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As always, a huge thank you to Katinki for working her beta/editing magic.
Chapter 22
On the night of Edward's recital, Alistair, Maggie, and I arrive at the Hanover Square Rooms just before the doors open.
Our seats are in the row reserved for "special guests," but they're not assigned, and if the three of us want to sit together, we've got to move fast. That's the official reason, anyway. I'd bet my best pair of gloves that the real reason Maggie kicked us out the door thirty minutes early was because she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Signor Volturi and Mrs. Sforza. And while I know for a fact that Aro is not going to be hanging out in there—the chandeliers in the Rooms are too bright, and the general seating provides zero privacy, so the Vampire King will be cheering for his protégé from a hidden spot in one of the balconies—I keep that to myself.
My plan is to sneak to Edward's dressing room before the recital and wish him good luck. He was the one who suggested that last night when he dropped by to say goodnight… said that I'd be his "calming distraction." I didn't know how to take that, especially because at that particular moment, I didn't want to be his anything calming. All I wanted was to get him in my bed already, but that had repeatedly proved futile in the past, so I decided that the night before an important concert wasn't the best time for pushing his boundaries.
We bump into Carlisle as we enter the building, but he just flashes us his brilliant smile and disappears. I tell my aunt and uncle that I'll join them shortly and dive into the corridor that leads backstage.
I'm pretty sure I can find Edward's dressing room on my own, but my sense of direction is crap, and it doesn't take long for me to realize I probably should've asked for assistance. Still, I stubbornly keep wandering through the maze of corridors and narrow staircases, hoping for that aha! moment when I magically recognize where I'm supposed to be.
There aren't many people in this part of the building. I only encounter two fashionably dressed men, one of whom gives me a not-so-discreet once-over. A quick exchange of bows and curtsies follows. They remind me of a pair of overgrown peacocks in their colorful dress coats and sharp-nosed shoes, and it takes all my willpower not to smile—smiling at strangers is a big no-no here. Then I hurry off, not daring to look back, though I just know they're still watching me.
After another minute of wandering the halls, I suddenly spot the two men again and realize I've done a full loop. Not wanting to bump into them for the second time, I quickly duck into an alcove in the wall before they notice me and wait for them to pass. Unfortunately, they don't move. I peek out and see they're still standing exactly where I saw them the first time, speaking in low voices and clearly enjoying whatever they're discussing.
"…half of London's population—the half deserving of mention, at least—finds themselves so irate with her that they would gladly scratch her eyes out," says the first man, chuckling. "How dare she take for herself the most handsome and mysterious gentleman in all of society while so many others are so fervently devoted to him? And what, pray tell, can his impresario be thinking? For Maestro Masen to be engaged must surely be detrimental to business!"
I break into a sweat.
Are they actually talking about me?!
It sure seems like it. Suddenly, I remember that scene from Pride and Prejudice where Elizabeth eavesdrops on Darcy and Bingley chatting about her at the ball. I always found that scene to be a little awkward, but mostly, I just couldn't believe that men could be such gossips.
Well, apparently, they can.
"I must say, the impresario himself is hardly an eyesore," says the other man. "But are you certain it was her? What was her name... Isadora?"
"Isabella Dwyer… and that, of course, is yet another delightful detail in the entire scandal." The first man takes a dramatic pause. "Do you recall James? James Dwyer? The one who perished in that notorious duel where both principals were killed? She is his widow."
The second man lets out a low whistle. "You cannot be serious! She is the very one who discovered James in… flagrante delicto, so to speak? In their own drawing room, on the pianoforte bench no less?" I hear muted cackling.
"The very same," the first man confirms. "The woman simply cannot exist outside the gaze of the society… And to think, with such a modest appearance, who would have ever suspected?"
At this point, they start walking toward me, and I press myself deeper against the wall of the alcove, praying that they're too engrossed in their admittedly very interesting conversation to notice me.
"I never learned what happened to the other lady… Or should I say the other widow? I believe Victoria was her name…" says the first man.
"Victoria Hunter? The rumor is that she has moved to France, taken a French lover, and has been living a very pleasurable life there. Unlike James, Victoria's husband left his estate in perfect order," the other man says as they pass the spot where I stand. I hold my breath.
