The Princess and the Pauper Read Online Free Page A

She had only ever played
the piano, a suitable instrument for a proper young lady. Who had
dared to teach her? There were no respectable women violinists. The
very idea was shocking, even indecent. And yet Grey was transfixed
by her performance. She lured him with the music, like the Pied
Piper of fables, and without even thinking of the danger, he closed
the door and crossed the large room.
    Her arms moved in sharp strokes. She
was draped in a woolly red wrapper, her body flexible in the loose
garment. Her long auburn hair flowed over her shoulders, thick and
untamed. And her eyes remained shut as she concentrated on the
lullaby he had once played for her as a boy.
    She was free. Unconstrained by etiquette or
insecurity. And she commanded the music—his music—as if it were her
own creation. With a straight wrist and agile fingers, she slipped
between the octaves with ease. Her technique needed polish, but no
amount of instruction could enhance the soulfulness of her
performance.
    She brought the piece to a close with a
vibrato. Her lashes flickered, then her eyes opened as if from a
sweet dream. She smiled. “You came.”
    Grey had come for the violin, but it
didn’t belong to him alone, not anymore. She had taken everything
from him—his heart, his music, and now his instrument.
    “ How?” he
whispered.
    “ How did I learn to play?” She
hugged the violin. “Attitudes on the Continent are different from
those in England, and one of my schoolmates, from Russia, taught me
to play. She’s quite a virtuoso, unlike myself.”
    “ Why?”
    “ Does it matter?” she said
evasively. “I’ve learned. And a good thing, too. Since you’ve
turned away from your music, there’s only me to keep it
alive.”
    His chest tightened. “I haven’t abandoned
it.”
    “ Yes, you have.” She held out the
instrument and bow. “Your grandfather didn’t construct this so you
could hide it under your bed.”
    He snatched the violin
fro m her.
“You don’t understand.”
    “ You miss him. But don’t you see,
you must play to keep his memory, his life’s work alive. To keep
yourself alive, Rees.”
    “ I can’t.”
    “ Play for me.”
    “ No.”
    “ Play for me!”
    He had a sinful urge to throw the
violin across the room. It tormented him in every way. It had
brought him peace and joy when he’d been alone in Wright’s house,
apart from his grandfather. And then he’d befriended Emily. It had
brought him peace and joy to play for her. But she had left for
Switzerland, then his grandfather had died. And it brought him no
peace or joy to play for himself alone. Now she was home. But soon
she would leave again, to marry. And he would not play for her. He
would not let himself feel that pleasure again, knowing it would
end.
    He placed the violin back in its case. In
brisk strides, he headed for the door.
    She chased after him and
blockaded the exit. “Then give it to me,” she demanded.
    “ What?”
    “ Give me the violin. If you
won’t play it, what good is it to you?”
    He glared at her. “It’s all I have of
him.”
    “ Is that how you want to honor
your grandfather? By worshipping a dusty old relic? That’s what the
violin will become one day. Is that a fitting end for the finest
instrument ever made by the greatest maker?”
    She echoed his own childhood words back
at him, and he wished her memory wasn’t so superb—or her insight so
cutting.
    “ What business is this of
yours?”
    “ I’m your friend,
Rees.”
    “ No, you’re not. You’re the mistress
of this house, and I’m your servant. I know my place. You should
know yours, princess.”
    He pushed her aside and left the music
room, feeling every bit the fool for dreaming impossible dreams. He
should take his own damn advice, he thought. He should know his
place.
    ~*~
    Grey stood in the middle of the
study. He had been summoned to the room a few minutes ago for an
unknown reason. Wright scribbled at his desk, his attention occupied. And
Grey