Kendal: Regency Rockstars Read online

  I must confess that you, Mercy Wood, interest me greatly.

  “Have you ever met someone who is different from all the other people around you? A man, I mean,” asked Mercy.

  Ann’s brows knitted together. She was a deep thinker. Her late father had been a clergyman and his daughter knew how to read and write. She was one of only a small number of women Mercy knew who could conduct a conversation on topics other than washing, cooking, and child-rearing.

  “I’ve met a couple of sailors over the years who’ve intrigued me. There was one chap from Spain who had travelled all the way to South America. Some of the things he told me were amazing. But it wasn’t just that; I felt a real connection with him. He was able to hold the attention of everyone at the bar when he was talking, but at the same time he was looking right into my eyes,” replied Ann.

  “What happened to him?” asked Mercy.

  Ann shrugged. “Who knows? His boat left and I never saw him again. But even now there are days when I stop what I am doing and think of him. Funny, isn’t it, that there are those sorts of people in the world. People who seem to be able to grab your interest and hold it.”

  Several stray cats wandered over to where the girls sat and began to meow loudly, demanding food.

  Ann shook her head. “Go away, you lot. You are not getting my supper.”

  Mercy broke off a piece of her cod and tossed it in the direction of the smallest cat, a scruffy calico, who dashed and snapped it up. The other cats quickly pounced after it. A lot of growling and hissing ensued, but the cat still held onto its prize.

  “Did you know that a group of cats is called a clowder?” said Mercy.

  “Yes, but if that group is like this one, all a mix of strange cats, then it is a glaring,” replied Ann with a self-satisfied grin. She and Mercy often played little word games, and Ann usually won.

  Mercy tore up the rest of her fish and scattered it among the cats. Ann took another bite of her fish and sat happily chewing it.

  These simple moments were what Mercy treasured most in her life. A hot supper with a friend was one of the few rare times she truly had to herself on any given day. She swung her legs up from the wall and got to her feet.

  “Come on then. Finish your fish. I have to be in the posh side of town early tomorrow,” said Mercy.

  Ann stuffed some more of her fish supper into her mouth, then tossed the rest at the cats who quickly scrapped over it. As the biggest of the ginger cats proudly walked away with the last of Ann’s supper, she wiped her hands on her apron.

  Coming to stand alongside Mercy, Ann took a hold of her friend’s arm. She gave her a grin. “Since you were the one who asked about interesting men, how about you tell me who it is that has caught your eye? It’s been a year since you and Anthony Sperry stopped sitting together outside the tavern. Have you finally moved on and found yourself another chap?”

  Mercy shook her head. “It’s nothing and no one. Just my imagination.”

  Kendal found her interesting, but it didn’t really mean anything. Men were always telling her that.

  As she and Ann made their way back from the river, Mercy was lost in her thoughts. She spent much of the time trying to convince herself that Kendal didn’t really think she was noteworthy at all. Yes, he had flirted with her a little today, but even now he probably had thought the better of it and would not bother her again.

  Come tomorrow morning, Lord Grant would have forgotten all about her playing Salieri and would just want his piano tuned. She wouldn’t have been on his mind.

  All the way home, up the long set of stairs to her apartment, and right to the moment she lay her head on the pillow, Mercy did her best to put Kendal out of her mind. And as she fell asleep, she told herself she had succeeded.

  Mercy slept deep and dreamed of long-haired Vikings running up the stairs of her building and banging their shields on her door, demanding that she yield and play Salieri.

  Chapter Ten

  “Damn,” Mercy muttered under her breath. Kendal was waiting for her when she stepped into the ballroom at Follett House the following morning. There went her hopes for having at least a few minutes to herself before he arrived.

  “Good morning. I am very pleased to see that you have returned,” he said.

  Mercy forced a smile to her lips. She didn’t have a real choice about coming back to Follett House. Her father had been none too pleased when he’d discovered that she had come home without payment.

  Remember, you want new boots.

  She bobbed into a curtesy, deciding that manners might make the whole discussion about payment go a little more smoothly. “Good morning, Lord Grant.”

  Kendal rose from the piano and crossed the floor. He held out his hand to her, turning his palm upwards to reveal two bright shiny coins.

  Thank God.

  “Please. Call me Kendal. Lord Grant is my father.”

  He dropped the money into Mercy’s hastily outstretched hand, then bowed low. He was certainly on the charm offensive this morning. The hairs on the back of her neck moved. She still didn’t trust him.

  “Thank you,” she said, putting the coins into her coat pocket.

  She now had yesterday’s money but would have to wait until later to ask him for today’s payment. For some reason, asking Kendal for another lot of coins suddenly didn’t feel right.

  You should have had that second cup of tea before you left home. Your brain is not clicking over properly.

  “I wanted to apologize about yesterday. I am sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable while you were endeavoring to work. And I probably shouldn’t have criticized your piano playing,” he said.

  Mercy blinked. Had a nobleman just apologized to her? Gosh. She would be telling Ann all about that later tonight; her friend would no doubt think it grand. Much laughter would be had. She stirred from her musings of mirth and managed a strangled, “Ta. I mean, thank you.”

