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“Armonica, not harmonica. ‘Tis the Italian word for harmony.”

An enticing smile of delight lit Elizabeth’s green eyes as she pushed down on the floor pedal and the graduated-size glass bowls began to spin.

Delicate, sweet, ethereal music emanated forth. A sound beyond that of any other he had ever heard.

Philip stared at Elizabeth’s slender hands, captivated by the enchantingly light, high tones, and the eerie, spine tingling low tones that dissipated into the air, lingering there long after she had stopped playing.

“Are those high notes not celestial, like the voices of angels?”

Philip nodded. “A magical voice indeed.”

She was as magical as her music.

Standing over her, he inhaled the clean scent of her hair and the faint aroma of rose water.

He had the sudden urge to rest his cheek upon her head; to feel the softness of her silver locks against his skin.

His gaze lowered.

Her low-cut dress revealed up-tilted breasts, which rose and fell rapidly with each breath.

“Wouldst thou allow me?” He moved around the instrument to stand beside her.

She pushed away the embroidered bench and stood, allowing him to sit. “The greatest difficulty for beginners lies in the touching.”

‘Twould be his pleasure to show her how and where to touch him.


Her shout yanked his thoughts from the bedchambers and to the present.

Leaning across him she grabbed his hand before he had a chance to touch the instrument.

He stared transfixed as she placed his finger into a basin of water.

“First, you must wash your hands to remove any oils that may be on your skin.”

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