He dearly hoped this woman was not married, because he was going to kiss her. The only question was when.
Then—he knew the instant it happened—she saw him. Her face jerked with a tiny gasp, and she froze, her eyes widening in alarm. He smiled wryly, shaking his head. Did she think him a madman, sneaking into Winstead House to spy on the concert?
Well, he supposed it made sense. He had spent enough time being wary of strangers to recognize the trait in someone else. She didn’t know who he was, and there certainly wasn’t supposed to be anyone in the back room during the performance.
The amazing thing was, she didn’t look away. Her eyes held his, and he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe until the moment was broken by his cousin Harriet, jabbing at the dark-haired woman and presumably informing her that she’d missed her entrance.
She never looked up again.
But Daniel watched her. He watched her through every flip of the page, every fortissimo chord. He watched her so intently that at some point, he even ceased to hear the music. His mind played its own symphony, lush and full, sweeping toward a perfect, inevitable climax.
Which it never reached. The spell was broken when the quartet slammed out its final notes and the four ladies stood to make their curtsies. The dark-haired beauty said something to Harriet, who was beaming at the applause as if she had been a player herself, and then took off so quickly Daniel was surprised she didn’t leave marks on the floor.
No matter. He’d find her.
He moved quickly through the back hallway of Winstead House. He’d sneaked out himself many times when he was a young man; he knew exactly which route someone would take to escape undetected. And sure enough, he cut her off right before she rounded the last corner toward the servants’ entrance. She didn’t see him right away, though, she didn’t see him until—
“There you are,” he said, smiling as if greeting a long-lost friend. There was nothing like an unexpected smile to set someone off balance.
She lurched with shock, and a staccato scream flew from her lips.
“Good Lord,” Daniel said, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Don’t do that. Someone will hear you.”
He pulled her against him—it was the only way to keep a firm grip over her mouth. Her body was small and slight against his, and shaking like a leaf. She was terrified.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I just want to know what you’re doing here.” He waited for a moment, then adjusted his position so he could see her face more directly. Her eyes met his, dark and alarmed.
“Now then,” he said, “if I let you go, will you be quiet?”
She nodded.
He considered this. “You’re lying.”
She rolled her eyes, as if to say, What did you expect, and he chuckled. “Who are you?” he mused.
And then the strangest thing happened. She relaxed in his arms. A little, anyway. He felt some of the tension lift away, felt her breath as it sighed into his hand.
Interesting. She hadn’t been worried that he didn’t know who she was. She’d been worried that he did.
Slowly, and with enough deliberation to make sure she knew he could change his mind at any time, he lifted his hand from her mouth. He didn’t remove his arm from her waist, though. Selfish of him, he knew, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let her go.
“Who are you?” he murmured, tilting his words toward her ear.
“Who are you?” she returned.
He quirked a smile. “I asked you first.”
“I don’t speak to strangers.”
He laughed at that, then twirled her around in his arms so that they were face-to-face. He knew he was behaving abominably, all but accosting the poor thing. She wasn’t up to anything naughty. She’d been playing in his family’s quartet, for heaven’s sake. He ought to thank her.
But he was feeling light-headed—almost light-bodied. Something about this woman set his blood fizzing in his veins, and he was already a bit giddy at having finally reached Winstead House after weeks of travel.
He was home. Home. And there was a beautiful woman in his arms whom he was quite certain was not planning to kill him.
It had been some time since he’d savored that particular sensation.
“I think . . .” he said wonderingly. “I think I might need to kiss you.”
She jerked back, not looking scared precisely, but rather puzzled. Or maybe concerned.
Smart woman. He did sound rather like a madman.
“Just a little,” he assured her. “I just need to remind myself . . .”