She smiled. ‘Not tonight. Tomorrow night.’
* * *
The next night Xavier met Phillipa outside her town house at the agreed upon hour. He walked with her through Mayfair, crossing Piccadilly to St James’s Street and finally to the gaming hell. She headed straight to the supper room and the pianoforte.
He stayed to listen to her. If she was dreadful, he could stop her. Amateurs were often dreadful. Enough wrong notes, enough singing off-key and people would find another house in which to gamble. That would not happen under his watch.
Her first song he’d heard before—‘I Have A Silent Sorrow Here’, a song of unrequited love. The strings of the pianoforte and her voice resonated with emotion. She sang the song so beautifully it convinced him she had once loved a man who did not love her.
Who the devil was that man? That man who hurt her so? Was that what caused her to isolate herself? Had he made her bitter and unhappy?
The second song had a similar theme, although he’d never heard the tune before. Even more melancholic than the first, she sang of watching her beloved across a room and of being invisible to him.
He forgot about anything but the pain and sadness of her song, the emotion in her voice. He’d failed at his youthful vow to protect her. He’d not been there when this man wounded her. He clenched a fist. He’d like to find that fellow now.
She next played something light-hearted and he woke from his reverie. He glanced at the faces in the supper room. The people seated there abandoned their conversations. With rapt expressions, they all turned toward Phillipa.
The only way Phillipa would be a liability to the gaming house was if patrons abandoned the gaming tables to come hear her perform.
Xavier yearned to abandon his duties to stay to listen to her, but he’d already spent enough time away from the gaming room. He reluctantly left the supper room. In the gaming room the sounds were not melodic. Voices humming, dice rolling, cards shuffling. Although the sound of her voice and of the pianoforte sometimes broke through the din.
* * *
She did not stay long that evening, only a little more than two hours. As she promised to do, she sent word to him when she wished to go home. To escort her home would take little more than a half-hour. For that amount of time he could leave the club in the hands of Rhys’s employees.
They stepped out into the cool night air.
Her spirits were so high, she seemed irrepressible. It reminded him of that long-ago ball.
‘You enjoyed yourself tonight?’ he guessed.
She almost danced down the pavement. ‘I did. No one seemed disappointed in my playing.’
‘You did very well.’
She did more than very well.
‘Did I?’ She skipped ahead of him and faced him while walking backwards. ‘Do you truly think so?’
She pulled off her mask and the gas lamps illuminated her face, making it glow. Her happiness made her beautiful.
His heart swelled for her. ‘I know little of music, but I enjoyed what I heard.’
She grinned and twirled around. ‘That is all I wish!’
She chattered on about the songs she’d sung and played, reviewing her mistakes, assessing what went well. He liked listening to her. It reminded him of when she’d been a little girl and he’d been able to get her to happily chatter on.
In no time at all they reached her door and he put the key in the lock.
She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you so much, Xavier. You have made me very happy tonight.’
Her lips felt soft and warm.
He wrapped his arms around her and brought his lips within a hair’s breadth of hers. He felt her breasts rise and fall against his chest, further tantalising him. Her eyes grew wide as her mouth opened in alarm.
Banking his impulses, he lightly touched his lips to hers.
When he released her, his breath came faster. ‘I want you always to be happy, Phillipa,’ he murmured. ‘Same time tomorrow?’
She blinked up him, her brow puzzled. ‘Same time tomorrow.’
He opened the door and she slipped inside.
It took him a moment to move away.
He’d appointed himself her protector, but perhaps his hardest task would be to protect her from himself.
* * *
For the next four nights Xavier met Phillipa at her town house and returned her home again. They walked side by side through the night with only the occasional gaslight or rush light to break through the darkness. There were few carriages in the streets and fewer still pedestrians sharing the pavement. They talked of her music and the patrons who attended the gaming house, traded stories of what transpired in the supper room and in the game room.
Xavier was careful not to touch her, at least not to touch her in the way he most desired. The old camaraderie from their childhood days might have returned, but what consumed Xavier’s senses was the woman Phillipa had become. So graceful. So quick-witted. So passionate.
So unaffected by him.
How ironic that he should desire a woman who gave no sign at all of desiring him.
It was fortunate, he supposed, because this idyll could not continue indefinitely. When Rhys returned her performances would stop, and, Xavier suspected, Phillipa would have no more use for him. Still, he did not regret his decision to allow her to perform.
It brought her joy.
It even brought increased profits. People came to The Masquerade Club to hear her play and they stayed to gamble.
Could he contrive to see her when it was over? Would she receive him? Did he want to push himself on a woman who did not want him? God knew, he detested being pursued by someone he did not want.
This night she performed for two hours, as had become her custom, and sent word to Xavier that she was ready to leave. As they’d done on previous nights, they stepped out into the night air and began to share the night’s events with each other. This night, though, when they crossed Piccadilly and made their way to the unlit streets of Mayfair, Xavier felt a change in the air. It was nothing more than an odd sound, an unfamiliar shadow, but the soldier in him went on alert.
When he and Phillipa reached Hay Hill, the hairs on the back of his neck rose and he could almost hear the drum beat of the pas de charge.
He stopped her and lowered his voice. ‘Do you still carry your dagger?’
‘Yes.’ She caught his nerves.
‘Pull it and hand it to me now.’
She did as he asked.
As soon as the knife was in his hands, three men burst from the darkness. One, stinking of drink, seized him from behind and dragged him into the Brunton Mews. Xavier twisted his way free and slashed the dagger at the man, slicing in to a tattered uniform. In his ears he heard the sounds of battle. Muskets firing. Cannons booming. Men and horses screaming.
But this was not battle.
Another man grabbed for his wrist and tried to wrest the knife from his grasp. Xavier whirled on him, kicked him in the groin and sent him sprawling.
The third man had Phillipa in his grip. Xavier strained to come to her aid, but the first man set on him again.
‘We need money,’ the man cried. No doubt he was a former soldier now driven to theft and violence.
‘Leave us! Release her!’ Xavier lunged at him, slicing the man’s cheek and neck with his blade.
The