Situated in a middle row close to the outside edge, she refrained from nodding her head or tapping her foot as some of the others were doing, lest she betray her terrible lack of rhythm. Instead, she smiled at Sophie and her sister as they did a lovely if slightly incongruous duet. Sophie had a true talent with her oboe, hitting soft, pure notes time and again. Her older sister was as accomplished on the bassoon as Beatrice imagined anyone could be. But when the two totally opposite range instruments were pitted against each other, well, it did rather make one question the wisdom of the pairing.

At least the performance was as memorable as their mother hoped it would be, if not quite for the same reason as she had envisioned. She famously believed that the more unique the instruments, the more memorable the musician.

Poor Sophie. She had asked to have the opportunity to perform a solo, but her mother felt it would be unjustly stealing attention from her older sister. Perhaps Sarah would marry before the next musicale, and Sophie would have her chance.

Movement out of the corner of Beatrice’s eye made her glance right just as a man slipped into the empty seat beside her. In the half second before she actually saw his face, the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up at his presence, and she just knew who it would be.

Colin.

When their gazes collided, he flashed her his beautiful smile, all white teeth and masculine perfection. He lingered for the space of a breath before he nodded to Mama, then turned his attention toward the front of the room.

It was all Beatrice could do to turn her gaze back to the musicians. Even with her eyes trained steadfastly forward, she could positively feel him beside her. All the pent-up emotions that had been bouncing around inside of her for days came roaring back to life. The last time she had seen him, she had been wrapped in his arms, his lips pressed to hers. . . . She shifted in her seat, trying to distract herself from the direction of her thoughts.

Which, of course, was impossible.

The music seemed oddly distant as every part of her focused in on Colin. Was he as aware of her as she was of him? Did he think of their kiss as often as she did, or remember her touch as keenly as she did his? And that wasn’t all she was curious about. She was dying to know what had happened when her nosy brother had called on Colin two days earlier, but Richard had remained annoyingly closemouthed, saying only that they “understood each other.” What the devil was that supposed to mean?

Now, at least, she knew that whatever the understanding, Richard had not scared poor Colin away. He could have sat in any one of the available seats around the room, but he had chosen to join her. To be near to her.

That had to be a positive sign.

She held perfectly still, looking straight ahead as if she actually saw the Wembleys and wasn’t trying to master the art of peripheral vision. He’d worn another dark jacket this evening, with what appeared to be an emerald waistcoat and efficiently tied white cravat. Simple, unfussy, and attractive, just like him.

She had ascertained from Sophie yesterday that he would be here, but when the music started and he still hadn’t arrived, she had stopped watching the doorway and had resigned herself to a night without him. She really should not be so giddy to have him here now.

The first hints of his fresh and clean yet perfectly masculine scent teased her senses, and she drew a long, slow, utterly indulgent breath. She was instantly put to mind of the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips, of the warmth of his breath upon her cheek, of his lips tasting hers. . . .

She drew another breath, this one trying to quiet her pounding heart. It was a wonder no one could hear it over the music. For heaven’s sake, she couldn’t very well go to pieces just because a man sat beside her.

Bowing her head, she focused on her clasped hands on her lap. Her heart seemed to rise with the notes of the oboe, reaching higher with each beat. Cutting a glance toward Colin, she realized that his hand was only inches away from her skirts, settled close enough that if she adjusted her position at all, she could easily close the space between them.

Not that she would do such a thing in the middle of a musicale. Even with the lamps turned down and everyone’s attention on the musicians, she’d be a fool to indulge the impulse. With a simple glance around, anyone could see if his fingers brushed against her skirts, or if her hand settled beside his, or if their fingers should somehow become entwined with one another’s.

Beatrice snapped her head up, diverting her gaze from his closeness and focusing on Sophie as if her life depended on it. The next fifteen minutes were the longest of her life. Knowing that he was so close, yet being unable to speak with him, or even look at him, was a new kind of oddly sweet torment.