"So, the ordeal of losing a husband and a lover on the same day did not ruin her spirits—actually, quite the opposite…" They continue walking away from me, snickering and giggling, and I can finally exhale in relief.
With my heart still thumping from the sudden revelation, as well as from the fear that I might have been discovered hiding and eavesdropping, I resume my search for Edward's dressing room. This time I find it immediately, and just as well—it's almost time for me to run back.
Edward senses me coming and opens the door. I feel a wave of warmth and pride when I see him so incredibly handsome in his concert attire: a black tailcoat with silk-faced lapels, a pair of white trousers, a white dress shirt with a high collar, and a black bow tie. He stares at me with concern written all over his face, and I wonder if he heard what I heard.
This will have to wait.
I quickly kiss him on the cheek, wish him good luck, and hurry to my aunt and uncle, hoping to find my way back fast. I wouldn't want to enter after the concert has started and make a spectacle of myself "in the gaze of the society" yet again.
Despite being right on time, I can still hear whispers and feel curious eyes on my back as I squeeze past the other guests to get to my seat. It's easy to tune them out, though—honestly, the thought of Aro and Jane being somewhere nearby is far more troubling than whatever gossip these folks can come up with.
The recital is a massive success, just like I thought it would be. When Edward returns to the stage for yet another encore, he suddenly raises his hand to call for silence and says, "My last composition of this evening is called Schwannesang Variations. It is a collection of the late Maestro Schubert's songs with the same name."
At this, Edward finds my gaze and gives me a barely noticeable nod. "Schwannensang means "Swan song" in German." He then bows and takes his seat at the pianoforte.
What? Is this what I think this is?
A composition… dedicated to me?
The audience roars.
Apparently, this is the first time that Edward has said anything to them, ever, and the sound of his voice hits them like a blast. Several men and women jump up and run to the stage. The nearby ushers are clearly unprepared for this development; they try to calm them down and convince them to return to their seats. The "fans" loudly refuse.
Finally, the commotion subsides a little, and Edward starts playing.
I'd only heard Liszt's transcriptions of Der Schwannensang, including the famous Serenade, and those were standalone piano pieces. Edward's Variations are the "all in one" kind. I recognize several melodies, some slow and passionate, others fast and ferocious. They blend so seamlessly into one another that you'd think Schubert meant them to be performed like that in the first place.
The last cadenza leaves the audience completely awestruck, and I can't help but wonder why these Variations aren't known by everyone in the future. Any pianist would die to have it in their repertoire. But then, I think that Edward probably never wrote it down because he "happens to have a good memory," and, well, they don't have smartphones here to record it.
On one hand, it saddens me that such a masterpiece will be lost to future generations. On the other, it makes his dedication feel strangely intimate. Speaking of grand gestures... He wrote it for me and found a way to announce it to the whole world while still keeping it between us.
By the time the composition is over, tears stream down my cheeks.
Later this evening, just as I'm starting to drift off, he comes to my room. I'm so happy to see him that I jump out of bed and start kissing him, not caring one bit about Jessica or anyone else who might hear us.
"Thank you, thank you!. That last piece was so… I have no words," I whisper to him between the kisses.
Edward cradles my face in his hands and simply says, "It is yours. I am yours."
My chest swells, and I close my eyes for a moment as his words wash over me.
"You make me so very happy," I say when I finally find my voice. "Please let me show you."
It's bold of me, but I need him to know.
To make my intentions clear, I reach for his tailcoat and start slowly unbuttoning it. He freezes, eyes closed. Then, he places his hand on mine.
I brace myself for the usual pang of disappointment when he quietly says, "Carlisle is hunting tonight and will not return until dawn. Will you come with me?"
My heart thumps so hard that I feel its reverberation in my toes, and all I can do is just nod. He picks me up, and the next moment we're out of the window.
Once in his room, Edward gently lowers me to stand, but I feel a little dizzy from the motion, so I sit down on the edge of his bed.
Which looks and smells very clean and… very unused.
My brain immediately offers me images of him in this bed—with me, of course, both of us naked and doing… things, but… yeah, that's probably too much to wish for.
Despite the thought, I take his hand and attempt to pull him with me.
Edward hesitates… "Bella, I… I am not altogether certain that I can be fully intimate with you tonight. I must be so careful." I hear the embarrassment in his voice.
