Love's Adagio: Chapter 1 and 2

Author's Note:

I've been mulling over the idea of writing a full length Georgie/Tye piece for some time. I finally gave in to that impulse, so here's the start of it. Chapter 1 and 2.

A few thoughts:

1. I hope you all enjoy it. I'm also planning on posting this on the larger austen fansite (that I'm not allowed to name). The posted material will be almost exactly the same on both DWG and the other austen site, although the other Austen site posts will have a slightly higher content rating. I can't start posting at the other site for a few weeks because of their new member posting restrictions, but as soon as I can, I'll put it there too.

2. This will be a do-not-archive story. I promise that I will post the entire story, start to finish, chapter one until the end, both here at DWG and at the other austen site.

You'll also be able to read Love's Adagio in the backlogs of the phorum board once I'm done posting.

If enough people like this, though, I'll probably follow the path of every other fanfiction author on here (seemingly) and put up a self-published copy of Love's Adagio on amazon when the story's done. I will NOT do the traditional publishing option. This would be self published. (I might also follow the same path with the English Night Sky which is currently in the archives and which I wrote a million years ago, if I can summon the will to look at it again).


3. I will NOT self publish the prequel piece, Beautiful Friendship. It'll stay in the DWG archives for whomever wishes to read it. (In my opinion it's too long and unwieldly to chop into novels, and it has so many structural problems, but anyway...I'm glad you all like it). I might eventually repost Beautiful Friendship on the 2nd austen fanfiction site, but right now that idea feels like a lot of work...

4. I tried to write Love's Adagio in a way that people who have not read Beautiful Friendship can still make sense of who these characters are, and their connections to each other. If certain paragraphs seem redundant because you've read the prequel, that's why those paragraphs are in there. Some scenes which have already been written in the Georgie/Tye one-shots, Beautiful Celebrations, Beautiful Music, and Beautiful Moments, may change once I get to those moments in Love's Adagio. Any changes would be designed to be improvements.

5 I post as I write. I plan on posting every other weekend. Next post would be June 3. If I get the next chapter done before that, I'll post it on the nearest weekend.

Also,: this will not be a story where it takes a million chapters for the heroine and the hero to actually get together. It won't be too long before they actually manage to kiss, and once they start to do that there's no stopping them, really.

Anyway, enough of my babbling. I hope you like this!


Chapter 1


Georgiana Darcy was a well-mannered daughter of Pemberley: kindhearted, quietly inquisitive, naturally sensitive. At nineteen, she had very few stories that she couldn't share with her brother Fitzwilliam Darcy, or his wife Elizabeth Darcy.

Tonight, however, was going to be one of those stories.

It was a hot, muggy, verdant June evening. She'd only recently received the marks for her final performances and exams. Georgiana, a music major with a concentration in piano, had won the music department's performance award for her final recital.

As a top ranker in her degree program, she was approached by a student to enjoy a night of London fun with the school's other top performers. The top of the Tompkins table, they called themselves. The Tompkins table was the school's annual university-wide ranking. A large group of those first year students—Marsoc, the Marley Society of Cambridge Scholars ---would be celebrating their success with a rousing trip to London. They were going to a nightclub to see a band: Wickham and the Heartbreakers. It would be grand fun, they said. She should go with them, they told her.

She didn't know any of them. Somehow, she convinced herself that going along with them was a good idea. Her best friend at Cambridge University, Margaret Dashwood, was busy that night with her newest boyfriend and couldn't attend, but Will was always telling her to travel to London to visit him. This would be a good excuse for a visit.

Her plan was to spend a few hours with the Marsoc group, then slip away. There were so many students in the group, they would neither notice nor care about her absence. She planned to take a taxi to her brother's London flat and stay the night. The next day, Saturday, she planned to spend the whole morning with Will and Elizabeth.

Once they reached London, the group headed to a bright, downtown night club. One boy, an economics major, threw his arm around her and offered to buy Georgie her first shot of whiskey.

