Page 12 of Every Wallflower Has Her Thorns (Revenge of the Wallflowers)

L ondon, 1 February 1817 (6 months later)

Why can't we structure life like a piece of music? Each note led you on a story that surprised you, and yet you understood what the outcome would be. The song would end and leave your senses engaged. It made you feel. Forced you to feel. Let you lose yourself in memories and emotions private to you.

Dharma ran her hands over the ebony and white keys, letting the soothing notes embrace her memories. She loved playing. She loved losing herself in the emotions the sounds produced. Clarity for the emotions swimming within her body. If she could, she’d play all day.

Today she was playing a romantic song by Handel because he had arrived back in town. Her fingers flew over the keys while she silently mouthed the words. A pianist she was, a singer she was not.

The words made her think of Devlin. Everything made her think of Devlin. She’d not seen him since her time spent at his home with Rosemary in December. Her body hummed in time to the music, wanting to see his face, his smile and feel his…. He was courting her. And her body hummed with the possibilities. The weekly letters confirmed that. He wanted her to marry him. She had to decide if giving her heart to a man who needed money before all else was wise. And, if she could live, and have her children live, with the fact his family name was tainted with the word traitor. She’d never believed the late Lord Devlin was a traitor. She could stomach the gossip and meanness, but her children would face that too…

Oh, she’d learned something over the cold winter months. He wanted her—in his bed. Every time he’d looked at her, the heat in his eyes almost melted her resolve to wait for more. For his declaration of love.

He could not hide his desire and she was pretty sure she hadn’t hidden hers, which made him dangerous. Seduction was a tool men like the Marquis of Devlin used at their will. His many, many paramours could attest to that. But she needed more than passion and desire—she demanded love—regardless of his situation.

Any man she married had to love her.

Comfortable within herself, Dharma knew what she required in a husband. Her parent’s marriage was a glowing recommendation for finding the right man. A man who loved her and put his family before all other considerations. Someone she could rely upon. A man strong and protective, but who valued her intelligence and saw her as his equal—a partner to help shoulder the trials life threw at them. But most of all, a man who didn’t give a fig about her dowry.

Despite being given a half share in a potentially profitable tin mine in Cornwall by Charlotte, Devlin’s financial woes were not settled. Her dowry was still a big prize for him.

Refusing to let thoughts of the conundrum that was Lord Devlin ruin the mood, she closed her eyes and let the music consume her. She let her emotions fly and simply felt the love generated by the music. Finally, the song ended and she slumped exhausted over the keys, only to be startled by a slow clapping coming from the other end of the music room.

“I could watch you play all day. You make the music come alive, almost magical.”

Devlin’s voice sent a shiver down her spine. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I couldn’t resist listening as I wait to see your brother. I’ve missed your playing. You filled the house with warmth when you played during your visit over Christmas.”

Her heart speed up as he prowled toward her with that innate languid grace. Dharma caught her breath, as she always did when he directed his gaze her way. Sharp bones rode high above the austere sweep of his cheeks down to the uncompromising square jaw. His nose was straight, definite, and fit his face perfectly.

His hair, thick, brown, fell in fashionable disarray about his head, making him look as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Large green eyes beneath sweeping brows made her wish she’d been in that bed with him. But it was his mouth that sent heat all over her body. The upper lip was straight, the lower full and sensual. Imaginings flashed through her mind of where he might put them on her body.

She couldn’t believe the hunger that hit her from not seeing him for two months. The man was too handsome for her good.

A face as elegantly aristocratic as his powerful and arrogant breeding. Only she quickly remembered his father had tainted all of that. The Devlin name meant nothing. She bristled at the unfairness. Devlin didn’t deserve to be tarnished by his father.

“I’d be happy to play for you whenever you so desire.” Her breath hitched at the flare of heat in his eyes.

He leaned on the piano. “Play for me now.” His voice suited him. Deep, slightly gravelly, as if he didn’t speak very often. It was almost a command, and she felt every word.

He unsettled her like no one else could. “Aren’t you in a hurry?”

For a moment, his gaze didn’t shift from her face, but then his eyes left hers to travel over her body. Like fingers, they touched her everywhere and she couldn’t repress a shiver. “I’m never too busy to spend time with you. You play like an angel.”

“My mother encouraged me as a young child. Looking back, I believe she did so to take my mind off her illness.”

He reached out and cupped her chin. “Was it your mother you thought of while playing?”

She swallowed hard. No, it was you. “Yes.”

His smile told her he didn’t believe her. “Funny, I thought you were playing a love song when I entered.”

The infuriating man. She ignored the knowing smile and simply began playing, trying very hard to ignore his overwhelming presence. Thankfully, the music did its trick and soon she lost herself in the notes and simply played as if the world and Lord Devlin had disappeared.

When the music ended, silence rang out. She looked up, wondering if he’d left the room, but he was merely standing next to her at the keyboard, his body still and his eyes focused on her.

Heat flooded her face, and she cleared her throat.

Finally he softly applauded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “Lady Dharma, your mastery of the piano never fails to astound me.”

Dipping her head modestly, “Thank you, my lord. Bach's compositions are endlessly captivating, aren't they?”

