A Passion for Pleasure(30)
“It could…it could be a marriage in name only,” Clara stammered, voicing the thought that had twisted her dreams, the condition she already knew he would never accept.
“Name…” Sebastian stared at her for a moment, then gave a short laugh. “That’s what you think, is it? That I would assent to a marriage in name only?”
“Well, a p-pragmatic union is one that…”
Her remark faded as he stepped closer, studying her in that unnerving way he had, as if she were some unusual species of insect that he’d happened to find flitting about the house. She stared at his cravat, the perfect knot nestled at the base of his throat.
“Make no mistake, Clara,” he said, a low warning rippling beneath his words. “I desire neither a marriage in name only, nor one that holds even the faintest possibility of separation.”
Her heart throbbed. “I…I understand.”
“Five days, then.”
“Five…?”
“My brother wants the plans by Tuesday next,” Sebastian said. “If you find them by then, I will consider marrying you.”
“You will consider marrying me?” Her spine stiffened. “Why should I agree to help you without any commitment on your part?”
“Because this gives you time to reappraise your request,” Sebastian said. “If you conclude that my conditions are unacceptable, you may change your mind and withdraw your proposal.”
He stepped away from her and turned to the door. “You must be very certain you know what you ask of me, Clara. And what I shall ask in return.”
Chapter Six
Smoke and noise coated the air of the Eagle Tavern. Tankards thumped against the wood of the trestle tables, voices rose in argument over card games, the fire hissed and snapped. The familiarity of the disorder eased some of Sebastian’s apprehension over Clara’s proposal earlier in the day. Despite all she had revealed, he couldn’t prevent the sense that she had not told him the entirety of her story.
He sat hunched over the piano, trailing his left hand over the keys without thought or pleasure. He put his right hand into position on the keys and sounded a C-major chord, then waited for the strings’ reverberations to cease. He played the chord again in its first inversion, then again in its second. He imagined a melodic line in the bass, something dark and menacing like the advance of gray fog at twilight.
For as long as Sebastian could remember, sound had been infused with color. Voices, noise from the street, the crackle of a fire. In music, every note had its own color, and color and shape were inexorably linked in his compositions. The various tones, harmonies, and pitches wove through his mind in endless patterns. As he wrote his compositions, guided by what colors and shapes fit together, he saw the music as moving paintings.
Since losing the use of his right hand, he still saw a shadow of those patterns, felt the intense yellow of major C, the pink of the E note, the rich brown of G…but the colors were pallid now, faded, like bright linens left too long in the sun.
He played another chord. Then it happened again—his fourth and fifth fingers faltered as if the strength had suddenly drained from them. Sebastian kept his hand on the keys and tried to repeat the octave. The two fingers resisted control, curling toward his palm instead of obeying his internal command. The muscles of his forearms snarled and contracted clear up to his shoulder.
Sebastian swore and slammed his hand flat on the keyboard. The crash caused several patrons to glance up.
He twisted his neck from side to side and shook his arm to ease the tension. Forcing the thin remnants of color away, he rose from the piano stool and went to the taproom, where Darius sat. He slumped down at the table across from his brother, clots of smoke stinging his eyes.
Darius slid a tankard of ale across to him. Sebastian grabbed it with his left hand and took a swallow, then wiped his mouth.
“Didn’t you once play here regularly?” Darius asked. “Annoyed Alexander to no end, if I recall correctly.”
“Indeed. Probably one of the reasons I did it.”
Amusement flashed across Darius’s expression. “Does Pater know you still come here?”
“No. He’s occupied with his own work these days.” Sebastian realized only then the truth of the remark. “For the first time since his wife left, the old bird is out and about again. Has a new position with the Home Office. Spends time at his club, the theater, balls. And he seems to have earned himself a bit of attention from the ladies.”