Secrets of a Soprano (34 page)

“Apparently he and
his
father had a disagreement about his profession. It doesn’t seem a good reason for estrangement but Papa went abroad and married my mother in Paris before moving to Portugal because of the Revolution. Perhaps they didn’t approve of him marrying a Frenchwoman. Anyway, when my grandfather died, my grandmother tried to find him. He had died, but she learned he had a daughter who was a singer and married an Italian. I wish Domenico had not denied her inquiries. I realize now he wished to keep absolute control over me.”

“That’s why you never sang in London, you know.” Max explained about Mortimer’s earlier efforts to lure La Divina to England. Another tale of Domenico’s perfidy.

Alone with Max, she felt relaxed and well cared for, just as he had promised. Eating a meal
à deux
was something they’d never done together and it was enticingly comfortable, even cozy, like having dinner with a friend.

“I’m enjoying myself,” she said, and flushed when their eyes met and he gazed at her with a heat that wasn’t at all friendly. “I’m glad we can meet as friends,” she said hastily, to convince herself that there was nothing more.

*

Friends
!

The last thing Max wanted was her friendship. Or rather he wanted much more. He wanted Tessa for life. Still, if she could only offer friendship for now, he’d accept it as an invitation to change her mind.

He poured more wine and leaned back in his chair. “I’m honored to be your friend. What would friends like to talk about over supper?”

“Anything at all and I would be grateful if you, as my friend, would talk about yourself. My voice won’t last much longer. Tell me about your childhood. I enjoyed meeting Lady Clarissa very much.” Her mouth twitched. “Was she a comfortable mother?”

“Excuse me, but were you by any chance asleep when she spoke to you? Comfortable, no, but I am immensely fond of her even while I have to resist her efforts to run my life for me. She had her parents and grandparents twisted around her finger.” The fact that he was in violation of the terms of their wager weighed on his mind, but not much. Such a trifle wouldn’t stop Lady Clarissa from going after what she wanted and it wouldn’t stop her son. Max had other plans for his future than wedding the girl of his mother’s choice.

He told her about life at Tamworth House in Piccadilly and Tamworth Hall in Staffordshire and how much he disliked the pomp of the former and loved the beauty of the latter.

“I’ve always wanted to live in the country,” she said dreamily.

You will
.

Then, because it was a topic that could not be avoided forever, he told her how his love of opera, sparked by meeting her, had turned into an obsession that culminated in the creation of the Regent Opera House. “I had to grease a few palms to get a license for a new musical theater. My influence was useful too. I aim to make it the greatest opera house in the world, an easy thing when Teresa Foscari sings there.”

“Don’t forget Edouard Delorme. He would be desolated not to be named.”

He took it as a good omen that she was able to make a joke about the tenor. He talked on about his fascination with the art they shared. She didn’t say much, but he basked in her rapt attention and warmed beneath the appreciation in her limpid blue eyes. He did not mention the succession of singers he’d taken to his bed. Max might not have Somerville’s savoir faire when it came to women but nor was he a fool.

“Tell me about Isabella Cavatini,” she said. “A good voice but a small bosom, according to Sofie.”

Damnation. Of course she knew. There were no secrets in the theater.

Throwing caution aside, he met her eye squarely and told the truth. “Every woman I ever took to bed was a substitute for you. No one could truly satisfy me because she was not you.”

“There is only one La Divina,” she said softly.

“There is only one Tessa Birkett. I didn’t want a goddess but my sweet girl.” He pushed back his chair and removed something from his desk drawer. “I bought this for you in Oporto as an engagement gift, or so I hoped.”

She gazed at the piece of ancient ivory with the dancing couple. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“It makes me happy that I can finally give it to you as a token of my love.”

She fell silent for an age and he feared every moment that she would demand her cloak and leave. He’d spoken too soon.

“Max,” she said, so softly he could barely hear her. “Will you take me to bed?”

*

In contrast to
the opulent library, Max’s bedchamber was almost monkish. Expensively but simply furnished, it was a place for sleeping and Tessa took comfort in that fact.

“I’ve never—er—entertained in this room,” he said, as though reading her mind.

More importantly, nothing could be further from the sybaritic luxury of the Parisian apartment where
it
had happened. Instead of embroidered hangings and gilt cherubs, Max slept among dark woods and subdued hues. A few quick breathing exercises calmed Tessa’s jitters as she faced the enormity of her decision to try again to be a normal woman. She desperately wanted to be normal.

He stood holding her shoulders, as grave and somber as his surroundings, but his medieval face no longer seemed grim, merely serious, and very beloved. He looked down at her with eyes that were intense, ardent, and a little concerned.

“Do you know what is unfair?” she asked.

“Many things.”

“I have the reputation of a
grande amoureuse
and none of the joy. I
want
the joy.”

If it were possible his eyes grew darker. “I want to give it to you.”

She touched his cheek and her heart leapt with faith. “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

The words came as quickly as the idea had entered her mind. “Will you blindfold me?”

For a moment he seemed struck dumb and she was too. “Why?” he asked finally.

“I thought if I was helpless again, but with a man I trust, I might get over the fear.”

He turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand and his eyes were like polished coal. “Are you sure?”

“Please, Max. Let’s try it.”