Georgiana demurred with a small laugh. Unlike Will's Irish wife Elizabeth, Georgie had never fancied whiskey. It was too sharp, and too strong. Elizabeth always said that a swallow of that was a glass full of fire.

“Something sweeter,” said another boy, a geography major. He planted one hand on the edge of the bar, grinning broadly. “Brandy. Or cognac!”

“Well, I've never...cognac?” Georgiana hesitated. Will enjoyed a glass of brandy now and again. Was cognac like brandy?

“Just one drink,” one boy goaded her. “You can't come all this way and not drink something!”

The order of cognac arrived in a pear shaped glass. She sipped it. It was a little sweet, a little bitter, and it held a touch of heat. She was relieved to see the bartender hadn't put much in there. The amber liquid only filled a third of the glass. How much damage could it do, she thought, if she only had a third of a glass?

By the time she reached the end of that glass, she was worrying less about alcohol content and giggling more. One of the boys pulled her onto the dance floor. She always felt silly dancing. Georgie romped around a bit on the dance floor, laughing about the fact that Wickham and the Heartbreakers was a truly dreadful band, but she supposed no one had come here for the quality of the music. When they reached the bar again, hot and thirsty, her dance partner ordered her another drink.

She was giggly after one drink, and tipsy after two. Three glasses of cognac was when the lights seemed brighter, and the night club started to sway. By then, she was too stupidly inebriated to say no to a Geography major's suggestion of a fourth glass of cognac. She barely got halfway through that glass before she slid off the bar stool, helpless and drunk as a skunk.

The Marsoc crew was too busy carousing to care.

She decided then and there that she really didn't like the top of the Tompkins Table. They laughed a lot, but they weren't very nice. She tapped one boy on the shoulder. “I'm leaving for the night."

“Hmm?”

“I'm leaving,” she repeated, shouting over the crowd.

Anxiety was creeping in. Her eyes trained for the blurry, bobbing red exit sign. She stumbled through the crowd diagonally because she couldn't seem to manage progress in a straight line. Then she fumbled to the door.

The next twenty minutes were spent wandering aimlessly down the busy streets. The club was in Leicester Square, one of London's busiest spots. This part of the city never truly slept. There were flashing lights everywhere. Clusters of club-goers wandered past her, toward their next distraction. Taxis zipped by. Georgiana wobbled toward the nearest still object, a bright, flashing sign above a Thai take-away restaurant.

Worried and restless, Georgiana plopped herself on the restaurant stoop. She could sit here for awhile and rest. All of her thoughts felt slow, while she thought her body movements felt too fast.

She could smell food. Spices. Hot oil. Peanut sauce. She should get up, she decided, go inside, and try to decide on her next step. As soon as the world stopped spinning, she would do that. She'd never known it was possible to be both anxious and listless, but here she was. Hunger and nausea, too, warred within her. She bent, letting her head rest against her knees. All she really wanted to do was sleep. Could she sleep here? Was that an option?

A small bell chimed behind her as the restaurant door her opened. She heard footfall on the stoop.

“Probably not the safest place to sleep,” a man's voice announced. Georgiana immediately liked his voice. It was a calm, pleasant, masculine bass. She heard the crunch of concrete-gravel beneath his feet. He moved down a step and knelt beside her.

“Hey,” he murmured. One hand rested lightly on her shoulder. “You need help?”

Slowly, Georgiana's head lifted.

“Bloody hell,” the man muttered. “Georgiana?”

Tye Bertram's familiar, pitch-dark eyes were studying her.

This should have sent shock waves through her. The alcohol, however, had dampened her logic. She had needed help; it seemed the most natural thought in the world at that moment that the someone who helped her would be Tye.

Tye was a musical prodigy, a brilliant classical composer, and a reformed rogue. They'd been friends for years. They wrote back and forth to each other, though she rarely saw him in person. She was at Cambridge; he was teaching in Canada. They had very separate lives. She'd missed him.

