them to glance up. To do something about it, if they dare.
Sweat pops on my brow and my fan flutters in response.
“Will you not stay?” He gestures to the lunch of fresh mussels, laid upon an ornate silver tray on the serving table.
My skin prickles, thinking of the rash that will ensue if I touch even one.
“No, thank you, sir. I must make haste. Practice, you know.”
He is beside me in a blink. My hands grip the piazza railing and I fight the swoon borne of fear.
His finger wraps about my curl as he purrs, “Allegra. You are a most peculiar creature. Peculiar, but oh so enticing.”
I swallow and inch away from him but he closes the gap once again.
I hear a girlish giggle from the street below and feverishly wish myself there, inside that girl’s body and life, my voice issuing that innocent sound.
Silas plants his lips in the small space below my ear and whispers, “I shall have you. One way or the other. Wouldn’t it be simpler to just consent. I will even give you the honor of becoming my bride.”
I shudder as his fingers splay and trail down my neck which burns red-hot.
“I do not think so—”
“Do, remember, sweet Allegra, that soldiers search the streets for you this very night, and all it would take is a singular word from me to sending you packing.”
I shift tactics. “I am, of course, highly honored by such a suggestion and proposal, sir.” My face blushes hot with the lie, but he seems to be even more enamored by the color.
My breath is coming faster and I struggle to hide it.
I choose my words carefully—he is a powder-keg of a man, and my words the ignition.
“I.” I clear my throat to vanquish the fear. “I am so very honored, Mr. Boone…” I step toward the exit, never dropping our gaze. “But I need to focus on my music. I am a savant of sorts, unable to properly divide my attentions…”
I have reached the door; I jump as the doorknob rattles against my back.
His smile is lascivious. A jackal licking his lips. “Of course. I can see how I might become your obsession; distract you from your music. Which we both need. But one day, I fear my need for you, shall supersede even my need for the coin your music provides.”
I curtsy and hurry out the privacy door, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I feel the impending swoon, but breathe deeply through my nose and out my mouth to ward it off.
I cross the grounds, focusing solely on the warm sun, letting it burn away the cold remnants of his lust.
I do not slow down till I am sure his eyes no longer sear my back.
I pause, exhaling my vexation, as I lean on the rail of the bridge which arches over the small fish pond.
I stare at it intently. I am fairly certain this pond is not recorded anywhere in my mother’s sketchbook.
My fingers grip the wood and I close my eyes, raising my face to the sun.
“Miss Teagarden?” My heart leaps at the deep rumble that is his voice
Brighton stands beside me; I feel and smell him. Our arms touch and mine prickles with pimpled gooseflesh.
I open my eyes and turn toward him, smiling. I think of Jonesy’s warning words, but I am… drawn to him. Like a moth to his proverbial flame; so much so, I will endure the scorching.
He is smiling slightly at the use of my surname.
“I have been waiting to see you, but you have been…absent…of late.”
“Why, Mr. LeFroy? What did you need me for? The second symphony? I know we need to work on it, it is just—”
He places a singular finger against my lips, quieting me. My eyes widen at this unexpected show of attention. He is always aloof, calculating.
His warm, calloused hand slides over mine and my heart vaults upward, lodging in my windpipe.
He turns my palm over and I resist the urge to close my eyes and savor every bit of his touch.
The feel of cold metal suddenly encircles my index digit, but in the space of a blink, turns curiously warm against my skin. The band is a simple silver design.
I cock my head, raising my
Sweat pops on my brow and my fan flutters in response.
“Will you not stay?” He gestures to the lunch of fresh mussels, laid upon an ornate silver tray on the serving table.
My skin prickles, thinking of the rash that will ensue if I touch even one.
“No, thank you, sir. I must make haste. Practice, you know.”
He is beside me in a blink. My hands grip the piazza railing and I fight the swoon borne of fear.
His finger wraps about my curl as he purrs, “Allegra. You are a most peculiar creature. Peculiar, but oh so enticing.”
I swallow and inch away from him but he closes the gap once again.
I hear a girlish giggle from the street below and feverishly wish myself there, inside that girl’s body and life, my voice issuing that innocent sound.
Silas plants his lips in the small space below my ear and whispers, “I shall have you. One way or the other. Wouldn’t it be simpler to just consent. I will even give you the honor of becoming my bride.”
I shudder as his fingers splay and trail down my neck which burns red-hot.
“I do not think so—”
“Do, remember, sweet Allegra, that soldiers search the streets for you this very night, and all it would take is a singular word from me to sending you packing.”
I shift tactics. “I am, of course, highly honored by such a suggestion and proposal, sir.” My face blushes hot with the lie, but he seems to be even more enamored by the color.
My breath is coming faster and I struggle to hide it.
I choose my words carefully—he is a powder-keg of a man, and my words the ignition.
“I.” I clear my throat to vanquish the fear. “I am so very honored, Mr. Boone…” I step toward the exit, never dropping our gaze. “But I need to focus on my music. I am a savant of sorts, unable to properly divide my attentions…”
I have reached the door; I jump as the doorknob rattles against my back.
His smile is lascivious. A jackal licking his lips. “Of course. I can see how I might become your obsession; distract you from your music. Which we both need. But one day, I fear my need for you, shall supersede even my need for the coin your music provides.”
I curtsy and hurry out the privacy door, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I feel the impending swoon, but breathe deeply through my nose and out my mouth to ward it off.
I cross the grounds, focusing solely on the warm sun, letting it burn away the cold remnants of his lust.
I do not slow down till I am sure his eyes no longer sear my back.
I pause, exhaling my vexation, as I lean on the rail of the bridge which arches over the small fish pond.
I stare at it intently. I am fairly certain this pond is not recorded anywhere in my mother’s sketchbook.
My fingers grip the wood and I close my eyes, raising my face to the sun.
“Miss Teagarden?” My heart leaps at the deep rumble that is his voice
Brighton stands beside me; I feel and smell him. Our arms touch and mine prickles with pimpled gooseflesh.
I open my eyes and turn toward him, smiling. I think of Jonesy’s warning words, but I am… drawn to him. Like a moth to his proverbial flame; so much so, I will endure the scorching.
He is smiling slightly at the use of my surname.
“I have been waiting to see you, but you have been…absent…of late.”
“Why, Mr. LeFroy? What did you need me for? The second symphony? I know we need to work on it, it is just—”
He places a singular finger against my lips, quieting me. My eyes widen at this unexpected show of attention. He is always aloof, calculating.
His warm, calloused hand slides over mine and my heart vaults upward, lodging in my windpipe.
He turns my palm over and I resist the urge to close my eyes and savor every bit of his touch.
The feel of cold metal suddenly encircles my index digit, but in the space of a blink, turns curiously warm against my skin. The band is a simple silver design.
I cock my head, raising my
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