A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)

She took a small sip of the champagne. The tart-sweet taste exploded on her tongue, fizzing through her whole body.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It’s so strange.” She sipped again, holding the potent liquid in her mouth. Bubbles teased her nose, and she swallowed, giggling. “But delicious.”

She sipped again and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the world stayed dark. It took her a moment to realize they had dimmed the gaslights to signal the beginning of the performance. Her brain felt misty. The air was cottony around her, warm and soft to the touch.

“May I taste?” Toby asked.

“Yes, of course.” She offered him the glass, but that wasn’t what he wanted. She realized her mistake the instant before his mouth captured hers. As their lips met, some champagne-soaked shred of her conscience trilled in alarm. Here they were kissing in public. In full view, for anyone to see.

It was marvelous.

She leaned into the kiss, caressing his tongue with hers, sipping lightly at his lower lip. She couldn’t get enough of him, and she wanted all London to see. Perhaps it was the champagne, or the rich surroundings, or the arousal he’d so cleverly been stoking all night. But at that moment, Bel wanted the world to know how much her husband desired her, how much she desired him. How beautiful they were together, how young and alive. Then the orchestra struck a chord, and she jumped in her seat. The kiss broke apart. Champagne splattered the exposed tops of her br**sts and the bodice of her indecent, extravagant gown—and she didn’t even care. Because the music was beginning, and the music

… it was everything.

The orchestra launched into the overture, and Bel felt certain the power of the music would lift the roof from the opera house. She felt it reverberating in her bones. She breathed it into her lungs. It had colors, and flavors—and that was when Bel realized she must be a bit drunk, to believe she could taste a piece of music. But she sipped her champagne again, wanting to stay drunk forever. Wanting to drown in this sea of glorious sound.

Then the curtain opened to reveal a fantastic garden and costumed performers who shortly began to sing. With voices surely stolen from angels, they sang. And the whole world fell away. Bel forgot even Toby. The champagne went flat in her glass. She was swept into the grandeur of Don Giovanni, and if she had not known it to be impossible, she would have later sworn she did not breathe or blink once during the whole of the first act. As the curtain closed for intermission, Toby’s hand covered hers. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She clutched his hand. “Oh, Toby. It’s wonderful. I never dreamed …” The amber fog of the gas lamps slowly diffused, and she looked up into his handsome face. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He grinned. “The best is yet to come.”

Oh, no. The unthinkable reality struck with orchestral power. An ominous, thundering chord of truth.

She loved him.

What a fool she’d been. It wasn’t the music that made her feel everything so acutely. It wasn’t the champagne that laid waste to her inhibitions. No, it was this man sitting next to her, who’d wreaked havoc on her senses and stoked her passions since the moment they met. It was Toby, all Toby.

And she loved him.

A dark, sweet melody played in her heart, and her pulse beat a fierce, insistent percussion. She loved him. Loved him, loved him, and it terrified her.

Worry creased his brow. “Are you well? Shall I fetch you another glass of champagne?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps some water.”

“Certainly.” He kissed her hand before releasing it. “I’ll be back in a trice.”

Then he was gone, giving Bel a few precious moments to collect her thoughts and reevaluate her life. She’d fallen in love with her husband, and now everything was ruined. Wasn’t it?

How could she fully devote herself to service and charity, with this loud, symphonic love suffusing her body, drowning out all her best intentions? She tried to recall her schedule for tomorrow. She was certain she had some appointment, some visit scheduled … perhaps a meeting with the house staff about the upcoming demonstration of flue-sweeping machinery?

But for the life of her—for the love of Toby—she couldn’t remember. The champagne’s effect had faded now. Bel saw clearly what she needed to do. She must choose. This love had infected her unawares, but perhaps she still had hope for a cure. It was not too late to deny this passion, to push her husband away and refocus on her work. She’d been in London society long enough to understand the polite, affectionless arrangements that characterized most marriages. She could insist upon the same.