"Tye..." Georgiana blearily noticed his rumpled jeans, well-used trainers, and gray-blue t-shirt. In that t-shirt, she could see the long, lean muscle of his arms. She rested one hand on his arm. She'd always loved the sight of his arms. She was drunk enough to nearly say it aloud, too.

Her attention moved up to his face. The eldest son of Mansfield Park was twenty-five now. He was still poetically handsome, with a mouth that seemed both beautiful and dangerous, and dark, absorbing brown eyes. He was keeping his blond hair shorter than he had in his teen years, but he still had an artist's disregard for it, forgetting to cut it until it grew mussed.

She'd loved him for years. She still loved him.

Another wave of nausea hit her. She groaned.

“Georgie...” Tye's hand touched her cheek. He muttered a curse. “Georgie, who did this to you?”

“I needed...Tye...how'd you know I was here?”

“I didn't. I had a late dinner here." There was a stark look in his eyes. "Georgiana, focus. Tell me what happened. Did some guy do this to you? Did some date put something in your drink?”

She forced her next question out. “Why?”

“Because if that's what happened, I need to know whose nose I have to break before I call the police.”

She'd never heard him make such a fierce statement. Georgiana shook her head. No one had done this to her. She'd been the one to make her own stupid choices.

“I did it,” she whispered. The words slurred together. “I drank...with friends...it was...so stupid.”

“Alcohol? Only that? Georgie, sweetheart, open your eyes.” His words stayed firm. “Let me check your pupils.”

He was gentle. Both hands now cradled her head. Her eyes felt so heavy. She forced them open for him. “Just alcohol.”

“Thank God,” he muttered. “Who served you?”

“Mmm...a man in a....black vest. He was very...nice.”

“Yeah, they always are. Alright." Tye exhaled. "Your brother Will lives in London, doesn't he? I have a car parked near here. I'll take you there."

"No!" Panic crested. Her tongue felt fuzzy. "No, no, no....Will's home..."

"Afraid that's the point, Georgie. Will barely trusts me. He'd skewer me with whatever family sword hangs above your fireplace if I don't bring you to him when you're like this."

"No. You can't. No, please. Please. Will's...he'll...would be...so mad..."

She wilted, nestling her body against his. Her dizzy head rested in the crook of his shoulder. She knew her weak plea was filled with trust. Tye let out a quiet curse.

"Will will be so mad....," she continued, dizzy. "Mad...and the baby....I'll wake the baby...please...please don't take me to Will. Please?"

“Your brother loves you.”

“I know, and.." her voice wobbled, "and I love him and Lizzie, and the baby...and...and I love you, Tye. Do you know I--” she sighed, “love...you?"

“Georgie, sweetheart, you'd love Santa Claus himself after what you drank. I can smell the liquor on your breath.” Tye's fingers rubbed gently at her back.

"I feel sick."

"I know. Where do you want to go?”

"With you,” she whispered. “Wherever you are.”

“Georgie,” he reminded her slowly, “I don't live in London. I'm staying at my brother's flat for the weekend, but Edmund's not in town. Do you feel comfortable with that?”

“Hmm....I want to stay with you. Safe till morning...please, Tye?"

Tye inhaled sharply. He was weighing his options: his loyalty to Georgiana against whatever he felt he owed Will Darcy for trusting Tye around Georgiana.

"If your brother finds out about this, he'll kill me," Tye spoke under his breath. His voice strengthened, growing clearer. “My car's not far from the car park. How dizzy are you?"

"Mmm."

"Yeah, I figured." Gently, he drew back, tipping her head up. "Think you can stand up for me, Georgie? Open those sweet brown eyes of yours and look into my eyes."

She could stand. She couldn't, however, walk a straight line. She kept drifting and wobbling. Her balance was off. Tye kept his arms around her, bracing her when she stumbled.

“I'm sorry,” she slurred. “I'm so—so—sorry.”

"Don't worry, Georgie, I've got you."

Georgiana always found Tye an easy person to trust. She took comfort his words, and in the lean strength of his body and the slow, calm pace of his long legs.

