Beatles Imagines

38. Paul p.1

The dance had died down in such a rapid manner I did not doubt it would be dark and barren in a moment's time; servants were already blowing out candles from the chandeliers. I knew that I should've retired for the night, for work was to be long and tiresome in the day to come, but I couldn't bring myself to begin the tread back home. My worn shoes remained glued to the ground as I heard a mystery man bleed his heart out over the piano.

I saw him from across the room, a worn blue velvet coat adorning his lanky figure. He was slumped over a piano stool, and his fingers danced gracefully across white ivory. I hummed the familiar tune of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

There was something ethereal about him; his face glowed beautifully in candle-light and his eyes were so soft and bright it would seem as though that they were made from sunlight itself. If I were to reach my palm out, I was sure to singe my fingertips on the warmth that radiated from him.

I had watched him over the course of the evening, and sometimes we made eye contact, but I was ever too bashful to approach him. Instead, I watched him move vivaciously in a crowd of people, dancing with more bejeweled women than I could count. As the night grew tiresome and languid, his blithe stupor began to sober up. By the end up the night, he seemed lonesome, with only his own entertainment to keep him preoccupied.

"Are you here to critique my playing?" An amused voice piped up, drawing me out from the depths of my thoughts.

A dumbfounded expression crossed my face as I realized that blue-coat was now turned towards me, his phosphorescent eyes piercing into my very plain ones.

"No, I uhm..."

"Are you Lady Kentsworth? If so, I'm sorry for intruding on your estate, I hope you can forgive me. I'll be on my way in a moment's time once I acquire my hat from the rack, if you'll pardon me." He rambled in an embarrassed manner, standing abruptly from his spot.

"Oh, there's no need to fret, I'm not." I responded hastily, wondering how he could mistake my tattered dress as the madame of the household. "I was just listening to your playing. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, how sweet relief is! I was surely going to perish from mortification if were to be booted by the gentry." He laughed breathily, his sultry voice complimented his features well.

The man sat down on the bench once again and peered up at me through his long eyelashes as if he were analyzing me. His piercing eyes darted around my features as though he were playing an intricate piano piece with them. My cheeks grew warm in realization, and I briefly peered down the hall.

"What are you doing here at this hour? It is half past one."

"I could ask you the same." I quipped with excitement in my voice, my eyes darting back to meet his once again in an almost challenging manner.

"You're a feisty creature, aren't you?"

"I'm not quite sure."

"Is that so?" He furrowed his eyebrows in question, as a small, angelical smile appeared on his face. "Well, feisty creature of the night, what do you think of my playing?"

I smiled at the nickname and swept a stray hair that had fallen from my updo behind my ear. I had no question as to how he managed to make so many women swoon; his flirtatious words were compelling enough to make anyone's knees buckle.

"I thought it to be exquisite, actually."

"You'd not thought it to be sloppy?"