“Indeed, they are. But I daresay it's not solely Bach's genius that held my attention captive. Your playing moves more than just the keys of the piano. It stirs something within me—a melody that resonates far beyond the notes. Your passion, your finesse, it's truly enchanting.”

“You flatter me, Lord Devlin. I am but a humble enthusiast of music.”

“And yet, in your hands, the piano becomes an instrument of enchantment.” He sat on the piano stool next to her, crowding her sense as heat rolled off his hard body, his gaze unwavering. “I've been remiss in expressing my sentiments properly. Our time together during the Christmas festivities was a highlight of the season for me. Your company... it brought warmth to the coldest of winter nights.” He ran his finger over her lips. “I have missed you. Did you miss me too?”

She wanted to jump to her feet and run, but the magnetism of his gaze saw her glued to the piano stool. “A lady does not reveal such things. It is dangerous to her sensibilities.”

“I don’t want you to be sensible. I want you to be captivated.” He leaned closer. “Did you miss my kisses?”

She’d stupidly allowed herself to be kissed under the mistletoe at his home during her visit and she’d paid for that mistake in her dreams every night since. She made a further mistake now by looking into his eyes. Desire swirled, burned within, and panic rose deep within her along with the heat. He was too close.. too dangerous… she had a decision to make that would affect her life and how could she think the situation through when he offered her things her body wanted—desperately.

Her heart wanted more…

His lips kicked up at the ends at her silence. He took her hand, long fingers closing strongly about hers, his thumb stroking the bare skin on her palm. She’d not worn gloves, preferring to play without them. “In case you’ve forgotten, shall I kiss you now to remind you?” His whispered words sent memories to her brain. Her body, on its own accord, pressed closer.

And then her eyes closed on a small moan as he slowly lowered his lips to hers.

Time seemed to halt as she savored the sweetness of the connection, the press of his lips soft yet fervent, a delicate exploration that spoke volumes in its silence. His hand cradled her cheek, thumb caressing the skin with a feather-light touch, while her hand found its place on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the layers of fine fabric. Hers, on the other hand, was racing. Why did she not affect him in the way just his smile could affect her?

The piano, a silent witness, echoed the melodies of their shared intimacy, its music hung in the air like an echo of their affection. They lingered in the embrace of that kiss, a moment that held the promise of more shared harmonies, more silent conversations in the language of touch and tenderness.

But she knew deep inside, passion and desire did not equal love. It gave her the strength to break the kiss and look away, trying to hide her rapid breathing. His was steady, as if he’d been totally unaffected.

“One day I shall lay you naked on top of a grand piano and play you.” The words so decadent, whispered in her ear, sent her world tilting. She could picture it so easily and God help her, she wanted to experience that. Before she could gather her wits, she heard her brother's voice in the hall.

Devlin rose slowly to his feet, towering over her, and moved round to the other side of the piano. She still could not look at him. Her emotions were too raw.

“You will save me both of the waltzes at Lady Bradshaw’s ball tonight.” Once again, his words were a command, and her senses were in no condition to deny his request. She nodded her head, words still stuck in her throat. “Good.” He strode towards the door to meet her brother. “Until this evening. Have a pleasant day.”

Then he was gone, but his scent lingered. She reached up with her fingers and traced her lips, feeling the scorching sensation from his kiss. He was so experienced, and that was unfair.

How was she expected to make such an important decision when he overwhelmed her senses with just a look, a smile, a touch…

Her fingers crashed down on the keys and the jarring notes broke his spell over her.

Philippa, her brother’s wife, entered the room. “What’s got you looking like you’d like to stab someone?” The teasing note to her voice showed she knew Devlin had been in this room with her.

“Do men even have emotions?” she asked her sister-in-law.

Philippa laughed. “Of course. They simply conceal them more effectively than we do because that is how they were brought up. They have to shoulder more responsibilities than us and as such feel it weakens them to show emotions.” Philippa sat on the stool with her. “Besides, they usually only hide certain emotions. Other emotions they are rather free with,” and she nudged Dharma in the side.

A blush raced over her cheeks. Passion and desire for men, they seem thrilled to share, that was true.

“I thought it odd the first person Devlin called on upon his return to London was Tobin. I suspect he wanted to see you.” She eyed her sister-in-law dubiously. “Well, he has written to you every week. I’m lucky if I get any missive when your brother is away.”

“It almost seems as if Devlin is trying too hard. I feel I have been very honest about what I expect in a marriage. He only has to share his heart and I’ll say yes. So why is he—” She could hardly say he was trying to seduce her to Philippa.

Philippa patted her hand before she stood. “I think you’ll learn that love is something men fear, and goodness knows why. He has feelings for you, you know that. Give him a chance to open his heart to you. It’s always worth the wait, I assure you.”

Long after Philippa had left the music room, Dharma continued to sit at the piano and play. She’d hoped the music would speak to her, but after an hour, all she knew was that this was not a game and she would move forward with Devlin with caution. She’d hate to lose her heart to him and never have that love returned.

Women feared love too. Or perhaps it was a woman feared unrequited love.

If she fell in love with Devlin and he did not love her… spinsterhood beckoned.

Because she would not marry for anything less.

Finally, she made her way upstairs to have a rest before the long night ahead. Would Devlin exceed her expectations and what would society think of her dancing two waltzes with him?