Beside me, Lady Brompton’s cousin screeched like a teenie boy-band fan when the bosom groper sat down at the keyboard and played an arpeggio with great verve. The lovely Lady Lavinia gave Gideon a radiant smile and came forward with her green skirts rustling. I could see now that she wasn’t quite as young as I’d thought. But her singing was great! She sang like Anna Netrebko when we heard her at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden two years ago. Well, maybe her singing wasn’t quite as great as Anna Netrebko’s, but it was a pleasure to listen to her, all the same. If you liked ornate Italian operatic arias. Which normally I didn’t, to be honest, but thanks to the punch, I did today. And obviously, Italian operatic arias went down tremendously well in the eighteenth century. The people in the room were really enjoying themselves now. Only the poor dog-whist … I mean Miss Fairfax was looking cross.
“Can I steal you away for a moment?” Gideon had come up behind the sofa and was smiling down at me. Of course, now the green lady was otherwise occupied, he’d remembered me again. “The count would be glad to enjoy a little of your company.”
Oh. That was something else. I took a deep breath, picked up my glass, and tipped the contents right down my throat. When I stood up, I felt a pleasant dizzy sensation in my head. Gideon took the empty glass out of my hand and put it down on one of those tables with the cute little paws.
“Was there by any chance anything alcoholic in that?” he whispered.
“No, only punch,” I whispered back. Oops, the floor was kind of uneven here. “I don’t drink alcohol on principle, understand? One of my iron principles. You can have fun even without alcohol.”
Gideon raised one eyebrow and offered me his arm. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” I assured him. Wow, these eighteenth-century floors really did wobble. Funny that I hadn’t noticed it earlier. “I mean, she may be a little old for you, but don’t let that bother you. Or the consolation the Duke of Wherever offers her. This really is a great party. People here are a lot nicer than I expected. So happy to make contact … physical contact.” I looked at the piano-playing groper and the second-rate Netrebko. “And they obviously like to sing. Very nice. Makes you feel like jumping up at once to join in.”
“Don’t you dare,” whispered Gideon, leading me over to the sofa where the count was sitting. When he saw us coming, he rose with the flexible ease of a much younger man, curving his lips into an expectant smile.
Okay, I thought, lifting my chin. Let’s act as if I didn’t know that Google says you’re not a real count at all. Let’s act as if you really had an aristocratic title and weren’t a con man of unknown origin. Let’s act as if you didn’t half strangle me last time we met. And let’s act as if I were stone-cold sober.
I let go of Gideon, picked up my heavy red silk skirts, spread them out, and sank into a deep curtsey. Only when the count reached out his hand with its many rings, all set with jewels, did I come up from it.
“My dear child,” he said, and there was a glint of amusement in his dark brown eyes as he patted my hand, “I do admire your elegance. Others can’t even speak their own names after four glasses of Lady Brompton’s special punch.”
Oh, so he’d been counting. I lowered my eyes guiltily. In fact it had been five glasses, but they’d been worth it, they really had! I couldn’t be sorry I’d shaken off that oppressive, vague feeling of anxiety. And I didn’t miss my inferiority complex, either. I liked my tipsy self. Even if I did feel rather unsteady on my legs.
“Merci pour le compliment,” I murmured.
“Delightful!” said the count.
“I’m sorry. I ought to have been watching more closely,” said Gideon.
The count laughed softly. “My dear boy, you were otherwise occupied. And after all, today we are first and foremost intent on amusement, are we not? Particularly as Lord Alastair, to whom I was extremely anxious to introduce this charming young lady, is not yet here. However, I have been brought word that he is on his way.”
“Alone?” asked Gideon.
The count smiled. “That makes no difference.”
The downmarket Anna Netrebko and the bosom groper ended the aria with a rousing final chord, and the count let go of my hand so that he could clap. “Isn’t she wonderful? A really fine talent, and so beautiful, too.”
“Yes,” I said quietly, clapping as well and taking care not to play pat-a-cake. “It’s quite something to make the chandeliers ring like that.” The clapping upset my sensitive sense of balance, and I staggered slightly.
Gideon caught me. “I can’t make it out,” he said angrily, his lips close to my ear. “We haven’t been here two hours, and you’re totally drunk! What on earth were you thinking of?”
“You said totally. I’m going to tell on you to Giordano,” I giggled. In all the noise, no one else could hear us. “Anyway, it’s too late. No point in locking the stable door after the horse has gone.” A hiccup interrupted me—hic. “Sorry.” I looked around me. “But everyone else is much more drunk than me, so leave out the moral indignation, okay? I have everything under control. You can let go of me again. I stand here as steady as a rock among the breakers.”
“I’m warning you,” whispered Gideon, but he did let go of me.