He nodded and then he kissed her, long and sweet, making her doubts melt away with the pleasure of his lips on hers, his arms about her, proving to her that she was Tessa and not the body of a famous singer that men wished to possess. When they drew breath they clung to each other, panting a little.

“How shall we go about this?” he asked. His cheeks flushed adorably. “What do you want to wear? Aside from the blindfold, I mean.”

“I was naked,” she whispered.

“Much as I would enjoy that, you may feel better if you keep your shift on.”

She swallowed. “I shall wear a blindfold so I won’t see my nakedness. I considered having you tie me up too, but I think that’s going too far. Unfasten my gown please.” She turned around.

“Wait,” he said. A few seconds later he returned with a broad strip of starched white linen. “You deserve a clean neckcloth.” He folded it in half lengthwise and held it over her eyes. “How’s that?”

“I can almost see the room in a blur.”

He folded it again. “Now?”

“Good.” She couldn’t see, but neither was she deprived of all light as she had been by Domenico’s black mask.

“Now for those buttons. Damn, they are small.”

His complaint made her smile. It was so
normal
. It was impossible to be frightened with Max grumbling as he fumbled with the loops and silk covered buttons. “If you tear them you can sew them on again for me,” she said.

“My needlework studies never progressed that far. All right, that’s done.” He slipped the silk down her shoulders, helped her step out of it, and went to work on her stays.

The slight chill as each layer was removed made her shiver with anticipation, more so when he kissed her shoulders. Blindness lent a frisson to the act of being undressed. As her shift, the final garment, came over her head she was exposed in a delicious vulnerability.

Fingers, light and faintly abrasive, ran over her breasts. Masculine fingers. “I never saw anything so beautiful. I wish I had the brilliance of a Mozart to express my awe.”

She leaned into his touch but it was the wonder in his voice that affected her most. Lack of sight enhanced her already acute aural perception.

“I’ll get onto the bed now.” She longed for and dreaded what was to come. And feared the discovery of which emotion would endure.

“You can call a halt at any time,” he reassured her. “I sent my servants to bed so you may scream as much as you like without fear of embarrassment.”

“You are very funny. You know this evening I can only manage a croak.”

She could almost hear his smile. “If you croak I’ll stop at once. Why don’t you go and lie down while I—”

“Don’t tell me.” She gathered her courage. “Let me wait a little.”

Once she heard him leave the room she extended her arms and found the bed. Climbing onto the high mattress, she stretched out on her back. Max had removed the counterpane and blankets leaving only soothing linen to rest against her skin. A man was coming to her and she could not see him. He could be anyone: a footman, a chimney sweep, a
comte
. He would get on top of her, crush her with his weight, and take her. Beneath her blindfold she squeezed her eyes shut to exclude the memory of long minutes when she had waited for Domenico and known she loathed him. The man who would come to her wasn’t her vile husband, or any of those others. It was Max, whom she trusted and loved.

She wanted him to return and dreaded his coming.

Vorrei e non vorrei
. The line from
Don Giovanni
drifted into her head.
I would and I would not
. How perfectly Zerlina, a role she’d sung often early in her career, expressed the ambivalence of seduction. She hummed a few bars and as always music calmed her, but only for a short time.
I could be happy, but he could betray me again.

She was naked, defenseless. No, her hands weren’t tied. She could escape. But she wouldn’t need to. She need only croak and she would be free. Supposing he didn’t hear her? She experimented and nothing came out. Had the long night of singing destroyed her vocal cords so she would be helpless? Max didn’t mean to hurt her but supposing he did and she couldn’t stop him?

Breathe, Tessa.

A few breaths and the knot in her chest loosened a little. She wanted Max to arrive and put an end to her panic. Unless he made it worse.

Come, don’t come
.

I desire it and I don’t desire it
.

I love you, I can’t love you
.

Where
was
he?

She missed his footsteps on the carpet.

“Good Gracious! There’s a naked woman in my bed.”

Her croak became a chuckle. How could she fear him when he made her laugh? The dip of the mattress hardly disturbed her.

“Max?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it was you.”

“Who else? I certainly haven’t invited anyone. In fact I have had the entire male population of Upper Grosvenor Street placed under guard.”

She wanted to touch him but kept her hands flat on the bed, remaining physically still so that she could concentrate on her emotional responses, and perhaps control them.

“I’m glad you are here,” she said.

“Thank God. I’m going to kiss you now.”

The only thing frightening about his kiss was how much she enjoyed it. He must be kneeling on the bed and leaning over her because only their lips touched. She grew feverish. It wasn’t enough. Neck, shoulders and every other inch of her throbbed in vain, but he made no further move. Her breasts yearned for him and her sex grew warm.

“Touch me,” she whispered.

“Was that a croak?”

God no
. She shook her head vehemently, groped for his hand and brought it to her breast.

“I can do better,” he said. “Lie still and don’t think about anything.”

Emptying her mind proved impossible but her teeming thoughts slowed to a low hum of delight while he caressed her body with his hands and lips. Holy St. George, he felt good. Better than anything ever. Better than a hot bath at the Pulteney or whipped cream or hitting a perfect high D. Or hitting a high D after eating whipped cream in the bath. She’d like to hit one now. Her back arched when he sucked hard on a nipple and a lightning bolt streaked down through her belly and set her on fire. Never once did he lean his weight on her.