Free Heart Strings (Music of the Heart Book 1) by Donna Hatch

lodging, but on Kit’s arm, she couldn’t muster up any regret. Besides, she would eat a full meal soon. Her mouth watered.
    Kit called out a farewell to Bert at the door, and tucked the violin under the same arm that carried Susanna’s portmanteau. As if it were second-nature, Kit opened the door and stepped back. He glanced expectantly at Susanna. She almost missed her cue. When was the last time a man had held a door for her? Her father, probably, had been the last, just as he always did for her mother.
    To Kit, she murmured a breathless, “Thank you.”
    When they stepped outside into the cool London fog, Kit again offered her his free arm. Speechless at his thoughtfulness, she slipped a hand around his elbow and looked up at him. He stood a full head taller than she, and at that moment, appeared more knight than angel.
    “Are you blushing again?” his amused voice rumbled softly.
    She looked down. “This isn’t a ballroom. You don’t have to treat me like a fine lady, offering your arm and opening doors.”
    “Of course I do. The streets of London are almost as dangerous as ballrooms, you know.” He grinned.
    “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to a ball.”
    “Outdoor country dances, then?”
    “No, never.” He must think her a backwards bumpkin.
    “Really?” His brows lifted and a delighted smile brightened his already stunning face. “We must remedy that.”
    “Oh no, I haven’t danced in so long, I doubt I remember how.”
    Her dance master had only worked with her for a few months before her parents both succumbed to influenza. Aunt Uriana, viewed Susanna’s dance master an unnecessary expense and dismissed him. Later, Aunt hired a dance master for her daughter but forbade Susanna to participate.
    Kit’s voice drew her gaze. “Dancing is one of those delights in which everyone should have an opportunity to indulge. One can always learn—or relearn—the steps. Here we are.” He led her to a tavern named the Silver Duck and held the door open. The Silver Duck. This was the same place with the pump in back where she’d been getting her water.
    Inside, Susanna paused, breathing in the aroma of bread and beef stew. A few men clustered around tables drinking and talking. Some laughed raucously and others murmured, their heads close together. Tallow candles sputtered on the tables and in sconces on the walls but failed to provide more than tiny circles of light amid the darkness.
    They found an unoccupied table and, always the gentleman, Kit held her chair out for her. After scooting her in and placing her portmanteau and his violin on an empty chair between him and the wall, he sat and turned a curious gaze upon her.
    “May I ask you an impertinent question?”
    She folded her hands in her lap. “You can ask, but I do not promise I will answer it.”
    “Fair enough. How does a gently-bred lady from the country end up in London playing for an orchestra?”
    She opened her mouth, then closed it. How much to reveal? She tilted her head. “How does a gentleman with enough town polish who, if he wore the right clothes, could impress even the dragons who run Almack’s, end up playing for an orchestra?” Of course, having never left her town until now, she knew little about such things except what she read in the gossip columns of her uncle’s cast off newspapers.
    He laughed uneasily. “ Touché . Very well, I’ll tell you; I had a falling out with my father over a moral dilemma, and I left hearth and home to make my own way in the world—to prove to myself and to him that I am my own man and need not live under his tyranny.”
    Who was his father? A country squire? A distant relation to a lord? The more time she spent in his company, the less likely it seemed that he could be the son of a merchant or factory owner. From what she’d seen of society in her hometown and her aunt’s guests, Kit had the kind of inherited polish of ancient gentry that families of new money never managed to