Free THE MAGIC TOUCH (Historical Romance) by PATRICIA KEYSON

Could she honestly say she was ill? No, not in a physical sense. What was she to do? Face the consequences of her actions. She straightened up. “Very well, I will go down.” As she trudged down the stairs, she caught the timbre of Beaumont’s voice and her body responded to it without any encouragement. She breathed deeply as she descended from the bottom stair and entered the drawing room.
    “Ah, my dear, we have company. Beaumont would like to discuss your repertoire and listen to some of your pieces. We will have tea first in spite of it being rather late.” Aunt Constance gave Beaumont a withering look then nodded to the maid standing by the side table ready to serve the tea and delicacies.
    Beaumont conferred a little bow to Hope and waited for her to be seated before he too sat. His eyes twinkled. “Your aunt tells me you have been in your rooms all afternoon. Such a shame you weren’t able to enjoy the fresh air. It is a beautiful day for a walk.”
    “Humph. She can hardly go out alone, Beaumont, you know that.”
    “It’s a pity for the fairer sex. If she were a man she could do as she pleases.”
    He was making fun of her, Hope was sure. How dare he! She glared at Beaumont and to her horror he winked at her. As her cheeks grew warm, she wondered if her aunt had witnessed the bold gesture. She tried to look away, but Beaumont’s eyes held hers.
    As the maid approached, Hope let out the breath she was holding in. Never had tea been more welcome.
    “When we have finished our refreshments, Hope, you must play for Beaumont,” said Constance.
    The awkward moment had vanished. Beaumont continued with equable comments until finally he put down his cup and saucer and patted his mouth with a napkin.
    Hope perched on the piano stool and fidgeted with a few pieces of sheet music. Beaumont stood next to her, her eyes level with his waistcoat buttons. “You won’t have seen my magic lantern shows, Hope, will you? Therefore you don’t know the sort of music I need. Let me try and explain.”
    Hope kept her eyes on the keys as he did so. Was she imagining the humour in his tone? He was teasing her again. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask in a whisper if he recognised her as being the young Frenchman, Richard, when he unexpectedly walked to the window and looked out. “Play whatever you wish. We will make a list of the appropriate pieces when you have finished.”
    “You will have to excuse me for a moment,” said Aunt Constance. “Carry on with your playing, Hope. I shall return in a short while.” She put her hand to her head and walked from the room.
    It didn’t take long for Hope to go through her range of music and she floundered at times. With Beaumont in the same room, she found it hard to concentrate. At last she came to an end and brought down the piano lid with finality. She sat in silence waiting for Beaumont to comment, but he, too, was silent. Unable to endure being in this situation any longer, she burst out, “Why couldn’t you have used your own pianist? She is far more accomplished than I am.”
    Beaumont swung round and strode back towards Hope and the piano. “And what do you know of her?”
    “I… er, nothing, I…” That was the second time she’d made the same mistake. What was the matter with her?
    Beaumont crouched down on the carpet beside Hope and took her hand. “We all have secrets, Hope. But I would like to think you could confide in me if you wish ed.”
    With a nod of her head, she sprang up and distanced herself from him. The touch of his flesh, the rough texture of his jacket and the smell of him put her through an assortment of emotions that she couldn’t comprehend. Her actions turned out to be well timed as Aunt Constance opened the door that very second and sailed into the room.
    “Constance,” said Beaumont, upright again, “your niece has hidden talents.” Hope refused to look at him. “She has a delightful way of attacking the notes and I’m sure she