Blind Fortune

BLIND FORTUNE music room love scene #1 with readers in Midnight Seduction's 2008 Endless Romance Contest

2008-12-28T11:18:00.000-08:00

“Are you familiar with Herr Beethoven?”

Fortuna shook her head and, like a puff of smoke, the emotional tension between them dissipated.

Charles felt a twinge of regret at its passing. Out loud, he said, “His Quasi una fantasia—Almost a fantasy—is just as somber but much more full-bodied. I’d be honored to play it for you.”

Rising from the piano, she stood aside so he could take it.

Charles shot her an assessing look as he stepped forward. “I have an idea, something that might enhance your enjoyment of the piece.”

He crooked one arm around her waist, then bent to hook the other behind her knees. She squeaked a protest as he lifted her against his chest. Flexing his fingers in the flimsy material along her rib cage, he savored the warm supple body beneath his hands.

Striding down the side of the piano, he swung Fortuna onto its lid. Seated upright with her legs stretched out, she wore a dumbfounded expression.

Charles tucked her nightgown around her limbs and stepped back. “Lie down, with your head toward the music stand.”

He then returned to the piano stool. Releasing the buttons of his jacket, he sat and ran through a set of scales to limber his fingers.

As the notes reverberated through the mahogany lid, Fortuna uttered a small cry of surprise and turned her wide, cat’s eyes his direction.

He grinned. “They say Beethoven was out one evening for a walk when he passed a cobbler’s shop and heard someone practicing one of his compositions. He went inside and found a blind girl struggling with the piece.”

Tentatively, Fortuna scooted forward, then laid down on her back with her arms at her sides. Bronze curls snaked through the music stand to hang over the keys. Spellbound, Charles stared at them. Then, swallowing hard, he cleared his throat and continued.

“Herr Beethoven offered to demonstrate how the piece was meant to be played. He became so caught up in the beauty of the moonlight falling through the open window on the blind girl that he went home and composed this sonata.”

With that, he began to play.

As Charles’ fingers flew over the keys, he let his gaze rest on the copper froth dangling just above his hands. He tried to imagine the sensations Fortuna was experiencing. How each keystroke pulsed through her body and sent vibrations quivering along her limbs. Especially when he came to the fast-paced, accentuated finale.

He ended the movement in one abrupt crashing stroke. Hands suspended above the keyboard, Charles waited for the last note to reverberate through the music room.

“Fortuna?” he quietly breathed.

She lay still, as thought she hadn’t heard him. At last it registered that the piece had ended. With a heartfelt sigh, she pulled herself upright.

Charles leaped to his feet. In two swift steps, he was beside the piano.

Fortuna swiveled toward him on her bottom, until her legs hung over the lid’s edge. She wore a dazed expression, like that of a well-loved, satiated woman.

Desire spiked through Charles. Deliberately, he pressed his chest against her knees, then slid the palms of both hands up over each rounded hip until he clasped her slender waist. Lifting her off the piano, he stepped away and let her slippers slowly slide to the floor.

Her legs seemed incapable of support. “That was…so…” she whispered breathlessly.

“Sensual?”

Fire burned a trail straight to his groin. Charles barely managed to stifle a groan. Unable to resist the sexual pull between them and accepting the inevitability of his actions, he lowered his head and captured Fortuna’s rosy mouth with his own.

Excerpt #2

2008-12-28T11:16:00.000-08:00

Wearily, Fortuna sank into a rickety straight-back chair. Somehow, this wasn’t what she’d imagined when Charles announced they’d be spending the night. The idea had smacked of tantalizing impropriety and had conjured notions of a romantic interlude. As it was turning out, however, the situation had developed a distinctly domestic flavor.

Not that she minded. There was something soothing about this kind of intimacy. It made her think of a pair of well-worn slippers. And to have one’s unspoken needs attended to was deeply gratifying. Like Charles taking it upon himself to lay a fire instead of waiting for the servant as Fortuna would have been forced to do.

