Читать книгу The Gold Collection: Taming The Argentinian: A Taste of the Untamed / The Untamed Argentinian / Taming the Last Acosta - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 16

SHE woke in Nacho’s big bed at the hacienda to find she was alone, and in those first waking moments she felt panic. It was like the early days, when she hadn’t been able to get out of bed without falling over something—even in her own house. When she had first known she was losing her sight she had practised moving around the house wearing an eye mask, but she had always cheated. Peeping had become part of the routine. One day peeping hadn’t been an option for her, and it wasn’t an option now.

Nacho must be at the stables, she reasoned, trying to calm down. Lucia had said the stable yard was where her brothers lived, and that the houses they owned were for civilised people to inhabit. She felt for the nightstand, hoping there might be a phone there so she could maybe make an internal call, but there was nothing. And—

Oh, damn! Now she had succeeded in knocking her water over.

She wanted the bathroom, but didn’t have a clue where it was, or how she’d make her way there.

She had to calm down. Sucking in some deep breaths, she concentrated on counting the Acosta residences. There was the palazzo on Fire Island, the penthouse in London, and the main estancia Grace had visited for Lucia’s wedding—and here …

No good—heart still thundering.

Next she counted pianos. Four residences. Four pianos. There was a piano in every home because Nacho’s mother had used to play. Perhaps Grace could play one of the pianos while she was here.

Still hammering—hammering so hard now she could hardly breathe.

So now she thought through her favourite waltz, page by page, bar by bar, note by note.

She really couldn’t wait any longer. She would have to find the bathroom—crawling if she had to. She’d done it before. She knew that if she crawled around the perimeter of a room she would find doors and hopefully, eventually, the room she needed. Then a noise caught her ear.

‘Buddy?’

Grace exclaimed with excitement. She had never been so relieved to hear the scratch of claws on wood before. Nacho must have brought him up before he left so she wouldn’t be stranded. She’d been wrong to imagine Nacho would simply get out of bed and leave her to it. She was right about him. He was caring. And sexy as hell.

Feeling confident now, she turned her face into the pillow to drag in Nacho’s warm, clean scent. She smiled, absorbing the contented ache of a body that had been very well used. What a night! Nacho had revealed himself to Grace in ways she could never have imagined. Who would guess there was such a tender, humorous individual beneath that autocratic manner? Or that he could be such an amazing lover …?

The hardest of the Acosta brothers?

She didn’t think so. Nacho was wonderfully warm. And she had relaxed properly for the first time in a long time, Grace realised as she stretched contentedly. She had learned a lot about herself too—like her insatiable capacity for passion. She felt womanly and appreciated, thanks to Nacho.

‘Go find your harness, Bud,’ she called, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed so she could test the floor with her feet. ‘I bet he’s brought it up …’

He had, and once she had Buddy to lead her around Grace moved swiftly to get ready for the day. She found her clothes neatly arranged on a leather sofa, and her toiletries waiting in the bathroom. Even her stick was propped against the sink, where she couldn’t miss it.

‘Someone has guessed that you don’t go everywhere with me,’ she told Buddy with amusement.

The shower had been left on an appropriate setting, and there was a stack of towels waiting for her on the side. She showered and dressed quickly, trusting her guardian angel had also matched up her clothes: jeans, sneakers, underwear and a tee, obviously brought over from the guest cottage. And then with Buddy’s help she found her way down to a warm kitchen, fragrant with the smell of freshly baked bread. The room was alive with the chatter of at least two women.

Nacho’s housekeepers, Grace presumed, greeting them brightly. ‘Buenos días …’

‘Buenos días, Señorita,’ the women chorused gaily, ushering Grace into the room.

If the women wondered at Grace’s sudden appearance in the main house they certainly didn’t show it. Their welcome couldn’t have been warmer. She heard the scrape of chair legs on a stone floor and felt Buddy’s tug as he prepared to take her towards the seat that was being offered to her. Releasing him, she sat down.

The two women vied with each other to offer Grace every type of food and drink imaginable. Grace tried to find an appetite, so she didn’t offend them, but all she could think about was when Nacho would be back. He would be out riding, she guessed, and one housekeeper, Maria, confirmed this. Señor Acosta was planning to meet Grace later that afternoon, Maria explained.

So long to wait! Grace hid her disappointment. She did have work to do, but first, if there was a piano in the house, maybe she could play it …

She asked the question and was surprised at the long pause. She wondered if it meant the two older women were exchanging glances. ‘I understand if no one is allowed to play it,’ she said, remembering the tragedy that had killed Nacho’s parents, and the fact that Lucia had mentioned it had something to do with a piano. She couldn’t imagine what—how could a piano and a flood be connected?—but Grace had never liked to probe around such a sensitive issue.