It's so sweet and endearing, and… it just won't do. But then, I jump at the word "fully."
"Um… We don't have to… have intercourse, and honestly, I'm not ready either," I tell him softly. "But maybe we could try to… explore a little? Like, well, make each other feel good?" I swallow. "You drive me absolutely crazy. I have to take care of myself, if you understand what I mean, after every time we see each other, and frankly, it's getting old."
I inwardly facepalm. Oversharing much?
Edward chuckles. "I believe I know your meaning." He doesn't say anything else, and I eye him suspiciously.
"What do you mean, you know? As in, theoretically you know that this stuff happens, or…" My eyes widen. "Don't you dare tell me that you heard me!" I slap my hands over my face.
He takes his coat off and lowers himself by my side. "I promised never to lie to you," he whispers in my ear while prying my hands away, and I see that infuriating smirk that always makes me mad. Or should I say horny? It's probably the latter because to my surprise, instead of calling him out, I whimper. It's an embarrassingly needy sound, too.
"I admire how open you are with me in regard to what you desire, Bella," he croons.
In the meantime, his hand travels from my cheek to my throat—his favorite place, and then lower, to my collarbone.
I have the fleeting thought that it's fascinating—in the best way—that his touch feels like it's barely there but, at the same time, burns. "That sounds like something straight out of a romance novel," my inner cynic retorts. I'm about to tell her to shut up when his fingers find my nipple through the thin fabric of my nightgown, and every thought in my brain vanishes completely.
"To reciprocate your candor, I must tell you that following our encounters, I've found myself engaged in similar pursuits more times than I can count. You drive me crazy as well," he says and I let out a laugh. The 21st-century expression sounds out of place on his tongue, but also very, very hot.
"Glad to know that I'm not the only one," I murmur. I arch my back as he stretches his hand out to flick both my nipples at the same time, while his other holds me by the nape of my neck and strokes my throat. Should I tell him how much I love his pianist's span? Instead, I just shiver from pleasure as all my blood rushes down to the apex of my thighs.
Edward freezes for a moment, then leans a little closer.
"You do smell divine," he whispers and proceeds with his ministrations. His mouth replaces his hand on my nipple, and his fingers travel along my torso, caressing my stomach. The combination is practically impossible to bear. Especially because I'm acutely aware that I have no underwear whatsoever under my nightgown. So, I just pull the hem up, inviting him to the place I've wanted him to be all along.
He obliges, and we both gasp.
Edward's fingers are no longer cold. He moves them slowly, applying just the right amount of pressure around my most sensitive spot, teasing me until I'm a quivering mess. He doesn't stop there, though. Two fingers slide inside, and suddenly, without any input from my brain, I'm moving to meet his every stroke. Vaguely, I realize that I'm so incredibly wet that under different circumstances, I'd probably feel self-conscious. But right now, I'm too far gone.
As if reading my mind, Edward whispers, "There is no greater joy for me than to witness the effect my touch has on you… a most undeniable proof of your desire for me."
"Oh," I moan, not stopping my movements for a second. "Actually, the most recent research says that… oh god… that the amount of lubrication doesn't directly correlate… with… the subjective degree of female arousal, but… oh, Edward, I'm so… but in my case… yes, I'm so turned on I'm goingtoexplodenow…"
…And I do.
Whatever epithets, metaphors, or interjections you might have in your vocabulary for an insanely strong, long-awaited orgasm that your vampire boyfriend finally gives you—well, they're all applicable here. My orgasm is so intense that my ears temporarily stop working. He keeps moving while I float in my underwater bliss, then slowly withdraws.
"Wait," I say. My voice is low and raspy.
I'm so not done with him.
I take his hand, the one that just made me a very happy woman, and bring it to my mouth. Looking straight into his bottomless black eyes, I lick his fingers.
Now, it's his turn to moan.
"Bella, what are you doing?" He lets out a ragged breath.
"I want you to feel good, too. That's all," I say innocently.
Edward shakes his head, although there isn't much determination in the gesture. "I respect you too much to… not to mention this might be unsafe for us, although I… I do not know…" Lust and preconceptions war on his beautiful face.
I scoot closer to him and kiss him. With the same mouth… you know. He convulses and groans out loud.
