Page 27 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

T he docks had been busy and hellish. Ordinarily, Jack loved being there when a boat came in, distributing the cargo, completing the sales in the lucrative exchange.

But concentration had been difficult. His mind kept crawling back to Sutton Park and the troublesome people in it.

In the end, Sinclair had ordered him home—disgust evident on his face and in his tone after Jack had narrowly avoided a crane to the head.

The docks were no place for a wandering mind.

Now, cranky and hungry and dismally disappointed in his woeful discipline, all Jack wanted was a stiff drink, a warm pillow, and a quiet house.

But as Carlisle welcomed him in, Jack wondered if he hadn’t avoided that steel crane after all. The walls appeared to vibrate; the floor seemed to shake. And loud, energetic, expertly played music hit him from all sides.

“What the hell is going on?” he shouted as Carlisle slipped his coat from his shoulders along with his hat. Ella’s laughter sprang up in tandem with the sprightly melody, irking Jack instantly. Was it because he was tired, or was it because it was happening without him?

“They’ve been at it for some time now,” the butler answered stiffly.

The men still hadn’t talked since Jack had stormed out of the house, bringing a motherless child back with him.

No doubt the air would remain thick between them until that discussion was had.

But Jack couldn’t consider that talk now.

Not when the house was so damned lively.

“At what? Who?” he asked, pausing in his steps.

“Playing, my lord,” Carlisle replied. “Your mother and your”—he coughed politely in his gloved hand—“your daughter.”

Jack eyed the butler. That cough said more than words could. “Wait, who?”

He slowly made his way to the source of the music, pausing in the doorframe as the new world opened up before him.

It could have been a dream, if ever Jack had thought to dream that big.

His mother and his daughter sat side by side at the piano, their fingers tripping over the ivory keys with the determination and elegance of an afternoon rain shower.

Jack hadn’t heard his mother play in years.

When he was a child, she would entertain the family most nights after dinner because his father had loved it.

Jack could still remember the look on his father’s face as he sat in his favorite seat near the fire, glass of brandy in his hand as he gazed upon his wife.

Such love, such adoration, such… surprise.

As if after all those years together he was still caught off guard by her extraordinary talent.

Jack had never taken to the instrument, never being able to sit and focus on it for longer than a few minutes at a time. But even in his ignorance, he could see that his mother—for all her skill—wasn’t the best player in that room.

Sonia held that honor.

And a quick scan of the space told Jack that everyone knew it.

All five of the doctors were scattered about, actively enjoying the performance, attentions masterfully caught.

The uncles were no different. Christopher and Edward shared the settee, completely absorbed, while Sonia’s fingers stormed over the keys with astonishing speed.

Andrew stood off to the side, his expression painted in wonder—and slight pique, which gave Jack his first smile of the day.

Good. Let them know that Sonia was better than all of them put together.

Let them know that the same blood that ran in their veins also ran in hers, and she wasn’t about to spoil it with ineptitude or laziness.

Jack would never let that happen. Whatever that little girl wanted to be or do, he would see to it.

Though, by the sounds of things, it didn’t seem like she would need much of his help.

On the outskirts of it all, Ella leaned against his grandmother’s high-back chair while the older woman dozed with a contented smile on her face. Out of everyone in the drawing room, Ella was the only person not fixated on the accomplished duo.

She moved cautiously across the room, avoiding taking any attention away from the performance. When she reached his side, she stood shoulder to shoulder with him, returning her gaze to the piano.

Maybe it was the swell of the music, or maybe it was the profound relief and contentedness coursing through his veins, but Jack couldn’t allow Ella to be near him without touching her.

Closing the gap, he shifted his weight to the right, slanting his body against hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The only thing that was missing was her head propped along his shoulder, the curve of her breast resting along his side.

A noise came from Ella, soft and sweet, as fragile as a whisper.

Jack turned to take in her face. Her cheeks were pink, her lips a dusty rose.

Music—great music—could be the source of the blood rushing to her, but Jack allowed himself to dream big this time.

He allowed himself to know it was because of him.

He allowed himself one other indulgence. Like their moment outside Sonia’s bedroom, he dropped his arm, letting it slide along her skirt, where he pinched the fabric in between his fingers, holding it like it was a talisman, or a portal to another life.

The tendons of her bare neck flared as Ella sucked in a breath. “Your daughter has more talent in her little finger than most people have in their entire bodies,” she said. Jack liked the way she said it, as if she were as proud as he was.

“I can see that,” he said, keeping himself from following those long tendons down to the base of her neck. Jack could forget himself in the mysterious abyss of her creamy skin.

“Did you know she lived in Italy?” Ella asked. “Your daughter is fluent in Italian and French. She also has a passing fluency in German.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, indeed,” she returned, slicing him with a sly grin.

“You learned all this today?” he asked.

“I learned all this, and more, today.”

Jack let out a soundless laugh. For every single minute of this cursed day, he’d been wrecked with worry over leaving Sonia behind. He should have known the girl would be fine. He should have known Ella would make sure of it.