The car he brought her to was a small, compact German model.

“Yours?” Georgiana asked once she was inside of it. Her right and left hand were struggling to work in tangent with each other. She kept trying to get the seat belt to click together with the buckle. She couldn't seem to manage it. Tye reached across her.

“Not my car.” Tye's long fingers clicked the buckle firmly together. “It's too clean and the speakers don't work. I've tried to tell Edmund to invest in a good pair of speakers.”

“Tye...” she sighed.

“Yep?”

“Will you play something for me when we get home? Just for me?” Georgiana opened her eyes, offering him a heavy-lidded look. The question was breathy. “Something soft...slow....”

There was something about the way she was looking at him right now—or maybe it was her delivery of the question—that completely disarmed him. Tye's face went very still. He inhaled again.

“Hell,” he muttered to himself, “nineteen. She's only nineteen and she's drunk, Tye. Ignore it.”

He turned away from her, buckling up and pushing his key into the ignition. His next comment was louder. “Georgie, listen...if you're feeling sick right now, it'll get worse once the car starts moving. If you need me to pull over, say the word and I will, okay?”

She nodded and shivered. She felt like a dozen contradictions: hot and cold, hungry for him, nauseous, giddy, anxious. If this was what drunkenness felt like, she hated it.

The stop-and-go traffic in downtown London was a struggle. Nausea threatened again. Tye rolled down the window, letting the soft summer air drift into the car. He told her it was alright if she got sick. He let her rest her head on his shoulder and told her to breathe deep.

By the time he reached their destination and parked, the world was spinning. Tye shut the engine off.

Edmund's flat was in a square, stately Tudor building. It had a gabled roof. A line of emerald green hedgerows skirted it. The lamp by the door glowed a warm, friendly gold.

It was a lovely, safe building on a quiet block. The marquee said Northem House—or at least, she thought that's what it said. She blamed the cognac for the fact that the words looked like a blurry, nearly unreadable fuzz.

“I'm so....dizzy...” she whispered, wishing she could curl up and sleep here in the car for the rest of the night. She pressed a hand to her temple. She'd managed to avoid being sick for the duration of the trip. If she stood up too quickly, she'd throw up. “I'm not this person...Tye. I'm not.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Tye said softly. “We'll go slowly. Put your arms around my neck. I can carry you up.”













Georgiana woke up safe, alone, in a light-filled bedroom. She was drooling on a stranger's fluffy white pillow. Great.

Someone had pulled white sheets and a blanket over her. In her inebriated sleep, she'd kicked both down, rolling to the edge of the bed until she'd nearly fallen off it.

Her body felt so stiff. She patted drowsily at her clothing, unsure of what garments she was or wasn't wearing. Her shoes were off but she still wore last night's outfit: a girlish blue-jean skirt, and a loose green t-shirt with the word Tosca silk-screened across it. Her skin smelled like cognac and sweat. Her head hurt. One of her diamond teardrop earrings had fallen off. She rolled over, searching for it. She found the object swimming in the white sheets around her. Her long, curly brown hair was tangled.

Tye carried me to bed. This was the first logical thought that surfaced in her mind. She'd wanted him for so many years. She still wanted him. Her mind, making sense of last night's fuzzy details, was already deciding this was the most significant event of the evening.

For a very a brief period last night, she'd been curled against him. She remembered feeling the warmth of his body, and hearing the hammer of his heart in his chest.

Georgiana sat up, woozy, clinging to that one detail even as embarrassment flooded into her. She'd daydreamed about waking up in Tye's bed since she was old enough to even have those sorts of daydreams. What a way to do it.

This isn't Tye's bed, she reminded herself. It's not Tye's apartment. It's Edmund's bed, Edmund's apartment. Tye said he's only here for the weekend..

He never made a habit of staying long. Tye's family was based in Mansfield Park, England. His father, wealthy shipping magnet Sir Titus Bertram, was domineering. His mother was emotionally distant, and heavily prescription-drug dependent. Tye had always described Mansfield Park as the world's coldest mausoleum. His father had exploited Tye's gifts all through his teen years, turning a blind eye when Tye used alcohol to cope with the pressures of performing.

