Prudence did the same from a safe distance.
What she found was remarkable. It was him...and it wasn’t.
There was no denying those dark eyes, that sharp jawline, the narrow, aquiline nose, or those cheekbones that hinted at a heritage she could not quite place.
There was something beautifully exotic about him, with his thick, dark hair and his tall, lean build. He’d always stood apart from any crowd, and at this moment she would have recognized him anywhere, even if a few years of aging had given him a bit more of a mature look.
No, he looked exactly the same as she remembered. But his demeanor…
Well, this was new.
Gone was the roguish, disreputable rake with the languid air, the hooded eyes, and the ever present smirk. In his place was a dignified, upright, superior sort of man.
The kind of man her aunt adored. One who cast young ladies such as herself a derisive glance before turning their allegiance and respect to whomever held the most power.
In this case—in most cases—that meant her great aunt.
“I assure you, I will have your niece ready in time for her next performance,” he was saying in that low voice of his. Although rather than that smug, sarcastic tone she’d always despised, his voice now was filled with reverence and respect.
“Be sure that you do,” Aunt Eleanore snapped. “Your reputation precedes you, Lord Damian. But if you cannot deliver as promised, I shall be forced to let my friends know that your talents have been exaggerated.”
He dipped his head low in acknowledgment, showing none of the fear that many would in his position, but none of that galling bravado either.
Prudence’s eyes narrowed further. What was he about? Had he truly changed so very much? Had he matured into this man she saw before her or was this some sort of act?
Mistrust had her pinching her lips to keep from asking him outright, something she would certainly have done if her aunt were not here in the room with them.
His gaze flicked past Aunt Eleanor and clashed with hers, and that was when she saw it clear as day.
His mockery. His silent laughter at her expense.
Oh, nothing had changed in his outward demeanor, but she didn’t need it to. She knew. She could see right through this act of his and the fact that her great aunt was fooled—and she surely was because even now she was walking out of the room and leaving them alone together, telling the butler to leave the door open and stay close, but otherwise leaving them alone.
Together.
Something she could not name had her heart racing in her chest. Or maybe it wasn’t something but several things. She could not tell if what she was feeling was panic, fear, disgust, or anger.
She suspected it was all of the above.
His gaze held hers as her aunt threw out one last parting shot to Prudence about trying her best or not bothering to join her for supper.
Prudence flinched slightly but waited to breathe again until her aunt left the room and a sudden silence filled the air in her wake.
All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing in the muffled room with its thick carpeting and outdated, oversized furniture that used to make her feel like a human visiting a giant’s kingdom when she was a child.
She couldn’t recall ever seeing Damian in this room or in this house, despite their long acquaintance. Perhaps that was why she found it so unsettling. His presence here felt ominous...and that was before he opened his mouth.
“And so we meet again, Pru.”
She frowned. “It’s Miss Pottermouth.”
He arched a brow and….there he was. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened. The transformation was remarkable. As if a curtain was drawn back, she found herself facing the boy who’d terrorized her youth with his merciless teasing and his awful pranks.
“I’ve called you Pru for years,” he said, his eyes dancing with mirth. “And now so formal?”
She pinched her lips together. He was baiting her. This time—for once—she wouldn’t fall for it. “We were children then. Times have changed.”
“Ah.” He clapped a hand over his heart. “And here I’d hoped you’d call me Damian once more and we could rekindle our childhood intimacy.”
She scowled. “We were never intimate.”
He gave his head a woeful shake. “And more’s the pity.”
She opened her mouth. She closed her mouth. “What are you on about?” Planting her hands on her hips, she eyed him as he’d been studying her. “And what is with this music tutor nonsense? Surely your uncle doesn’t approve—”
“I have my uncle’s full support,” he interrupted.
She narrowed her eyes. He seemed to be telling the truth.
But then again, unlike her, his guardian had always been kind and supportive. No doubt this was why he’d also been so disobedient as a child.
As though he could read her thoughts, his eyes narrowed and his lips twitched with a mocking smirk. “What’s wrong, Pru? Worried I’ll cause you trouble?”
“I would not put it past you.”
He laughed. “You can rest assured, my days of hijinx and pranks are well behind me.”
“I see. Now you merely act the part of the proper young gentleman while you weasel your way into the private rooms of the ton’s most eligible young ladies.”
His brows shot up in surprise and the flickering look in his eyes was a mix of irritation and admiration—which precisely summed up the way he’d always treated her. Even as a child he could not seem to determine whether she was a worthy adversary or merely a pest.
He recovered quickly, a sinister smile replacing his smirk as he strode toward her, not stopping until he was so close she could feel his heat. “Is that what worries you, Pru?” He glanced down, taking in her modest, perhaps slightly frumpy morning gown, and moving up to eye her tidy but practical hairstyle. “I assure you, you have nothing to fear on that front.”
She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes...but a dreadful heat rose up in her neck, no doubt leaving her decolletage a mottled, ugly sight as his meaning registered.