He nodded toward the black-haired females at the piano who were blissfully lost in their own little world. “When did my mother decide to enter this picture?”

Ella’s smile widened. “The moment she heard Sonia play. She came down from her room to inspect and hasn’t left yet.”

“And she’s… been kind?”

Ella chuckled. She tipped her head toward him, and for a wondrous second, Jack believed that she might lay it on his shoulder.

She caught herself at the last second, and his stomach squeezed in disappointment.

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about your mother anymore.

I heard her say that ‘Only a grandchild of mine could play like that.’ They’ve been thick as thieves ever since.

Your mother has only stopped playing long enough to instruct Carlisle to put out a request for a nanny and governess and to purchase Sonia a new wardrobe. ‘One befitting a lady.’”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, indeed.”

Together they continued to listen to the music.

The tranquility of the scene mixed with the warm body pressed against his side made Jack’s legs grow heavy.

His lids felt weighted even as he was filled with the sensation of floating.

He never felt this way on land. The rolling of the sea, the limitless expanse, was usually the only thing that could gift him with that out-of-body experience.

The sense that he was not merely living in the world but of the world.

Like every living thing and every emotion ever experienced were one with him.

And instead of fearing that abundance of time and place and feeling, Jack accepted it, understanding that everything was exactly as it should be.

Ella by his side. Sonia next to his mother. No fighting. Jack gave himself up to this brief period, and it was perfect and right.

He unfurled his fingers from Ella’s dress, relinquishing his desperate hold. She took another deep breath, her body canting to his. Jack knew she could feel his subtle movements. He also knew that she was aware of his intention.

Because when his hand crept along the ocean of silk, it didn’t have to search far. Ella’s hand met his. And with heads forward, breaths paused, eyes shuttered, their fingers wrapped around one another’s, sliding into place.

Jack’s chest trembled from the touch as Ella’s palm pressed against his. The acceptance and perfect fit of skin against skin was sinfully innocent and easily the most intimate moment of his life.

And, selfish bastard that he was, Jack only wanted more.

Pulling her hand to his chest, Jack twisted her until she was plastered against him. “Ella—”

“What the bloody fucking hell is going on!”

The music broke.

Every head swiveled to the doorway where the booming voice had crashed along the corridor, down from the staircase. Unwilling to relinquish Ella’s hand, Jack towed her to the source of the sound, only coming to a stop when he reached the base of the staircase, everyone else following close behind.

It felt like they all looked up at the same time to find Oliver, standing on the second-floor landing, glaring down as if they were as meddlesome and annoying as ants.

Dressed in his nightgown, he leaned on the banister, his opposite hand clutching a long black cane.

Jack’s mind played tricks on him. Pale and skinny, his brother reminded him of an apparition, and Jack wondered if Oliver had died and come back to haunt them.

Ella’s hand fell away from his, and he felt her step to her right. It was only an inch or two, but it felt more like a chasm.

The duchess was the first one to snap into action. “Oliver,” she cried, her voice breaking. She tackled the stairs, arms outstretched. She tripped on her skirts twice before reaching him. “You should be in bed. You’re not strong enough yet.”

Even from below, Jack could see the anguish darkening his brother’s white face.

Oliver pounded the top of the cane into the side of his head.

Once. Twice. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think with all that noise.

It hurts,” he bellowed. He was like a bear with a foot caught in a trap, tameless and panicked.

Oliver regarded his mother helplessly. “I told you not to play. I told you…”

Lady Evelyn sobbed. Her hands were raised around Oliver’s face, but each time she got close to touching him, he flinched away. “I’m sorry, my love. We forgot ourselves. Let’s get you back to bed. Come now, Ollie.”

Resigned and haunted, Oliver looked at his mother and then craned his neck around, not able to settle on anything.

Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes. His brother appeared so lost and so scared. So small.

Oliver blinked, smacking his head again. “I don’t know how I got here. What am I doing here?”

The duchess managed to hold Oliver, covering his shoulder with her arm. “You’re home, Oliver. You’re safe. And you’re going to get better, I promise.”

Jack took the stairs two at a time. Positioning himself behind his brother, he swept his arms underneath and picked him up, holding him like a child.

It hurt Jack to treat his older brother this way.

And it was made worse by the fact that his brother didn’t have the strength to fight him.

Oliver would have died rather than let others see him so crippled with injury.

But he had no choice now but to accept the help, knowing that he couldn’t make it back to his room on his own.

As Jack carried his brother back to his quarters, he felt Oliver grasp at the lapels of his jacket.

Jack kept his attention straight ahead. He knew if he looked at his brother, he could fall apart.

But Oliver called out to him in a harsh rasp, his energy diminishing by the second.

“Jackie. Jackie.” His voice was so light, as light as his weight in Jack’s arms.

Oliver waited for Jack to look at him. “I saw her,” he said. “I saw her, Jackie.”

“Saw who, Ollie?”

Oliver’s voice became thin, fading the instant it left his mouth. “You can’t have her. She’s mine.”