Now sober, Tye lived and worked in Canada, shunning the glare of the world's spotlight. He taught music at a local university and composed symphonies solely for himself--and piano concertos for Georgiana, too, when inspiration struck him.

What's Tye doing in London? How long will he be here?

All these were thoughts she hadn't been coherent enough to think about last night.

Edmund's bedroom was clean and spare. It smelled like lemon soap. There was a large bookshelf filled with philosophy books and Bibles, and a lovely ash cross above the door. On the bedside table was a full glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. Beneath the glass was a hand-written note.

Georgie,

I'm working in the living room. Call for me if you need me.

Tye


Georgiana took the aspirin and the water. Did she need him? Need was such a subjective term. Tye was a trusted friend. She saw him so rarely. She wanted to take what she could get while they were in the same city together.

“Tye?” Her voice was raspy, as if she'd spent last night shouting.

Tye had good ears. He heard her call. The flat was so quiet that she could hear the creak of the floorboards as he walked from the living room, down the hall, toward Edmund's bedroom. He tapped twice at the door before coming in.

In the light of day, with a sober mind, Tye's presence left Georgiana's heart skipping. He wore a white linen, button down shirt, and slouchy khaki trousers. He was handsome in ways that seemed perfectly tailored to her taste: from his lanky, graceful frame, to his dark, intelligent eyes. He had such an easy way of entering a room—more of a stroll than a stride.

Tye halted at the foot of the bed, his hands hanging in his pockets. His dark, knowing eyes met hers.

“How's the headache?”

“Better than last night...” Warmth rushed into her cheeks. “It hurts, but it's a different kind of headache. At least I don't feel like I'm going to float away like a balloon.”

Tye nodded. “Sounds about right.”

He was here. They were alone. She started to fidget, fussing with the sheets around her. “I'm sorry I—I made such a mess of your night, Tye...I was a mess...and I made...I made you look after me...”

She couldn't think of what else to say. Her prolonged silence made Tye stroll closer.

“Hey,” he whispered, “Georgie, look at me. We're friends, aren't we? We've been friends for a long time.”

She looked up. "Yes," she said softly.

“You know me. You know my indiscretions. You know how many mornings I've woken up to my own poor decisions. I promise you, Georgie, I've done a lot worse, more often, and a hell of a lot more thoroughly. In fact, there's probably not a bad idea out there that I already haven't done. You know that, don't you?"

She wasn't ignorant to that---or how broad the word 'indiscretion' was by his standards. Her hand touched at her warming neck. "Yes."

"Right." His gaze stayed serious. "Was that your first time getting drunk?”

“Yes. It was the first time.”

“Alcohol's a beast, Georgie. I know that you're older than eighteen. By the bartender's standards, you're legal to drink. I have to warn you against making a habit of this, though.”

“I won't." The promise rushed out of her. She knew it was the truth. She was never going through any of this again. Once was enough. “That was my last time getting drunk, Tye, I swear. I was so terribly foolish last night. I didn't stop and think. I didn't say no. I just kept dancing and ordering, and that silly band, Wickham and the Heartbreakers, kept playing. Anything might have happened to me last night. I couldn't even walk straight. Someone might have hurt me. I might have wandered into the road and been hit by a car, or---”

“You didn't,” he interrupted.

"But I might have." Georgiana pushed her curly hair back. Maybe it came from losing her parents at such a young age, but she'd never struggled to come up with the world's worst scenarios for what could have, might have, or might one day happen. "What if you hadn't found me? What if I'd gotten hurt, or worse, and Will didn't know what happened to me?"

“Georgie, you could drive yourself nuts with what-ifs. It didn't happen. You're fine. You're safe."

"But--"

"Listen, Georgie, retrospective panic will get you nowhere. It was a dangerous situation, but you've learned from it. I know you're disappointed in yourself, but until you corner the market on perfect decisions, you'll have to learn to move past that. None of us are perfect, least of all me.”

