“But I joined the army at eighteen, and here I am.”
“No doubt leaving a wake of bereaved females behind you,” she said, laughing.
“No,” he answered.
“But surely—”
“Enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”
But she didn’t want to talk about herself. “Captain, I don’t understand any of this.”
“Nor do I understand much about you.”
For the most part he’d been polite to her over the few days she’d known him. Save for the few moments when she’d thought he meant to force her to lie with him, she’d felt in no danger, but now it seemed rather odd that he’d never so much as kissed her hand. And that now with her sitting so close to him, his hand had never strayed. “Your father had to hire someone to introduce you to women because by inclination you are not interested in them?”
“My father didn’t have to hire Toby.”
“All right, then. He chose to hire Toby. That’s not the point. The point is whether you’re interested in women or not.”
“Whose point?”
“My point!” she snapped at him. “Are you or are you not?”
“Not what?”
“Interested in women, you idiot.”
“Interested in women as opposed to what?”
She started to speak, then stopped. “You’re not going to answer me, are you?”
“Who was the man in your tent after your first performance? Who hired Sam and Frank and the delightful Miss Honey?”
“Is she the type of woman you like?”
“Do all the men you like smoke cigars and hide in tents? What makes you so violently opposed to having an army escort? Why do you pretend to be a duchess? What happened to your brooch? Where does your family live? Who—”
“All right!” She laughed. “You win. How about if I teach you a little about singing?”
“I would like you to sing for me,” he said softly.
“No, not sing for you. Teach you. Now, listen.” She sang a single note. “That’s B flat.” She sang another note. “C. This is F sharp.”
“The one Patti can’t sing?”
“What an annoyingly good memory you have. Now, listen while I put them together. See if you can hear the difference.”
“C, F sharp, B flat,” he said.
“Very, very good. I’ll add more notes.” She sang
more notes for him, put them together, and each time he could tell her what she’d sung. “Perfect pitch,” she said. “You can identify the notes perfectly. You have perfect pitch. Did you know this?”
“Never gave it a thought. No one in my family knows anything about music.”
“Sing me a song,” Maddie demanded.
“You’ve slain no dragons for me.”