Not that there was anything unique in his behavior. After all, he was a man, accustomed to making decisions and taking charge. Yet the idea of ceding complete control to him, of putting her welfare entirely in his hands, appealed to Fortuna at some fundamental, slightly erotic, level.

Tilting her head back against the chair’s wooden slats, she closed her eyes and sighed with contentment.

This was how it would be if they were married.

A gentle shake of one shoulder jolted her out of this delightful reverie.

“You’re falling asleep, love.” Charles pressed warm lips against her temple. “Perhaps you should retire.”

She tried to marshal her muzzy thoughts but failed.

Gathering her in his arms, he lifted her from the chair and strode toward the bedchamber.

The maid met them at the threshold. “Let’s get ye outta that dress, milady,” she fussed as Charles lowered Fortuna onto the edge of the bed.

His steps retreated back toward the door. “I’m going down to the taproom for a nightcap. There might be news of Adrian by now.”

Still half-asleep, Fortuna wiggled the fingers of one hand at him and collapsed backward onto the bed with a muttered “mmph.”

In this position, the maid managed to strip her of everything but her lawn chemise. Fortuna then crawled beneath the covers and dropped face-down into a musty smelling pillow. Her last conscious thought was of the feather bed’s enveloping softness.

Some time later, she awoke with a start. Raising up on both elbows, she blinked in confusion. It took a moment to recall where she was and how she’d come to be there and for it to register that something had disturbed her slumber. But what? Senses stretching, she probed the silence for a clue.

A muffled thud sounded beyond her bedchamber door.

Alarmed, Fortuna scooted to the edge of the bed where she fisted the quilt against her chemise bodice. Someone had broken in and was moving around the sitting room! Panic clogged her throat as she recalled that Charles was still downstairs in the taproom. No doubt a scream would bring him hammering up the stairs but would he be in time to prevent the thief from doing her bodily harm? Fortuna struggled to control her escalating fear.

She’d never felt so alone, or so vulnerable.

Another thump reverberated in the sitting room, followed by a muttered curse. Fortuna sucked her breath. She recognized that voice. It belonged to Charles. An overwhelming sense of relief left her limp and giddy. Lurching off the bed, she wound the thin quilt around her shoulders and shuffled toward the door on unsteady legs. She had a sudden, powerful need for the safety of his arms.

At the threshold she stumbled to a halt, unsure how to proceed.

“Forti!” he exclaimed. She heard a protesting creak as he rose from his chair. “What’s wrong? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

Curling her bare toes against the floorboards, she drew the thin quilt tight across her breasts. That she’d been frightened nearly out of her wits now struck Fortuna as childish. But then, she’d spent a lifetime in fear of the unknown and unseen, pretending courage she didn’t feel. Her childhood had been filled with reckless attempts to conquer that terror.

Charles would understand. He too was plagued by invisible demons. Yet to admit this deeply rooted flaw in her character was to bare her soul in a way she hadn’t done with anyone, not even Letty.

“I heard a noise,” she offered instead, “and thought a thief had broken in.”

When Charles didn’t immediately respond, hope leaped behind the fistful of quilt she clutched to her heart. Perhaps he was learning to hear the truths left unsaid as well.

“My fault entirely.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Fortuna gave a dismissive shrug as she moved toward his voice. “Was there any word from Adrian ?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Then, “Have a care!” he barked, making her jump. “You’re too close to the hearth.”

A dizzy moment later, she was yanked off her feet and crushed against his chest. Beneath her cheek his shirt lay open, unbuttoned to the waistband of his pantaloons. The heat radiating off his skin burned straight to Fortuna’s core.

“Devil take me, woman but you’re afire!” Bending, Charles slapped the tail of her quilt. When he straightened, his hands roamed up her body, as if seeking reassurance there were no more smoldering brands. “We’d best remove you from harm’s way.”

In the blink of an eye, he swung Fortuna off her feet and into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked. Wrapped in the quilt, she couldn’t move.

