Page 9 of A Perfect Engagement
He played well. When they came to the crescendo, his tanned hand overlapped hers to hit the D, and his fingers brushed her hand briefly. A fluttery feeling bloomed in her stomach, like a group of nervous butterflies had taken up residence. She shot him another sideways glance; his gaze flitted to her. Had he felt the same pull of awareness she had? Returning her eyes to the keys, Charlotte noted again how tan his hands were, how odd. Hawksridge did not strike her as a man to go anywhere without his gloves.
As they played through the last stanzas of the piece, Charlotte puzzled over how she had not known he was such an accomplished pianist. Surely, she had discussed her love of music with him at some point. Hadn’t she?
Hawksridge stood first as the room erupted in applause. He extended his hand to help her slide out from the bench, and those strong fingers enveloped hers briefly. Her cheeks heated, and she executed a small curtsy in reply to the clapping. They joined her parents, both of whom were glowing with pride. Hawksridge was certainly making a good impression.
“Lord Hawksridge, you play magnificently! Very unusual to see a gentleman so willing to showcase his musical skills,” Charlotte’s mother gushed.
“Alas, my mother only had boys to pass along her love of the pianoforte. We took lessons all during our childhood.”
“Do you own a pianoforte, Lord Hawksridge?” Charlotte asked hopefully.
“Yes…I mean, no. But if you would like one, I could arrange to have one purchased at your pleasure.” He tugged on his ear, his gaze sliding to her father.
“So Hawksridge, did you get the response you were waiting for about the Holland Street bill?” her father asked.
“Oh, come now, Lord Markham, let’s not bore the ladies with talk of politics,” Hawksridge admonished. Charlotte raised an eyebrow. Hawksridge not talk of politics? That was new.
“He’s right, Markham. You may talk politics after dinner with the other men to your heart’s content,” her mother said. “Hawksridge, do you care for veal? I do so hope you do because tonight we are serving veal. Unless you truly hate it, then I will speak to Greer immediately. Some, I know, find it distasteful to eat the baby animals. When she was young, Charlotte always cried when we had lamb. But a big strapping man as yourself would not be so silly as that. Could you? No, certainly not.”
Charlotte raised a hand to hide her giggle at Hawksridge’s bemused expression. Her mother could muddle anyone’s brain with her prattle.
He finally followed the thread back to her mother’s initial question. “I do enjoy veal, ma’am. No need to change anything on your menu.”
Hawksridge turned to her, and his eyes twinkled with good humor. That’s strange; Hawksridge usually appeared annoyed by her mother. She studied him more closely. Something was not right with him today. The sudden enthusiasm for piano playing, the tanned hands, and Hawksridge always dressed impeccably, right down to his kidskin gloves. Her gaze scanned his handsome features. Strong chiseled jaw, full lips currently turned up in a half-smile, and brown eyes framed by long lashes that were a waste on a gentleman were all familiar to her. Then she noticed a small scar ran through his left eyebrow, disturbing the hair there, before it ended at the wing-tipped edge. She sucked in a strangled breath. This man was not Lord Hawksridge.
Chapter Five
Please meet me in the conservatory before dinner. Through the portrait gallery, west wing. ~Charlotte
Charlotte paced backand forth in front of the long row of orchids. The soft light of early evening slanted in through the glass walls of her conservatory, the sun a dusky pink as it sank toward the horizon. She frowned at a brown leaf hanging from one of the plants.
He was not Hawksridge; she was sure of it. Perhaps it was just her nerves were playing tricks on her eyes. He looked exactly like him, except for the scar, and the dimple, and the good humor present in his eyes. She plucked the dead leaf from the plant, tossing it to the floor.
No, just because she happened to notice these things for the first time didn’t mean anything. She and Hawksridge had only spent a small amount of time together over the last couple of weeks. She must have missed these small details about his appearance. She asked him to meet her here so they could have a few moments alone. The sensible thing would be to be calm, ask questions, and learn more about him before accusing him of being an imposter.
“Hello, darling, fancy meeting you here.” The low words came from directly behind her.
Charlotte whirled around and found herself less than two feet from six foot plus of solid man. Her gaze traveled from his dark blue satin encased chest, up past the crisp white of his cravat to a freshly shaven chin, and finally to a pair of eyes filled with a mischievous light. All her careful plans dissolved as she opened her mouth.
“Who exactly are you?”
The faux-Hawksridge stiffened. “Pardon me?”
“You are not Miles Weston. Who are you?”
He closed his eyes briefly. When he met her gaze again, curiosity had replaced the mischievous light in his eyes.
“When did you figure it out?” he asked quietly.
There it was, the admission which proved she wasn’t crazy. She inhaled sharply through her nose.I knew it.“Almost immediately. Your manner is far more relaxed and open than his. You also have a dimple there on your right cheek when you smile.” She pointed to the spot. “But the scar which runs through your left eyebrow was the final clue. I know I had not seen it before.” She crossed her arms. “So you are his brother, I presume.”
He nodded. “I am Daniel, Miles’s younger brother by eight minutes.”
Twins? “I have never met anyone who is an identical twin. It’s quite rare, isn’t it?”
“You are quite rare. Almost no one can tell us apart. Even Aunt Diana can never get us straight.” He grinned, and the blasted dimple emerged.
Charlotte studied the man in front of her carefully. The similarities were striking. He had the same warm chestnut-brown eyes, straight dark eyebrows, and sharp cheekbones. His full lips curled into another smile as she studied him. He spread his arms wide, inviting her to look at her leisure.
