Brody could never settle for a wife who did not love him. He did not want a society marriage, with a chaste, proper lady at his side for show, and a real, passionate woman like Angelica tucked away for convenience.
The sad fact was, Brody knew since the night he first met her, that there was no other woman for him. He would gladly let her use him for his money and his protection, as long as she’d let him hold her close at night and kiss her every morning.
“You all keep talking about…jazzing,” Angelica said. “What is that?”
Even Brody laughed. Angelica had never heard jazz. She had not listened to a new record since before the war. Thank God! He was glad to have something to take their minds off this talk of love and marriage.
“It’s music, Angelica,” he explained. “No one listens to Rags anymore.”
Mary Rose pushed back her chair. “Let’s all go into the library and put on the gramophone!”
In a flurry of silk and satin, his sister raced around the table to grab Angelica’s wrist. She hauled her out of her seat toward the door. It was all Brody could do to keep up. If Mary Rose wasn’t careful, she’d pull Angelica right out of her shoes.
At the last minute, he paused at the doorway. “Coming, Markie?”
“I’ll be in shortly.”
Brody followed the ladies to the library. He didn’t know why they kept the gramophone in there—of all places—but Mother refused to have the thing pollute her drawing room, so he supposed this was the next best spot. At least the library was large enough to dance.
Mary Rose dug through the record cabinet, pulling out her favorites. Finally, she made her selection, placed it on the turntable, and cranked the gramophone to life. “Sweet Georgia Brown” burst through the room, making Angelica take a step back. She clearly wasn’t ready for hot jazz.
Ignoring everyone else, Mary Rose reached for the decanter on a nearby shelf, and poured herself a drink. So his sister took her whiskey straight now? He could imagine why Father was so keen to see the girl married off. She was bound to be trouble very soon.
“Isn’t this ripping?” she asked, taking a long draw from her glass.
Angelica fumbled for something kind to say. “Why is it so fast?”
“For dancing, you ninny. Or, can’t you dance?”
“I can waltz…”
Mary Rose laughed. “You don’t waltz to this. It’s foxtrot or nothing! Come on, Brody. Dance with me!”
She reached her arms out for him, but he dodged her. What good was dancing when Angelica couldn’t join in on the fun?
“Put on a waltz,” he said.
His sister pouted, but did as he asked. The needle scratched as she yanked the record off, and replaced the it with something slower. While she did so, Marcus slipped into the room.
Brody gently reached for Angelica, pulling her into his arms. “You sure you can dance?”
She smiled at his chin. “You don’t have to see to dance. You only have to trust.”
His heart nearly burst from his chest. Brody held her closer than he should, and whispered, “You trust me?”
Angelica nodded, but said nothing. Suddenly, the music crackled to life, and he began to lead her through the steps. She was a little stiff, a little rusty, but she knew enough to keep up with him. Once she settled into their rhythm, Angelica seemed to enjoy herself.
Brody enjoyed himself, too—until he realized the words to the song. It was “What’ll I Do?”, an Irving Berlin number about losing the girl one loved, and wondering what life would be like without her. It was damned sad, and he wished Mary Rose hadn’t picked it. What in God’s name would he ever do without his shadow-angel?
Angelica lowered her head. He knew she also understood the melancholy lyrics. Perhaps she was thinking the exact same thing…
He glanced over at Marcus and Mary Rose, who watched wordlessly. Thank God Mother and Father weren’t there, because it was painfully obvious to everyone how he felt about this girl.
He truly was a lovesick fool. “Angelica…”
She rested her forehead against his lapel. “Shh.”
They danced in silence. He’d been so close…so close…and she’d stopped him. She didn’t want his declaration of love. She did not need to hear those words—not as badly as he had needed to speak them.
Yet again, he’d forgot they weren’t sweethearts at all, but a man and his mistress. The way she felt in his arms was an illusion. Part of an act he’d forced her into playing. Angelica was so damned good at it that he might not ever know her true intentions. The realization rocked him like a blow to the gut. When the song ended, Brody fled the room, knocking shoulders with Marcus as he passed through the open doorway.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Brody walked blindly through the house. For once, he understood how Angelica could do it—pass from room to room without seeing, without needing to see.