  He stepped back and held out his arm, presenting the piano to her. “Please don’t let me get in your way.”

  She had just reached the piano and sat down when Kendal scooted after her, sliding to a halt on the highly polished floor. He laughed when she frowned at him.

  “I was wondering if you would like to play that piece by Salieri again for me today. I am keen to see if you are able to get through it without making a mistake.” He leaned forward and grinned. “I know you can. I just want to see you do it.”

  Mercy was now in two minds. Did she take him up on his offer or did she keep things strictly professional and just tune the piano?

  But the more she looked at Kendal, the harder it was to think of him on an impersonal level. Her fingers itched to touch his hair, to run them wildly through his soft locks, to press her nose against his face and breathe in deeply, allowing his cologne to intoxicate her mind.

  She blinked. How long have I been staring at him?

  “I am here to tune your piano, Lord . . . Kendal,” she replied.

  The happiness on his face disappeared and her heart protested. How could she refuse him?

  “Oh. No. Please, I want to hear you play,” he said, holding his hands together, prayer -like. The light which shone on his face had her gaining a sudden understanding of why perfectly sane women would throw themselves at a man like Kendal. He was magnetic in his appeal. The power of those grey-green eyes of his was potent.

  What am I doing? This man has cast a spell over me. I am utterly helpless when he looks at me like that.

  “All right. But if I make a mistake, I ask that you are kind. I only practiced using the sheet music last night and I am still not certain that I have it mastered,” she replied.

  The smile which filled his face was breathtaking. He clapped his hands together like an excited child, but she could see that he wasn’t being juvenile. He was genuinely thrilled that she had agreed to play. His enthusiasm was infectious.

  Had she finally met someone else who had the same passion for music as she did? Was this devi
lishly handsome, foppish son of a duke the real thing when it came to be having a full understanding of the heart and soul of a song? He had an appreciation of obscure works such as Salieri’s concerto, but that could simply have been a moment of pure coincidence. There was one question which now remained; just how good a pianist was Kendal?

  There was only one way to find out.

  “Actually, I would love to hear you play the whole piece. You heard me yesterday, so it’s only fair I get to see the depth of your musical ability today.” Her father would be appalled if he heard her speak to a client in such a manner, let alone a nobleman. Kendal, however, did not strike her as the sort who would go complaining to anyone when a woman was being playful with him.

  Bloody hell, I think I might be flirting. What happened to all that ‘keeping him at bay’ business?

  Without further prompting, Kendal slid in beside her on the piano stool and began to play. Her gaze dropped to his fingers. They danced lightly, gracefully over the keys with such effortless precision that a tide of emotion welled up inside her; she blinked back an unexpected tear. His effort of the previous day had not been a one-off. Kendal Grant was a masterful pianist.

  No. He was more than that; this man possessed the power of music and he wielded it like a god.

  She sat openmouthed as the music flowed through her body. No one played like he did; not even the professional musicians who performed at the Royal Opera could hold a candle to him. She was powerless to hold back the tears, hearing such sweet perfection stirred a heated passion within her, that was almost too much to bear.

  She smiled at him through a sheen of tears as he played. One of the hardest pieces of music she had ever tried to learn, and he had it completely mastered.

  He doesn’t even need to look at the keys.

  When she wiped her tears away with the flat of her palm, he suddenly stopped.

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  Mercy put a hand over her mouth and nodded. He had rendered her speechless.

  “I know there were a couple of rough notes in there, but hopefully not too scruffy,” he said.

  If she never heard a piece of music played again in her life, she would die happy. Nothing would ever come close to his performance.

  “You are utterly brilliant, Kendal. A genius beyond anyone I have ever heard in my life. How did you learn to play so magnificently?”

  He waved her pitifully inadequate words of praise away. “I should confess, Salieri is one of my favorites. I must have played that piece a thousand times.”

  It had taken Mercy two full years to learn that particular concerto and even now she still had to watch her hands while she played certain parts. Kendal made it look so easy that she was ashamed to call herself a pianist. “I . . . I had better take a look at the dampers,” she stammered.

  “They sound fine. How about you just play for me and we won’t worry about the dampers?” he replied.

  Why would he suggest such a thing?

  She wasn’t here to play music; she was here to do a job and then get paid. Too many of the unmistakable lines drawn up by society had already been crossed.

  Mercy rose from the stool and hurried over to the bag. She pulled out the hammer in readiness to put her head into the frame and do . . . something. She had taken two steps back toward the piano when she stopped. “Why is the piano so close to the fire?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pointed at the nearby fireplace where a lovely warm blaze was burning. Kendal might know his music, but he certainly didn’t know how to take proper care of his piano.

  “If you have it that close the air will dry out the wood. Over time, it will impact the condition of the instrument. Considering how priceless your piano is, I would suggest you move it,” she said emphatically, finally pleased to have the upper hand over him in at least one area of musical knowledge. When it came to the topic of pianos, she did know what she was talking about.

  He frowned. “Where would you have me place it? Near the window?”

