“I have never before allowed anybody to hear me play,” the Marquis said, “because I knew that the music that I made was too revealing and too intimate for anyone to hear except, my sweet, you.”
He held her closer still as he said,
“When I heard you playing in the Minstrels’ Gallery on Saturday night, I thought that I must be dreaming, for never in my life had anyone’s music moved me as yours did or spoken to me so simply and yet so clearly that I understood every feeling and every thought that lay behind it.”
His lips were on the softness of her skin before he went on,
“Then when I saw you I was afraid.”
“Why?” Anthea enquired.
“Because, my precious, I believed you to be who you told me you were, the daughter of a professional concert pianist and I did not believe it possible that I