Maria had obviously come to a decision, as the housekeeper exclaimed, ‘It would be maravillosa … wonderful to have music in the house again, señorita. The piano is in the hallway. Please, allow me to show it to you. But first I must find the key.’

Grace’s excitement mounted. It had been so long since she had played a piano—since before she had lost her sight. So she wasn’t even sure she still could. And she didn’t really know why she had this sudden urge to play again, but she felt something here and knew she had to answer the longing. If she could only play for Nacho …

Her heart pounded with excitement at the thought as Buddy led her out of the kitchen and into the hall.

The hallway was big and fresh and filled with light. Grace always rejoiced that she still had a sense of light— it made everything feel so much better. There was a flower display somewhere … she could smell the blossom. And beeswax. And floor polish. She smiled to think she would never have noticed things like that before. And that she would have found her rubber-soled sneakers annoying as they squeaked across the marble tiles, she realised, smiling wryly. She had so much to be grateful for.

Buddy brought her to a halt next to Maria, who was unlocking the piano. It was tucked beneath the grand staircase. No wonder she hadn’t known it was there. Buddy had never had to make a detour round it. She felt for the piano stool, and then remembered that Nacho’s mother would have been the last person to sit on it. It felt like a real privilege to be taking her place, hopefully playing the music that had once brought her and her children so much pleasure.

‘I’m afraid the piano hasn’t been played for years, señorita,’ Maria murmured as Grace’s hands hovered above the keys.

‘That’s what I thought,’ Grace said quietly, thinking about the woman who had sat here before her. I hope you don’t mind me playing your piano, she reflected silently. ‘I haven’t played for some time, either,’ she explained to Nacho’s housekeeper ruefully. ‘I’m not even sure I can still play.’

Grace’s heart squeezed tight when Maria touched her arm. ‘I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to, señorita.’

Grace could only hope Maria was right.

She sat for a long time without doing anything after Maria left. Putting off the moment, she guessed. The hall felt very quiet, very still, very empty. It was easy to imagine ghosts were listening. ‘I don’t want to let you down,’ she murmured, reminding herself that all piano keys were set out in a logical sequence, so it should be no big deal that she couldn’t see. The notes weren’t going anywhere, and she could hear what she was playing just as well as she ever had. She just had to remember what Clark, the pianist at the club had told her. ‘Close your eyes, Grace, and let the music flow …’

What if it didn’t flow?

It would flow, Grace told herself firmly. Nothing had changed since those nights at the club.

Everything had changed. Her fingers fumbled over the keys as if she was a toddler let loose on a piano. It didn’t help that the instrument was so badly out of tune. She couldn’t hear what she should be playing. She couldn’t find her way into the tune—any tune. She couldn’t trust her own judgement. Even the simplest nursery rhyme was beyond her reach.

This was ridiculous. She had to calm down and get over the fear. Dashing the tears away, she thought back to what they’d told her at the rehabilitation centre: she must always give herself time to think. Taking a deep breath, she tried again—first a scale, and then an arpeggio, and now a simple Chopin waltz, one of the slower ones she had always been able to play from memory. She started hesitantly, but her courage quickly grew. Clark Mayhew had been right. The music hadn’t left her. It was still here in her head and in her fingers.

The hall was a natural amphitheatre, and even the suspect tuning seemed to add a poignant, haunting strain to the melody. The keys that had been sticking to begin with were working now, as if the piano was glad to be played again. Her heart began to soar as she played on. But then a door banged open and she jumped with alarm.

‘Nacho?’ She spun round on the stool.

Angry footsteps pounded across the hall towards her, and she yelped with fright when Nacho slammed the piano lid down, narrowly missing her fingers.

‘What are you doing?’ she exclaimed, hugging herself defensively. His rage was buzzing around her like a swarm of angry bees.

‘What am I doing?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘Get away from the piano!’ he roared as she ran her fingers along the edge of the lid with concern, feeling for damage. ‘Get away from the piano, Grace.’

She was incapable of moving anywhere, and could only sit, stunned, wondering what had happened to her gentle lover from last night.

He couldn’t believe Grace was still seated at the piano when he had insisted she must move away. His rational brain warned him that he was half mad with anger, grief, guilt, and that all of these were compounded by his concern for Grace, but the other part of him—the dark side that had once driven him to desert those he loved when he should have stayed to save them—said she must go. Just as Grace had made him forget the past last night, and the evil of which he was capable, she had brought it back to him today.