When Sophie’s last note finally rang out, the gathering politely clapped and the girls made their curtsies. The lamps were turned up, and with anticipation burning like a torch within her belly, Beatrice stood and met Colin’s smoke-colored gaze.

His expression was all that was proper, but somehow she still felt the tug of attraction between them as he offered a slight bow. “Good evening, Lady Granville, Lady Beatrice. I hope you are both as well as you look.”

Mama’s smile was bright and welcoming as she linked arms with Beatrice. “Yes, thank you. It’s so lovely to see you here, Sir Colin. Are you a lover of music?”

“I am a lover of all forms of beauty, my lady.”

If it had been Richard, the same comment would have been flirtatious and teasing and would probably have been followed up with something about how that’s why he chose to sit beside them. Not Colin. As usual, his words were simple and unembellished. Becoming a barrister was a good choice for him. He had a way of speaking that invited one to trust him.

“You must have inherited that trait from your father,” Beatrice said. “He could find beauty in so much, transcribing it onto the canvas for the rest of us to enjoy.”

“Actually, I like to think my mother had a hand in that. She died when I was very young, but I can still remember her walking through the meadow with me, marveling at the birdsong, the warm breeze, even the shapes of the clouds. I think she would have pointed out every petal of every flower if she could have.”

“What a wonderful memory to have,” Mama said, her eyes full of sympathy even as she smiled softly. Looking to Beatrice, she squeezed her hand before pulling away. “Well, I do believe I’m feeling quite parched.”

Colin gestured toward the refreshment table in the back. “I’d be happy to fetch you some lemonade.”

“Oh, no, thank you. It will be nice to move around a bit after sitting for so long.”

Well, Colin couldn’t have appealed to Mama more if he tried. Bringing up a much-cherished memory of his mother and then politely offering to tend to Mama? It was little wonder she gave Beatrice an almost imperceptible wink as she walked away. Was that a good or a bad thing? On the one hand, he clearly had Mama’s approval. On the other, Beatrice dreaded the thought of Mama pushing the issue between the two of them. As if Richard’s involvement wasn’t bad enough—she didn’t need a meddling mother added to the situation.

Speaking of Richard . . . Beatrice glanced around them as casually as she could. For the most part, people had cleared out of the seating area fairly quickly, leaving them in as private a setting as they could hope for in this sort of gathering. “So, I hear you met yet another member of my family this week.”

He didn’t even blink an eye. “I did.”

“And?”

“I appreciated the opportunity to meet another of your siblings.”

Blast. He was going to make her pry, wasn’t he? “Whatever did you find to talk about? I can’t think of a thing that the two of you might have in common.”

“Not a thing?” he responded, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yes, one thing, but surely you didn’t talk about me the whole time.” Or did they? She really didn’t like the thought of the pair of them discussing her over tea. Or, more likely, scotch.

“I was referring to the fact that we are both titled gentlemen with noteworthy fathers and an appreciation for fine spirits, but, yes, there is you, as well.” His expression was completely straightforward, but she knew from the glint in his eyes that he was teasing—the cad.

“You two are about as alike as a horseshoe and a fish. I seriously doubt you sat around debating the merits of your titles.”

His raven brows rose just enough to impart earnestness. “We did, actually. I was even able to use some of my fancy legal terms. I’ve so missed a good debate since my father died and I had to take leave of the Inn to return to Scotland to visit my family.”

She sighed in resignation. He would tell her nothing about the stupid meeting, she could already tell. She’d have to make sure the next meeting was at Granville House, so she could properly eavesdrop. “Fine, fine, have your manly secrets. I’ve got some of my own, anyway.”

“You have manly secrets?”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Not quite. But I do have one secret that involves a man. Does that count?”

He leaned toward her the slightest amount, but it was enough to make her breath catch. “Only if I’m the man.” His voice was so low, it felt almost like a caress, making her shiver.

“I see,” she said, her voice as light as her head just then. “Well, then, perhaps you would like to join—”

“No, no,” he said, interrupting her with a raise of his hand. “Doona say another word until I’ve said what I came here to say.”