“Tye, you rescued me.” Georgiana pushed to the edge of the bed. “My brother would see it that way. He'd thank you for helping me, for taking care of me, for bringing me some place safe...”

“I think thank you would be low on your brother's list for me, Georgie.” Tye let out a quick, embarrassed laugh. “Especially if he learns we spent the night together.”

The phrase stilled her. They were two young adults in a quiet bedroom and an empty flat. The opportunity for complications existed. It shouldn't have surprised her that Tye—a little older, a little more mature—would speak the words first. At nineteen and twenty-five, the distance between felt like such a small bridge, at least in her mind.

“If he worries about it—if he ever asks,” Tye rubbed his jaw, “tell him the truth. I was past due for a night sleeping on Edmund's couch. This is a good neighborhood, and I kept the doors locked. I'll always try to keep you safe, Georgiana. That's important to me. I can hardly think of anything more important.”

“Safe,” Georgiana repeated, dazed. Her head still hurt. She knew a deeper conversation lingered beneath the surface of their words. She just didn't know how to move the conversation into that direction. “I always feel safe with you.”

His smile came easier. A dimple hinted at the edge of his mouth. “Good. Look, Georgie, I know you can't be feeling great. There are clean towels in Edmund's bathroom, if you want a shower?”

"Right. That'd be nice. I think I can manage that. Um...what are you doing in London, anyway?"

"A meeting with my booking agent. We're negotiating the terms of a contract."

Those sorts of meetings were rare for Tye, not because he lacked offers, but because he lacked the desire to perform. If he'd come to London for that, than it was an offer he was seriously considering. "Something for this year?"

"Late autumn, possibly."

"Well, I hope it brings you back here soon."

"Yeah," he said softly. "Me too."

Georgiana pushed until her bare feet touched the hardwood floor. Swiftly, she stood.

Too quickly. The hangover left her aching body weak. Her balance failed her. Tye moved quickly, his right hand snagging her elbow, his left hand grabbing her waist. She stumbled, falling into his arms.

Neither moved. She was against his chest, close enough to smell his cool, subtle aftershave. Tye's hands shifted around her waist. He breathed deep. She could feel that movement, and the hard tension in his body, and strength in his arms. She'd never felt this tension from him before. She felt it now: no longer her own one sided craving, finally an electric give-and-take. Heat was building quickly between them.

At least she was sober enough to enjoy it.

“Easy. I wouldn't go too fast." The words rumbled in Tye's throat. She saw a warning in his dark eyes. “Not after the night you've had.”

Georgiana bit her lip, nodding. She wondered if he meant that comment in more ways than one. Slowly, his fingers slid from her. She moved past him, heading toward the bathroom in the hall. She heard Tye's movements as he returned to his composition in the living room. They would ignore whatever new chemistry was blooming between them and return to their own lives.

For now.







Chapter Two


Tye,

It snowed recently, our first snowfall this winter. It turns Cambridge into a fairytale kingdom. The leaded glass windows are glazed with ice. Snow covers the towers. The familiar cobblestone streets look hidden and mysterious.

I was thinking of you, far away in snowy Canada, and how England's occasional snowfall might seem strange after all these years living abroad. Soon you'll be a resident of France. I know it's one of the best opera houses in the world, but the Palais is lucky to have you as a conductor there.

Paris is still far away from Cambridge, but we'll be living closer to each other than we have in years. I can't wait.

Yours,
Georgiana


Twenty-six year old Tye was reading this letter for the third time when he heard a knock on his cabin door. He folded the note carefully, tucked it into his back pocket, and strode to the door.

There was a buxom blonde on his doorstep. More confusingly, she looked ready for a night out. She wore tights and lacy, stoplight red dress that belied the heavy snow covering the mountainous region around them. White-blonde hair, as straight as a pin, brushed her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed.

“Tina...” He couldn't mask the bewildered note in his voice.

