ESCAPEMENT: An Exquisite Tale of Love and Passion by Kristen Wolf

Author:Kristen Wolf
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Pixeltry
Published: 2018-07-30T03:00:00+00:00

As per our usual routine, Audric led me down to Ava’s room. Thankfully, he did not notice the tremor afflicting my limbs.

After seeing me inside, he made a great show of disappearing but, I now realized, would not go far. Given Jacque’s apparent insecurities, which I felt certain my ruse had only partially alleviated, he had no doubt instructed Audric to secretly observe our lessons from the hallway.

Thinking back, I realized Ava had known this all along.

When my eyes adjusted to the light, I found my student already at the piano.

She turned. Her beauty coiling about her.

I bowed. Tried to steady myself. “Madame. I apologize for my delay—”

“No need to explain,” she said.

I was glad to hear this, as I did not wish to break her rule by speaking of him. Part of me, however, wanted to reveal what had occurred in the study.

She indicated the music propped on the piano rack. Swept fingers lightly down her throat. “I’ve been working on the materials you left for me.”

I set down my satchel. “And how does it go? Are you making progress?”

Her eyes bore into mine. “I believe so, yes,” she said, “though I hope I am not deceiving myself in this.”

In the heat of her look, I felt her meaning.

So this was to be it, I thought.

Knowing that we were under scrutiny, we would communicate through innuendo. Through shielded whispers. And the vivid tongue of music.

“I doubt you are deceiving yourself, madame.”

To this, she smiled.

Then, imagining Jacque’s pistol at my back, I said, “But perhaps I should be the judge of your progress.” I motioned toward the sheets of music. “Let us begin with arpeggios. Scale of F minor. That has proven a good key for you.”

F minor was, in fact, the key of the piece I had last played for her.

I saw her eyes light and knew she had caught the reference. That she could read my interior with such ease set my heart aflame.

She whirled to the keyboard.

Her fingers spread and her wrists leapt. Without hesitation, she climbed her way up and down the chords.

“E minor!” I called out.

She shifted mid-flight.

I listened. Noted the edge in her playing, the urgent explosiveness. As if she were on fire and attempting to stamp out the flames beneath a furious tempo.

The pace continued to speed. The volume soared. It was a passionate performance, but she was not in control.

I flinched at the growing tension, my nerves raw after my encounter with her husband.

“Madame, enough!” I cried.

She looked up and I saw hurt in her eyes. I instantly regretted the harshness of my tone.

“Was it inadequate?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No, no, to the contrary,” I said.

I looked over to see her face searching mine.

I sighed. “The level of emotion you bring to bear on the instrument is extraordinary ... I stand amazed at the intensity you can lend even a simple exercise.”

She blushed. Traced the outline of my lips with her eyes.

Despite my anxiety, I leaned forward. My attention dropping to her hands.

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