The Bachelor Earl - Darcy Burke Page 0,8
speak, his voice deep and slow.
To be, or not to be? That is the question—
Then he turned, but only partially. She studied his profile, her gaze lingering on the masculine cut of his jaw. He lifted his right hand.
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
He turned fully toward them, dropping his hand back to his side, his voice strong and steady, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond where they sat. Genie realized she held her breath and forced herself to exhale.
And, by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep—
No more—and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to—’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub,
His head shifted slightly, and his eye twitched.
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
His forehead creased as he went silent. For a fleeting moment, Genie wondered if he’d forgotten the rest. But no, this was too beautiful, too intentional. She held her breath again until he continued. Then his voice returned, more stirring and seductive than before.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
He reached out, his fingers extending. Genie fought the urge to copy his movement, to seek the answers they could never find in this life. She’d found comfort in these words after Jerome had died, and now she found a different solace—an awakening.
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
He lowered his hand to his side. His gaze moved, just slightly, and Genie imagined he glanced at her. Was she a coward for not performing? No, of course not.
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
A moment of silence passed, then he bowed. The ballroom erupted in applause. Genie wanted desperately for him to continue. Alas, he did not. He bowed again, smiling, then took himself from the dais. He helped Cecilia up, then came back to his seat.
“My goodness, that was thrilling, wasn’t it?” Cecilia said, clapping her hands together. “Wonderful. And now for a song from Mrs. Fitzwarren!”
Genie registered what her cousin said, but her focus was on Satterfield as he sat down beside her. “That was brilliant,” she whispered. “I wish you could continue.”
He looked at her askance. “Thank you.”
“Could you?” She angled herself toward him. “Continue, I mean.”
“Would you take on the role of Ophelia?” he asked with a slight smile.
“I could.”
His gaze locked with hers as Mrs. Fitzwarren began to sing a ballad of love and marriage—rather fitting for this party. Genie wondered if Cecilia had asked her to sing that song in particular.
They turned their attention to the dais. Mrs. Fitzwarren had a beautiful voice. But Genie was still lost in Satterfield’s riveting performance. He could have enjoyed a career on the stage.
Genie kept stealing glances toward him, each one longer than the last as she drank in his profile. What was happening?
She forced herself to watch Mrs. Fitzwarren as her voice soared. All the while, she was completely aware of Lord Satterfield’s proximity. Maybe just one more look…
As Genie peeked in his direction, her breath caught. He was watching her, his dark eyes smoldering. Had he been stealing glances too?
She couldn’t look away. If she dropped her hand to her side, and he did the same, their fingers might touch…
What was she doing? Genie swung her attention back to Mrs. Fitzwarren and clasped her hands together in her lap.
The song ended, and Genie considered leaving. Except she’d have to move past Lord Satterfield, and right now, she didn’t trust herself to even speak to him. Doing so might betray her…what?
“That was lovely,” he said, drawing Genie to turn her head.
He’d leaned toward her, and now they were very