“Hello, Tye.” Tina's smile was bright. “I thought you'd like a little company? We won't have another chance, what with you leaving Monday...” Tina was a resident in the cottage down the road---if one considered a ten mile drive over rough terrain to be “down the road”.
"I hope you don't mind that I picked afternoon to feel neighborly and visit?"

“Yeah, I mean...” He hesitated. He'd intended to spend his day re-tooling the last movement in his newest symphony. The symphony's transition motif displeased him, and he wanted to add arpeggios into the coda. “Come in.”

“I can't believe you're leaving.” Tina sighed. “It's a big change.”

Tye nodded. He was finally ready for that. His time in Canada had been necessary. It had helped him learn what life as a recovering alcoholic looked like for him. He'd learned how to function in sobriety. He'd rediscover his love for music, and his love for life.

No man was an island, though. He couldn't say no to the Palais's offer to conduct and compose in Paris. The salary was more than generous, and they'd been responsive to his list of restrictions. He couldn't say no to it.

He was having a harder and harder time saying no to Georgiana Darcy, too.

"I've always liked this cabin," said Tina. "It's so...rustic."

"Yeah, I like it," he confirmed. It was a simple space, exhibiting the history of the local area. A hand-knotted Algonquin rug stretched across the wood floorboards. The couch was masculine blue fabric. There was a small coffee table here, and a desk for him to compose at; both were woodcraft furniture. A frontier-era ironwork grate covered the fireplace and colonial candlesticks sat on the mantle.

There was no internet connection. No noise from the outside world. The space was quiet. The only view from the windows was a line of evergreen trees and jagged, snowy mountains.

He watched Tina's hands move across his desk, her small fingers flitting over white paper and pen.

“You write letters?”

Tye's thumbs hooked on his belt loops. “Sometimes.”

Tina picked up a framed photo on the edge of his desk. It was one picture amongst a cluster of other frames. Somehow she'd guessed correctly which one he seemed to look at most in the past six months: the photo of Georgiana standing on one of Cambridge's patrician green lawns. In the picture, she was wearing jeans and a Cambridge sweatshirt. She'd looked directly into the camera, her subtle smile curving into a beautiful grin.

“Who's this woman?”

“Her name's Georgiana Darcy.”

“Georgiana. You've mentioned her before,” said Tina. “You never mentioned how beautiful she is.”

Tye scratched at the edge of his jaw. He knew that Georgiana was a beautiful girl. She had the most incredible cascade of chocolate brown hair that he'd ever seen. Her eyes were soft, amber brown. Her features were classically fine-boned. Her skin held a lovely golden warmth.

She'd grown into a gorgeous woman. Any man, with any yardstick, could admit to it.

He didn't know why speaking that thought aloud made him tense. “She's a good friend.”

“Will you be seeing her again when you move back?”

“Briefly. I'll go to Cambridge to teach for a few days before I head to France.”

The session he'd agreed to teach was a master class. Cambridge had been trying to peg an honorary doctorate on him for years. The idea of pomp and circumstance always made his collar tight, and few institutions liked both those things more than Cambridge. He finally caved to the notion, but only because he knew it would please Georgie. She'd been begging for him to come visit her at Cambridge for years.

His plan was to fly to England, teach for a few days, see her, and then head to Paris to settle in for a long term position teaching and conducting at the Palais =.

Tina set the photo down.

He watched her cautiously. Her attention turned toward another stack of papers. Hand written sheet music. She couldn't decipher the notes, the bars. Still, seeing her touch it made him draw closer.

“You can leave those where they are.”

Tina's smile became playful. “Proprietary?”

With a casual movement, Tye slid his sheet music beneath a half-written letter. “About music, yes.”

"Just music?" She turned, letting her body brush his. “I'm going to miss know you're down the road, Tye.”

“Change happens, Tina," he said. When she placed her hands on his upper arms, he felt his shoulders tense up. “What happened to that guy you've been going with? Joe?”

“I've split with Joe.”