“Returning you to your bed,” Charles growled, “before we both regret it.”

Something inside Fortuna melted, something that had been frozen for as long as she could remember.

How she loved this man, with every ounce of her being. Behind that arrogant façade he worked so hard to project there lurked a caring, compassionate soul. Her future was going to be bleak without him. Fortuna’s chest ached just thinking about it. Yet, no matter how wretched her own existence was fated to be, Charles faced an even more desolate life married to her shallow, self-centered cousin.

He deserved so much more.

As Charles strode toward her bedchamber, Fortuna closed her eyes and tried to keep the misery at bay. There was nothing she could do. To confess her love for him now would only cause further heartache, especially since neither of them could act upon it.

But she wasn’t completely without recourse. Her eyes flew wide at the notion. Although unable to articulate her love, she was free to express it in the age-old way.

She could gift herself to him and create enough wonderful memories to last what promised to be a dismal life. How to go about seducing him was the dilemma. With only a vague notion of what to do, she decided to follow her inclinations. They couldn’t lead her too far wrong. A secret part of Fortuna wanted to make it impossible for him ever to forget her.

“Your bower, my lady.”

He juggled her in his arms, then swung Fortuna over the bed and let go. Gasping with shock, she clung to his neck, pulling him down onto the mussed sheets after her.

“Make love to me,” she whispered against his cheek. Excitement built in the pit of her stomach.

Stunned, Charles tried to disengage from the tangle of her arms.

Fortuna only tightened her grip.

“We can’t…” He floundered. His hands shot out to brace against the bed. She felt the huff of his labored breath stir her eyelashes.

“Make love to me,” she said more firmly, rising up to brush his lips with her own. The quilt fell away from her shoulders.

He drew back as if stung. “Have pity, Forti. There’s only so much a man can take.”

His voice sounded raspy, she noted with smug satisfaction. And when he shifted his weight, more of his body came in contact with hers, pressing Fortuna deeper into the featherbed.

“I need you,” she whispered.

In fact that need was so intense, it took her breath away. Dimly it occurred that, until she’d met him, her physical life had been a sterile landscape. Oh, there had been the occasional peck on the cheek from her family. A squeeze of the hand, a perfunctory hug. Charles had introduced her to a sensate world filled with so much more. The prospect of making love to him, of touching and being touched more intimately, intoxicated like wine. Fortuna itched to run her hands over his body, to explore every mysterious, masculine inch of him.

As if reading her thoughts, he lowered his forehead to hers and groaned. “I can’t fight you, my love. Do what you will. I’m yours.”

Elation flared in Fortuna, setting every nerve afire. Tugging his shirttail clear of his waistband, she flattened her palms against his heaving chest. With a contented sigh, she then drew them slowly outward, smoothing his skin in a light caress. The muscles beneath her hands twitched. She heard the jagged intake of his breath.

“And I belong to you,” she murmured.

Excerpt #1

2008-12-28T11:15:00.000-08:00

Golden light spilled across the terrace to highlight her freckled nose and rosy lips. It turned Fortuna’s captivating green eyes an eerie light brown. Disconcerted once again by the gold flecks in their depths, Charles stepped back and clasped fists together beneath the tails of his coat.

“Are you feeling more the thing, my lady?”

No reply. Just that dazed expression on her face. It took a moment for Charles to remember she couldn’t see the polite concern he’d pasted on his own. With a critical eye, he studied the gown Fortuna wore. What modiste had risked her reputation fashioning such a thing? Rows of small, green, leaf-shaped appliqués ran in vertical lines down the gauzy half-skirt. The scooped bodice sported off-the-shoulder sleeves in a style that seemed altogether too girlish for its wearer.

“Shall I fetch you a glass of punch?”

Fortuna shook her copper curls as if coming out of a dream. The flowered bandeaux in her hair shed a few petals and, without thinking, Charles reached out to lightly flick them off her shoulders.