  “No. The damp from outside will have an even worse impact on the instrument. You need to move it so that it sits somewhere in the middle of the room.” Mercy marched over to a spot on the floor and, after taking in the room and its configuration, nodded. “Here,” she said and pointed down.

  “Should I have the fire put out and not warm the room at all?” he asked.

  It was obvious what he was doing; he was questioning her knowledge, testing her. But this was not the first time Mercy had dealt with the problem of piano placement. Or a client who thought that because they could play, they also knew instruments and how to care for them.

  She shook her head. “You could put a sofa and some chairs in front of the fire. That would keep the heat from the piano but also allow you to warm the room. It would give people somewhere comfortable to sit and listen while you play.”

  Working in the tavern had taught her a great deal about having a welcoming place for people to enjoy music. She was all for getting a happy crowd together in order to entertain.

  “I shall have the piano moved and do something about the furniture. Anything else?” he replied.

  “No. But I still need to take a look at the piano.”

  It was Kendal’s turn to shake his head. “I think it has been tuned enough for the day.”

  He reached into his jacket and handed her some more coins. Their fingers touched briefly as she took them; a frisson of heat raced down her spine. Mercy quickly dropped the money into her pocket, then hurried over to pick up her tool bag.

  Her heart raced. What was it with this man? Any time she was close to him, she sensed she was on the verge of losing control. He was even invading her dreams.

  “Will we see you tomorrow, Miss Wood?”

  She turned and found Kendal standing close behind her. Their gazes met and a sense of light-headedness came over her. If she didn’t leave now, there was every chance that she would swoon and fall into his arms.

  That would be beyond embarrassing.

  “Yes, I expect you will.” She grabbed up the bag and made her hurried departure.

  Outside in the rear laneway, she did as she had done the previous day and stopped to catch her breath. She closed her eyes for a moment.

  Can you die from unrequited lust? I swear he is a danger to my health.

  After taking her handkerchief from her pocket, Mercy wiped the beads of sweat from her face. When she went to put it back, her fingers touched the coins.

  She pulled them out and counted them, frowned, then counted them again. Lord Kendal Grant might well be full of smooth words and heart-thumping charm, but he was also a sly one.

  The dirty swine had short-paid her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kendal chuckled at the thought of what he had done. Of course, it was wicked of him to have shortchanged Mercy, but he determined to play a long game with her. If he paid her the right amount, she might get too comfortable with their arrangement, and that would simply not do. Especially not for what he had in mind for the two of them.

  She behaved somewhat shyly around him, polite and wary. But Kendal knew plenty about women, and in Mercy he had spotted a kindred spirit.

  Not only did she love music, but there was a fire in her eyes that no amount of curtseying and please and thank you could extinguish. That first day she had arrived with her father, she had let her guard slip and shown Kendal some of her feisty spirit. Her haughty glares had set his soul ablaze—created a yearning that grew stronger every time he saw her.

  By stiffing her with his payment and getting her riled up, he hoped to draw more of the real Mercy into the light. If she marched in here tomorrow morning and gave him a piece of her mind, he would be thrilled.

  He had to break down the walls that existed between them. Get her to show her true self. Through their combined love of music, he hoped to forge the path ahead for them as a future couple. If Mercy could see beyond his wealth and title, she might come to know th
e real Kendal.

  “I shall see you here tomorrow, Mercy Wood, and you had better not let me down.”

  Quietly pleased with himself, Kendal went back to the piano and began to tinker with the keys. He played the start of several tunes, then stopped. He sighed, the buoyancy of his earlier mood rapidly sinking.

  It was all well and good playing other people’s music, but he longed to create more of his own. To reach the heady heights that the great composers who had come before him had done. Kendal yearned to be more than just clever at the keyboard; he wanted to build a body of work that could be preserved for all time. Something that would take him beyond simply being the second son of a duke.

  If my offspring are to carry on the family name, I want to be more than just their sire. I need my own place in the history of the dukes of Banfield.

  A stack of manuscript papers sat under the piano, and he bent and picked up a clean sheet, setting it on his lap. A pencil lay on the top of the space between the keyboard and the edge of the lid. After playing a few notes, Kendal stopped and scribbled some markings on the paper, then went back to the music.

  Slowly the composition began to build, a new piece of music coming to life.

  He sat back, studied what he had written on the paper, then roughly screwed it up and tossed it onto the floor. “What an utter piece of musical shit. Vivaldi would be turning in his grave if he heard this,” he mumbled.

  With head bowed, he took in a long, deep breath, trying to find a sense of calm in the growing storm of creative frustration.

  It had been the same every day since his return from war. His once prodigiously artistic mind continued to fail him. The spark of light he had taken for granted all those years was gone. Wherever his muse lived, she was most certainly not here.

  He raked his fingers through his hair.

  Why have you forsaken me? What did I do wrong?

  “Making music magnificence?” asked Reid.

  He turned as a smiling Reid entering the room. He was followed by Callum. Kendal shrugged. The last thing he needed was their well-meaning jests when he was staring at a rapidly growing pile of discarded manuscripts on the floor. “Trying, but not succeeding.”