Waking Up To Love (Lakeside Porches Book 4) Read Free Page A

brightened his nerdy life with laughter. His heart ached at the coming emptiness.
    But did he really have anything to offer the lovely, vulnerable young woman upstairs? In the beginning he’d maintained his distance with Lyssa, because he’d vowed to Justin that he wouldn’t bed her. And then because he realized she was newly sober and just finding her inner strength and direction.
    What was stopping him now? She wanted it. But she was just beginning what promised to be a smashing career, and he would not interfere with that. Even though he wanted them to spend the rest of their lives together.
    He had to concede, with Justin’s plan, in one move she’d have career advancement and live close to her sister. I’ve no right to deny her that .
    He tossed back the last of the cognac and cocked his arm, intending to hurl the glass into the fireplace. Instead, the gleam of firelight on fresh-polished mahogany caught his eye.
    The breath rattled in his throat as he set the snifter firmly on a table and approached the piano. With a glance over his shoulder, he confirmed that the door to the library was shut. His music would not disturb the house.
    It had been a year since he’d played this instrument, since he’d started bringing Lyssa to Cornwall with him. He played often at his flat in London, alone, but not here. Believing she would hate stuffy old classical music, as his first wife had, he’d never played when she was present, never considered taking her to a concert. Victoria had fallen asleep and snored at her first and last concert.
    Kyle ran his fingers over the keys in a few practice scales. God bless Padraig for keeping it tuned.
    Fiona had brought her a fresh pot of tea along with a bag of ice and a towel for her ankle. “Keep that ice on there for half an hour at a time, ’til it’s melted.” As she removed the tray, she gave Lyssa an approving nod. “A good appetite means a good night’s sleep, miss, me mum always said.”
    “Your sandwiches are the best, Fiona.”
    Fiona gave her a little curtsy along with a rosy-cheeked smile. “It’s that good Kerry cheddar we have sent over. There’s none finer.”
    When the door closed behind the housekeeper, Lyssa bandaged her ankle and packed it in ice. She sat with her left knee comfortably bent and her right foot straight out on the window seat.
    Although she heard the wind thrashing the trees and the rain pelting the panes, she saw none of it though her tears. It wasn’t her ankle that hurt, it was her heart, and crying was the only way she could figure to let Kyle go.
    The ice on her ankle had nearly melted when the wind quieted abruptly and the rain ceased. A faint sound reached her—piano music somewhere in the house.
    Brahms . Melancholy, forceful, and passionate in turn. She recognized it as the second rhapsody. Her dad had often played Arthur Rubinstein’s recordings of concertos and shorter piano works. That was the beginning of Lyssa’s love for classical music.
    But this is not the Rubinstein . She knew that recording by heart.
    When one phrase stopped, repeated, stopped and repeated again, she realized it was not even a recording. Unless it’s an old vinyl record and the needle is stuck .
    Curious, she unwrapped her ankle, pulled on her sock, and padded across the room. She barely limped now, thanks to the ice treatment. When she opened her door a crack, strains of the solo Brahms piece floated up the carved-oak stairway and enticed her down.
    The music came from the library, where she’d seen a beautiful, mahogany grand. It has to be Kyle. Reluctant to intrude, she sat sideways on a step, midway down, and hugged her knees.
    He played with passion and authority. The authority she’d seen on the cliff path today, but she’d never heard passion pour from him. I knew it was there .
    When the rhapsody finished, the piano bench squeaked. Paper rustled. At the opening notes of a Bach invention, Lyssa’s tension released. She stretched out her right