The Music Master and other Christmas Tales

Excerpt

Shaking himself out of his stupor Jasper was disgusted with himself and his attraction to this woman whom he’d always believed was too shallow, too societal for his tastes, and far too easy on the eyes. Five years ago she’d also been too terribly young. Yet he couldn’t deny that the tall, elegant Miss Watkins had grown into an exceptional beauty. He’d noticed her smooth carriage from the moment he’d dragged her into his house and her womanly shape tucked into a russet-colored woolen day gown beneath the blue coat. Her voluptuously thick hair she wore tucked up inside a woolen hat.

“That’s all you have to say then? You admit you procrastinated?” he snapped.

“Yes!” She rolled her eyes. “Why are you in such a snit over it, may I ask?”

“Because nothing’s changed!” he roared, and leaped to his feet.

Pacing in front of her his voice shook as he spoke. “You cannot expect to become a decent musician if you procrastinate in practicing the lessons I teach you. Why should I waste my time on you? Why?” he asked, whirling to face her. He’d planted his hands on his hips and scowled down at her in his most intimidating manner.

She didn’t answer his question but said, “I’ll double your normal fee.”

“Do you think I teach because of the money? I earn a pittance from the lessons. I don’t need money. I’ve inherited enough for ten lifetimes,” he snarled, sinking to the piano bench once more, facing the piano this time.

He started playing a tune, loud, boisterous and angry. By the time he finished he turned and found his guest cringing with her hands over her ears. He was sweating, adrenaline flowing and he felt ready to play again, harsh, pounding music to remove the woman from his mind. If he didn’t he wasn’t certain what he’d do to her. Then pain shot through his wrist and hand and he knew he’d strained himself.

Jasper said, “Leave.” Gently he set his hands to the keys once more but played in a tame, easy manner. When he stopped and rose from the bench he was surprised to see her sitting there still, her eyes closed and tears running down her fair cheeks.

“Why haven’t you left,” he said, his voice filled with exhaustion.

Her eyes opened and he saw the pain in them and knew he had no choice but to teach her again. It would be tormenting because he wouldn’t be able to touch her, still he knew he’d do it. He had to—for her—even though she didn’t deserve him to, even though he knew it would be a waste of his valuable time. He’d had plenty of regrets when she’d left all those years ago—had, in fact, taken her desertion personally. She’d had potential as a pianist but no drive, and she’d been in love with a boy.

“I can’t. You must help me.”

He heaved a sigh. “Once again I ask, what good reason have you for procrastinating, and not following your father’s wishes?”

“My father will be hugely disappointed if I don’t learn to play. I have been a disappointment to him anyway, since leaving lessons with you. He’s always wanted me to be like my mother. He still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that I am not like my mother. I am who I am. Still, he’s asked this from me and—”

Jasper heard her shaking voice, heard her pause. Yes, her mother had been gifted, and anyone would have difficulty following in the woman’s footsteps. He noticed how Miss Watkins wouldn’t meet his eyes but stared down at her hands. “And?” he said.

Lifting her chin she met his gaze. He saw the tears still in her eyes. Groaning inwardly he thought, Lord, keep me from taking her into my arms and offering her comfort. She is nothing but a willful society woman with little brains in her head.

Jasper was surprised when she replied, “I don’t want to embarrass my father in front of his guests.”

“Or yourself?” he snapped. She didn’t reply at first. She gave him a long thoughtful look then frowned. He knew her answer even before she said it, and his heart soared with hope that she was not the shallow young woman he once knew.

“Why I hadn’t thought about myself at all.”

“Ah.” He sank back against the piano, hitting keys with his elbow. “That is quite the answer I hoped to hear but didn’t expect.” He rose from the seat, stepped over to her chair and pulled her to her feet. Escorting her to the door, his arm around her waist, he said, “Here are the lesson times and conditions. I’ll give you a lesson three times a week for two hour sittings. You will practice, at the minimum, two hours each day after you take your lesson.”

“Oh!” She stopped in the hallway, frowning. “I can’t possibly make that sort of lesson commitment. After all, you likely don’t believe this but there are other things to do in life aside from playing the piano.”

“For instance?” he asked mildly, keeping his temper in check as he strode ahead of her and opened the front door.

She rushed up to him. “Paying calls to friends, for one. With the holidays approaching I have many social engagements, evening and day to attend to.”

He jammed his hands on his hips. “Apparently, I was wrong. You have not changed one bit, have you? Do you know you are still a shallow excuse for a human being?”

“And you are horrible!” she spat. Her posture was rigid as she drew herself up.

“That is nothing I haven’t heard before,” he said dryly. “Those are my terms. We’ve much ground to cover between now and Christmas. Be ready to work like you’ve never worked before.”

She stepped outside and looked at him over her shoulder. “And if I chose not to abide by this unreasonable schedule?”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. “Good day, Miss Watkins.” He closed the door on her stunned expression, closed his eyes and leaned back against the door until he heard her footsteps fade away.

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