Coloring under his touch, she shied away. “I’m quite all right, my lord.” Her voice was wary. “Just give me a moment to catch my breath.”

They’d both been left breathless by that waltz, Charles wryly observed. Fortuna’s acquiescence on the dance floor had startled, then aroused him. Now he rued the spectacle they’d made. Gossip would be rife upstairs, especially with the two of them out on the terrace, unchaperoned. Charles frowned as he pondered how to extricate himself politely from a situation that was becoming more ticklish by the second.

“Shall I fetch Miss Ashford?” he asked.

“I’d prefer to return to the ballroom.”

Then Charles remembered the reason he’d asked for this tête-à-tête in the first place. It was time to make that apology. Just a few words and all would be forgiven. They could part ways in charity.

“Before I do, Lady Fortuna, I’d like to beg your pardon for that callous remark I made the other day.” When she didn’t respond, he lamely added, “I had no idea you were blind.”

Inwardly, Charles cursed himself for admitting such stupidity.

“I accept your apology,” she replied in a tight voice but her words lacked conviction. “Now, take me back to my cousin.”

He frowned. That imperious attitude again. He’d never met such an overbearing woman. “Not until I’m certain you’ve recovered.”

Fortuna bristled. “I’m no invalid, my lord. Neither am I a helpless female.” She started for the French doors with hands groping before her. “I can find my own way, thank you.”

Charles grabbed her upper arm before she could take three steps. “Are you daft, woman? You’re like to trip over your own slippers and break your neck.”

With an indignant yank, Fortuna freed herself from his grasp, then batted at his hand as if fending off an attack. “I don’t need help from you!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the couples disengage from the shadows and scurry toward the house. The lady’s head was bent low and her eyes were averted but the gentleman hesitated as if to speak. Charles leveled a challenging look on him and the fellow beat a hasty retreat, as did another pair of lovers a moment later.

This was pure insanity. If he wasn’t careful he’d be leg-shackled to the Morley chit, or forced to meet one of her male relatives at dawn on Wimbledon Common.

Drawing up with dignity, Fortuna stood in the middle of the terrace with light streaming around her. She looked like a religious icon, Charles wryly noted, Joan of Arc at the stake.

“I may be blind,” she said, “but my ears work perfectly. I hear what people say about you.”

“Indeed,” Charles drawled, much diverted by an image of her tied to a post with flames licking at her feet. “And what, pray tell, is being said?”

“That you’re arrogant and cold. Incapable of tender feelings.” She hesitated for a moment as if gathering courage, then lifted her chin. “And that you keep a mistress, a French émigré by the name of Mimi.”

That last statement surprised him. Charles blinked in astonishment. “Hardly a topic for the ears of gently bred young ladies, I should think,” he muttered.

“How ironic,” Fortuna continued in an acerbic tone. “So-called gentlemen can squire around the lowest form of female but a lady can’t even mention them in polite conversation.”

Annoyed, Charles raked the fingers of one hand through his hair. “Rather say it’s the way of the world.” He sighed.

“The word ‘hypocritical’ comes to mind, my lord.”

“And ‘impudent’ comes to mine,” he snapped back. “I find this conversation unseemly and offensive.” The warning tone he used was one that never failed to cower servants.

Yet the chit seemed oblivious to the threat. In a prim tone she said, “I’m very much concerned about your attitudes, my lord. Especially with regard to marriage.”

Charles was dumbstruck for a moment. Then, in a tight voice, he asked, “And why should my philosophy on the wedded state matter to you?”

“If you intend to marry my cousin, it matters a great deal. I’ll not see Juliana bound to a man who refuses to honor his marriage vows. She deserves the love and respect of a devoted husband.”

“What curious notions you have,” Charles drawled with deliberate sarcasm. Her air of moral superiority was starting to grate. “Respect is something one earns, Lady Fortuna. For women, it means remembering their place.” He allowed those words to hang on the air. Then, in a derisive voice, he asked, “But tell me, what has love to do with marriage?”