He'd guessed that the moment she waltzed in here and draped herself on his desk. “Sorry to hear it.”

“Nice of you to say so.”

Tye guessed his time was up for feigning ignorance about the bowling-ball sized pass she was lobbing his way. “Look, Tina--”

Her arms snaked up to his neck. “I've always thought you were nice. You looked lonely, too. Living out here, all alone like a monk...”

A laugh pushed out of him. Of all the terms he never thought would apply to him, monk was at the top of his list.

“You don't know my past, Tina. I'm no monk.”

“Happy to hear it. Tye.” Before he could comment further, she tiptoed, catching his lips with her mouth.

Meaningless sex was a vice he'd abandoned on the same day that he'd given up alcohol. He'd been celibate for years, avoiding dating, avoiding entanglements, avoiding even the smallest tokens of intimacy.

He wouldn't sleep with Tina. He knew that.

His body couldn't help but react to the warmth of a willing, warm person kissing him, though. Tina was a pretty girl. Just because he was abstinent, didn't make him dead. It had been a long time since he'd kissed anyone.

He told himself it'd be rude to shove her off too quickly. He was single. Tina was single. They were both adults, and all these years of self-restraint were good for his soul but exhausting for his body. He'd take this kiss for what it was, and then he would gently pull back, politely thank her for the very friendly goodbye, and lead her out the door.

That brilliant plan worked for a whole half a minute. Tina was enthusiastic. As the kiss heated up, he couldn't control mind where his mind wandered to.

A sense memory of the last woman he'd held in his arms was pushing into his mind. He remembered honey gold skin. A cascade of brown hair. A lithe, hot body, tight against his pounding chest. He remembered the downy softness of her, and the heat that he'd felt poring through her thin cotton t-shirt.

Tye's mind wandered further now than it had a year ago. He wondered how quickly his body would have reacted if Georgie's hand had slipped under his t-shirt and sought his own warm skin.

Tye broke the kiss with rude, rapid swiftness.

“Bloody hell,” Tye said. Here he was kissing Tina, while his mind conjured a vivid fantasy about—Georgiana Darcy?

“Well, that's one way to put it,” Tina said breathlessly. “It knocked my socks off, too. Tye, if I'd known what a good kisser you were, I wouldn't have wasted so much time on Joe.”

“Tina--” His hands braced her before she could step closer. “Tina, no...”

A crestfallen look crossed Tina's pretty face. “Tye, you wanted me. If that kiss was anything to go by, it was very obvious.”

Bloody hell. The need he'd felt had been obvious to him too, but it wasn't a need for Tina. He'd been a true rogue once, but he'd never been guilty of fantasizing about kissing one woman while he was kissing another. Guilt stabbed sharply enough that the next words out of his mouth were, “I'm really sorry, Tina.”

Her blue eyes were bewildered. “Sorry?”

“Yeah.” Rehab had been a crash course in self awareness and honesty. He'd been practicing both for years. “It wouldn't have meant anything."

"You wanted me," she repeated firmly. "I felt it."

"I wanted---someone," he admitted quietly, "but I won't use you as a substitute, Tina. That's not fair to any of us."

If he'd wanted a way to end up alone, this was certainly a fast way to do it. Now she understood. Desire quickly flamed out of her eyes. "Oh." Her gaze shifted from him to the photo on the desk, and back again. "The woman in the picture?"

"It's not--it isn't---" Tye ran a restless hand through his hair. Desire had roared through him so swiftly, and the image of Georgiana in his mind was so clear. Even if he'd felt that tug toward her in the last year, he'd never let his mind linger on the notion. At the moment, he struggled to get the thought out of his head. "It's complicated."

"That bad, huh?" she said. He was surprised by the sympathy that swelled in Tina's voice. "To be honest, I don't think I'm over Joe, either. I drove all this way, and I do have a few hours to spare. Do you have any tea?"

"I have coffee." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Black coffee."

"Well, I think that'll work just fine. Why don't I take a seat while you tell me all about this Georgiana Darcy?"