She had nothing to fear because she was not attractive enough to warrant his attentions.
Tilting her chin up higher, she sniffed. “Good. I’m glad we are clear.”
His dark eyes flashed, and for a moment she was nearly knocked sideways because something passed between them. An understanding, perhaps. The wicked banter and the unpleasant insinuations fell away and for a moment it was just Pru and Damian.
And in that moment, in his eyes, she caught something alarmingly like guilt. Maybe regret. There and gone so fast she nearly missed it.
“Are you ready then, Miss Pottermouth?” He said her name mockingly.
She wasn’t entirely sure what prompted her to do it, but she shot back with, “After you, Damian.”
His eyes flared wide with surprise and amusement before he led them toward the music room. For a moment, her dislike for Damian was forgotten. It was drowned out by dread.
That dread grew to panic as they entered the large, wood-paneled room with its oriental rug and the ferns that added little life to the stale, memory-filled room.
He turned as he reached the pianoforte. “Now then, Miss Pottermouth, where shall we beg—” He stopped abruptly as he faced her. “Pru?”
His brows drew down in an expression she’d never seen from him before—and she’d thought she’d catalogued his every smirk, smile, and sneer.
But this didn’t fall into any of those categories. This was a frown. And frowns made him look different. They made him seem more mature, more serious.
And that look in his eyes?
Was that…?
She couldn’t be certain.
And then it didn’t matter because the room was spinning. That panicky sensation giving way to a sick feeling that was enhanced a million times over by the familiar scent of this room, with its wood polish and that musty stench from the curtains.
“Miss Potte
r—oh curse it. Pru, are you all right?”
The room ceased spinning just long enough for her to catch sight of the concern in his eyes.
Concern. Now that was definitely a new look from this man.
That was the last thought she had before she lost all sight and the room went dark.
4
Damian’s heart stopped when Prudence collapsed.
Instinct had him rushing over to her and catching her just before her head made contact with the floor. But now he was stuck holding her in an awkward grip, half crouching and half kneeling as he attempted to gently lower her weight.
He might not like Prudence but he had no wish to see her harmed.
In fact, the sight of her lying prostrate like this, all vulnerable and fragile and—
Pfft. He let out a little scoff of rueful amusement. Fragile? Prudence? Hardly. The girl was a force of nature.
And yet…
He tapped her cheek gently, her head lolling in his lap as he adjusted to make her comfortable. Should he call for assistance?
Most likely.
He stared down at her features, so sweet when they weren’t pinched in distaste or pursed with judgement. So surprisingly...pretty.
He frowned down at her as he felt for her pulse at her neck. Steady. Her chest was rising and falling normally.
He was no doctor but she seemed to have merely fainted. And truth be told, the last thing he wanted was another run-in with her great aunt. More importantly, he had no desire to give the Dowager Demon another reason to criticize poor Pru.
Poor Pru. He exhaled loudly in exasperation. He’d never felt sorry for this girl before and he wasn’t keen on the feeling. More, he had a suspicion that she would hate it if she knew he was pitying her.
But he couldn’t quite shake the sight of her when she’d been bearing the brunt of her aunt’s harsh words. Even from behind he could see it, the way her normally rigid posture seemed to slump beneath her aunt’s criticisms. And when she’d turned, he’d seen it in her eyes. The sort of weary resignation he’d never thought to see in someone so rigidly sure of herself and the world around her.
“Come on, Pru, wake up.” He shook her shoulder gently. “Wake up for me, Prudence.”
Her eyes fluttered open, her long lashes a dark sweep against her pale cheek.
She was rather pretty. Which was disturbing. At what point had priggish Prudence Pottermouth become pretty?
He frowned. He wasn’t sure he liked this change in her. She’d always been plain. A bit on the plump side, with forgettable features and frumpy clothes.
He eyed her now. All peaceful like this, he could see her with new eyes. Those features were exactly the same, but without a scowl, they weren’t plain at all.
And she was still not slim, but how had he ever found her to be plump? She was curvaceous. Luscious, even.
He tore his gaze away, back to her face.
But the clothes...those were still frumpy. If she wore something fitted, she might actually be appealing.
He felt a smirk forming as he eyed her lips, which had a perfect cupid’s bow when she wasn’t frowning.
He imagined how she’d respond if he told her that she was appealing to members of the opposite sex. She’d slap him for his impertinence, no doubt.
Her eyes shot open and he was caught grinning down at her.
She blinked, her pupils dilating as her gaze focused on him. With lightning fast movements, her eyes flickered to the left and right, up and down, taking in him and her surroundings.
He saw the moment her current position became clear to her.
“Oh! What am I...why am I…?” She didn’t bother to answer before rolling sideways off his lap, landing on all fours with all the grace and charm of a feral cat.
“Feeling better, I see.” He brushed off his pants and came to stand, reaching a hand down to help her up. She ignored it.
“What did I…?” She cut herself off and her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. “Oh dear.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Do you often faint, Miss Pottermouth? Or was it my company that made you swoon?”
