read each other’s minds. As if their bodies pulsed to the same rhythms. This was music she could never make alone.
Verity was swept away. She was always moved by music, but this was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. The room, the crowd, disappeared from her consciousness. Only their twined voices existed. Meeting Lord Randolph’s intense blue eyes, she saw that he felt the same. It was as if their souls communed. She couldn’t look away.
The song came to an end. The harmony died. Verity’s careful breath control evaporated. Her hands shook. Lord Randolph blinked. He looked down at the keys of the pianoforte.
The burst of applause was a stunning intrusion. They both started. Verity felt the pounding palms as an intolerable sound. She wanted to put her hands over her ears. Lord Randolph recovered more quickly. He rose, took her hand, and led her in a bow. Verity clung to his fingers.
People rushed over, full of chattering praise. They were like a surging mob. Lord Randolph let go of her hand, and Verity felt bereft. Clearly she’d judged this man too hastily. She wished she could take back some of the things she’d said to him. All of the things, really.
As Randolph acknowledged the barrage of compliments, he struggled to gather his scattered faculties, and to comprehend that…extraordinary experience. He was astonished and unsettled and aroused. He’d never imagined such an instant, automatic link. And yet it had happened. He couldn’t deny that. With a rude girl who didn’t even like him, an inner voice warned. Who scorned his countrified position. Who thought him, in a word, a failure.
“Oh, Miss Sinclair, the archbishop must be so proud of you,” simpered a turbaned lady at his elbow.
And there was that, Randolph thought. He mustn’t forget that complication. This was all as unfortunate as it was unexpected. He struggled to control his expression. Feeling uncomfortably exposed, he turned.
As if he’d spoken his need aloud, he found Sebastian beside him. “All right, there, Ran?” he said.
His hulking military brother could be remarkably like a sheltering wall, Randolph thought. “Need a moment,” he said.
Sebastian nodded. “You don’t like noise after you’ve been playing. Noticed that. Come along.”
Gratefully allowing himself to be guided, Randolph noted that Sebastian could be quite sensitive. People didn’t know that about him. Miss Sinclair was staring as if he’d abandoned her to ravening hordes. No, she wasn’t. Couldn’t be. He wasn’t thinking straight.
In a far corner of the room, Randolph’s family closed around him, a comforting bastion.
“That was splendid,” said Flora.
Robert nodded agreement with his wife. “I haven’t heard you play in a while. Vastly improved.”
Randolph appreciated the praise. His most tonnish brother was more likely to twit than compliment. But he knew it was undeserved in this case. His talent had been…amplified, exalted by his partner.
“Plenty of time to practice, I suppose, up there in the wilds of Northumberland.”
That was more like the Robert he knew, and cut a bit too close after Miss Sinclair’s remarks.
“It was absolutely beautiful,” said Georgina.
“Top-notch,” agreed Sebastian.
The pair exchanged one of their warm marital glances. Which were endearing, not annoying, Randolph told himself. He gathered more of his scattered wits. Miss Sinclair sang very well. So did he. They’d performed a successful duet, nothing more. He’d heard musicians wax enthusiastic about collaboration. None had ever mentioned being aroused, however.
Randolph looked over Robert’s shoulder at Miss Sinclair. She was still surrounded by an admiring circle. Bright hair, gown of angelic white so tantalizingly filled by a shapely figure. Those blue-green eyes had threatened to drown him as they sang. It was unfair. He wasn’t looking for an enigma. He had a plan.
“Yes, of course I’m going,” said Robert. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
Randolph reined in his wandering attention. “Going where?”
“To see that German fellow,” replied Sebastian. “The one who runs his fingers over your head and then cuts up your character.” He shook his head.
“He’ll muss your hair,” Georgina told Robert with a teasing smile.
Robert smiled back. “I shall, of course, take a comb to the appointment.”
“You think there’s something in it?” Randolph asked. “This phrenology?”
“It’s become the fashion,” Robert replied. “I must keep up.”
“I thought you set fashions.”
“I set them. I shift them. I critique them.”
“From the wilds of Russell Square?” Randolph asked, getting his own back for the remark about Northumberland. Immediately, he worried that he’d insulted Flora’s family home.
“It’s not where you live,” said Robert airily. “It’s how.” Flora gave him a warm smile. He took her hand and kissed it.
All at once Randolph