"I want you to show me how you like it. Teach me, Edward," I purr, caressing the significant bulge in his trousers. Did I mention the fact that his pants are white and very, um, form-fitting? Men's fashion of this time is quite interesting, but who am I to complain?
I reach for the buttons, and he reluctantly helps me undo them.
Edward is predictably perfect there, and I take a moment to appreciate the view. When I take him in my hand, he feels cool and so incredibly smooth. Not that I'm an expert on male genitalia, but, well, what can I say?
When I see a true objet d'art, I know it.
He looks at me intently for a moment, searching… And then he places his hand around mine. We move slowly at first, and then faster and faster, until his whole body tenses. His head falls back, and he lets out a loud groan that would have probably frightened me had I not been significantly aroused yet again. He squeezes my hand almost painfully, until he gives a little shudder, and wetness coats my hand. Afterward, he relaxes, slowly breathing in and out.
He looks… happy.
Later, we lie in bed facing each other, only I'm again under the sheets, and he's above them, fully dressed. He tells me that now that he's gotten a taste of… that—not sure if he means it literally—I'm in even more danger than before. He looks a tad smug though, so I don't really believe him.
"So…" I say. "Today on the way to your dressing room, I heard an interesting conversation… Did you know about any of that?"
Edward shakes his head. "I was not present in London when Isabella's husband died. I did catch disjointed pieces of what those two half-wits were talking about in other people's minds, but never in such an entirety. Your aunt and uncle never permit themselves a single thought about what happened." He grunts. "I am truly sorry for her. No one deserves such a betrayal."
I huff. "Tell me about it…" Then, I sigh. "You know, I've been thinking a lot about what happened to me… about what the universe is trying to teach me by placing me here… Maybe it's to show me that there are worse things in life than being abandoned by your treacherous fiancé, who wouldn't have made a good husband anyway?" I look up at him. "I mean James, of course. Seriously, to catch your spouse having sex in your house on your piano? And later find out that he also stole and spent all your money and then escaped the consequences by dying?! It doesn't get much worse than that." I pull myself closer to him.
Edward moves my hair to the side and absentmindedly caresses my throat. "The only amusing part of that story is the pianoforte…" He chuckles.
I roll my eyes. "Right? What's the obsession with sex on a piano? In my time, whenever there's a piano mentioned in a romance book, you can bet all your money that someone will be having sex on it within a few pages… Same with movies…" Edward stares at me with wide eyes. "Um, movies are like theatrical plays but much more realistic… I'll try to explain it better tomorrow. My brain is like jelly now. But yeah, you have no idea…" It suddenly dawns on me. "Wait, do you have any personal experience?"
Edward looks sheepish. "I believe I mentioned that I was hardly a monk when I was human, and I happened to be in possession of a pianoforte." He pauses. "Although, it was called clavichord at the time and had a different system of…"
"I know that it was a different instrument then," I snap. "Never mind, I don't want to know!" I clap my hands over my ears and try to pull away from him, but he holds me tight in his iron grip.
"Bella," he says quietly. "There can be no comparison. What I feel with you is brighter and far more powerful than what an eternity of pleasures with anyone else could ever offer. You are truly a gift from Heaven—one I wholly do not deserve." He kisses me then, slowly and gently.
XXX
The next morning when I wake up in my own bed, I'm a little disoriented at first, but then everything comes rushing back.
Edward and I… oh my god, did that really happen? More importantly, when can we do it again?!
In my joyous state, I almost fail to notice the look of panic on Maggie's face when she bursts into my room.
"Isabella, darling." She sounds breathless. "You must go to Angela and help her. Perhaps assist with the children. She is distraught."
"Um, of course, I shall be ready quickly after breakfast… Has something happened?" I yawn, but then I take a closer look at her.
Something has happened. Maggie's eyes are weary, and the furrow between her brows is deeper than ever.
"It is Ben. He never came home last night. He was working on the books at the church until past midnight and then told his coachman to go home to his own wife and children…"
My heart thumps.
"Ben has never strayed like this without sending word." Maggie swallows. "We fear that something terrible has happened."
.
.
.
A/N In the 19th century, most duels involved pistols, and thankfully, they rarely ended in death for either participant. That said, it really depended on how far apart the duelists stood. If they wanted to inflict serious harm, they'd agree to shoot from just a few steps away. Double-fatality duels were very rare but they did happen.
