Definitely for my wife.” His fingers were working their way to her most sensitive parts.

“I almost feel sorry for Mrs. Castern, missing out on your talented hands.”

“You don’t care about fame?” Vincent asked.

To her amazement, given what they had just done, he rose over her and nestled between her legs. He seemed to have the intent to make love again.

“Not unless I earn it my —”

His kiss stopped her words. With very little preamble, he entered her once more, and they made their own music long into the night.