Her lips pinched together and he just barely held back a laugh. She was just too easy to tease.
And besides, he’d discovered only today that he far preferred an irritated Pru to a pitiable one, and he suspected she felt the same.
Her gaze dropped but her chin went up as she stiffened her spine and clasped her hands together before her. “I apologize.”
He gave a snort of amusement. “Apologize? You?”
Her gaze flicked up to meet his as her brows drew down. “A proper gentleman would ease my discomfort and pretend this never happened.”
“Yes, well, this gentleman thinks an apology is ridiculous. It wasn’t as though you intended to fall at my feet.” He found far too much enjoyment in the way her blush spread. “Or did you?”
She blinked in surprise, her brows arching. “Pardon me?”
“Admit it.” He took a few steps toward her, feeling more alert and alive than he had in...oh, ages. Funny, he’d always despised this girl but he’d forgotten how diverting it could be to tease her. “You were looking for a way to wind up in my arms.”
She smacked his arm so quickly it made his head jerk back, with such force that he found himself cradling his left bicep. “Was that really necessary?”
“Yes.” She tilted her chin up with such dignity, one would never imagine that she’d been strewn across his lap, limp as a rag doll not two minutes prior. “How else will you learn to behave?” She added a sniff for good measure.
He stared at her, torn between a laugh and a shout of exasperation. What came out was a choking sound that had her frowning at him anew.
“Why are you so amused?” she asked, her tone wary.
He shook his head, shaking off his surprise in the process. “Merely shocked to find that you are in favor of corporal punishment.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I will keep that in mind during our lessons.”
She blinked and a second later she jerked back as if just now realizing how close they were standing.
Close enough that he could see how pale she was and the shadows beneath her eyes. His eyes narrowed on her. “Are you well?” He frowned. “Have you been eating?”
Her lips curved into a sneer. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”
His brows drew together in confusion. “Pardon?”
“Nevermind.” She looked away and then turned back, suspicion replacing whatever emotion had been there. Something he couldn’t quite place. Something that seemed almost like embarrassment, but that couldn’t be right.
“You have not changed at all, have you?” She didn’t seem to expect an answer. Her gaze slid over him with the sort of judgement that always made him bristle.
It was a look that said he’d been catalogued, weighed, assessed, and found wanting. She’d always looked at him thus, ever since his uncle had taken him in. As though she could see right past his uncle’s title he was set to inherit and straight through to his less than perfect bloodline.
Oh, he’d been born on the right side of the blanket, but that was about the only thing his parents had done right. His father had married for love, not caring a whit that his wife was of gypsy blood and that by marrying her and bearing a child they would be forever on the outside of society.
Not caring, that is, until he was forced to live as an outsider, with all the whispers and scandal that came with it. And while his uncle had done his best to put the gossip to rest after the unfortunate carriage accident that left him an orphan, there were some who would always judge.
Prudence was one of them. He wasn’t even certain she knew anything about his parents, but she found him lacking all the same. Always had and always would.
He leaned back against the pianoforte and crossed his arms, letting himself relax. He despised her sneers and her judgment, but there was something rather freeing about being seen for what one was.
There were no pretenses to be maintained around this girl...for better or for worse.
“How did you do it?” she demanded.
He arched his brows with a smirk that he knew would drive her to distraction.
Good.
“How did I do what?”
She narrowed her eyes further, suspicion morphing into accusation. “How did you delude my aunt and all the other ladies of the ton into believing that you are some sort of…” She waved a hand in irritation. “Musical genius.”
One corner of his mouth hitched up at that. “Musical genius, eh? Is that what they are calling me?”
Her answer was to purse her lips.
“What else do they call me?” He arched his brows playfully, loving the way her nostrils flared as she fought the urge to shout at him. Or perhaps strike him again.
She cocked her head to the side. “You’ve somehow managed to convince my aunt that you are some well-disciplined tutor.” She squinted. “How?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question,” he lied. “I am quite skilled when it comes to music and I have worked veritable miracles amongst the ton’s leading ladies—”
“But you are still an impossible rogue,” she snapped.
He shrugged. What was the point in denying it? “Perhaps, but I have gotten much better at playing whatever role benefits me.”
Her expression was an odd one. He couldn’t quite tell if she was pleased to have been proven correct or had just taken a bite of something particularly sour.
“What about the role of a dutiful young lord, an heir to a marquess?”
He shook his head, attempting to keep his expression unmoved. “That will never happen. My uncle is still young enough to remarry, and he ought to sire a son of his own.”
Her gaze was shockingly even. Absurdly intense. She would not let this go.
Sure enough… “Do you mean to tell me that you do not wish to be heir? How does your uncle feel about the matter?”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “I do not see why you should concern yourself with my future or my relationship to my uncle or the title.”
She continued to stare. She didn’t look away until he gestured toward the instrument behind him, shifting to make way for her. “Shall we get started or do you plan to faint again?”
The Misgivings About Miss Prudence: A Sweet Regency Romance (School of Charm Book 4) Page 3