For safety’s sake, I braced my legs a little farther apart. Well, no one could see that, not underneath my huge skirt.
The count, amused, had been watching us. His expression gave away nothing but a certain grandfatherly pride. I glanced at him surreptitiously and was rewarded by a smile that warmed my heart. Why had I been so scared of him? It was only with difficulty that I could remember what Lucas had told me—how this same man had cut his own ancestor’s throat.…
Lady Brompton had quickly come up to the pianoforte again to thank Mr. Merchant and Lady Lavinia for their performance. Then—before Miss Fairfax could get to her feet again—she asked for a warm round of applause for today’s guest of honor, the famous, much-traveled Count Saint-Germain, a man surrounded by mystery. “He has promised me to play something on his violin today,” she said, and Lord Brompton came hurrying up with a violin case as fast as his potbelly allowed. The audience, spaced out on punch, roared their enthusiasm. This really was a super-cool party.
The count smiled as he took the violin out of its case and began tuning it. “I would never dream of disappointing you, Lady Brompton,” he said in a soft voice. “But my old fingers are not as agile as they used to be when I played duets with the notorious Giacomo Casanova at the French court … and my gout troubles me a little these days.”
A collective whispering and sighing ran through the room.
“So this evening I would like to hand the violin over to my young friend here,” the count went on.
Gideon looked slightly shocked and shook his head. But when the count raised his eyebrows and said, “Please!” he bowed, took the instrument and the bow, and went over to the pianoforte.
The count took my hand. “And we two will sit on the sofa and enjoy the music, shall we? No need for you to tremble! Sit down, my child. You don’t know it, but since yesterday afternoon we have been the best of friends, you and I. We had a really, really intimate conversation, and we were able to settle all our differences.”
What?
“Yesterday afternoon?” I repeated.
“From my point of view,” said the count. “From yours, that meeting is still in the future.” He laughed. “I like it to be complicated, you see!”
I stared at him, baffled. But at that moment Gideon began to play, and I entirely forgot what I had been going to ask the count. Oh, my God! Maybe it was the punch—but wow! That violin was really sexy! Even the way Gideon raised it and tucked it under his chin! He didn’t have to do more than that to carry me away with him. His long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and a lock of hair fell over his face as he began passing the bow over the strings. The first notes filling the room almost took my breath away, they made such tender, melting music, and suddenly I was close to tears. Until now, violins had been way down on my list of favorite instruments, and I really liked them only for accompanying certain moments in films. But this was just incredibly wonderful—well, all of it was: the bittersweet melody and the boy enticing it out of the instrument. All the people in the room listened with bated breath, and Gideon played on, immersed in the music as if there were no one else there.
I didn’t notice that I was crying until the count touched my cheek and caught a tear gently with his finger. Then I jumped in alarm.
He was smiling down at me, and I saw a warm glow in his dark brown eyes. “Nothing to be ashamed of,” he said quietly. “If it were otherwise, I’d have been very disappointed.”
I was surprised to find myself smiling back at him—really! How could I? This was the man who had strangled me!
“What’s that tune?” I asked.
The count shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I assume it has yet to be composed.”
A storm of applause broke out in the room when Gideon came to the end of the piece. He bowed, smiling, and successfully declined to play an encore, although he was less successful in eluding the embrace of the lovely Lady Lavinia. She clung to his arm, and he had no alternative but to bring her over to our sofa.
“Wasn’t that marvelous?” cried Lady Lavinia. “But when I saw those hands, I knew at once that they could work miracles.”
“I bet,” I muttered. I would have liked to get up from the sofa, if only so that Lady Lavinia couldn’t look down at me like that, but it was beyond me. The punch had had an unfortunate effect on my muscles.
“It’s a wonderful instrument, sir,” said Gideon to the count, giving him back the violin.
“A Stradivarius. Made for me by the master himself,” replied the count in a tone of reverie. “I would like you to have it, my boy. This evening is probably the right moment for me to pass it solemnly on to you.”
Gideon went a little red. With delight, I assumed. “That … oh, I can’t…” He looked into the count’s dark eyes, but then lowered his own and added, “You do me great honor, sir.”
“The honor is all mine,” replied the count gravely.
“My word,” I murmured to myself. The two of them seemed to have formed a mutual admiration society.
“And are you as musical as your foster brother, Miss Gray?” asked Lady Lavinia.
No, probably not. But I bet I’m as musical as you, I thought. “I like to sing, that’s all,” I said.
Gideon shot me a warning glance.
“You like to sing!” cried Lady Lavinia. “As indeed so do I, and our dear Miss Fairfax.”
“I’m afraid I can’t reach such high notes as Miss Fairfax,” I said firmly. Well, I wasn’t a bat, was I? “And my lungs don’t have the capacity of yours. But I do like singing, all the same.”