She stared up at him in the silence that was this thicket of trees. He had lost his mind. No doubt too many spirits over the years. Too much revelry had led this formerly sane yet wicked rogue to lose his sanity.
It was a shame, really. Particularly since he was holding her in his arms.
His eyes were lit with something she couldn’t explain. Fanaticism, perhaps, or maybe just passion. Whatever it was, it felt foreign to her. She’d never been one for passion, just logic.
“Are you listening, Pru?” he asked, his voice hushed. Reverent.
“Listening? To what?”
He started to move again, and this time she managed to keep pace, but just barely. “The music, Pru, listen for the music.”
She blinked dazedly. Music? Listening? What was he on about? He was teasing her. She ought to be angry.
She definitely should not feel like swooning again. She’d eaten breakfast this morning, there was absolutely no reason for her to feel dizzy.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
Her eyelids fluttered a few times but she fought the urge to obey his command. What was wrong with her?
“Just close them, Pru.” It was his little smile of understanding that convinced her to finally relent and shut her eyes.
His smile seemed to say ‘I know you think I’m a lunatic, but I promise I have my reasons.’
When she’d started to be able to read so much into a smile, she didn’t know.
“Trust me,” he whispered near her ear.
She frowned because...she did. To a certain extent, at least. Her body might have felt lit from within at the intimate touch, and his scent and his voice were doing odd things to her head, but she was not afraid.
And she supposed any normal lady would be.
But then again, he knew better than most that she was not normal. Nor was she fun or passionate or witty or anything else that would appeal to a wicked man like Damian.
“Do you hear it now?” he asked.
She huffed, ignoring the buzz she felt throughout her body when he talked so close to her ear like that. “Hear what?” She strained her ears. Did he truly hear something or was he playing tricks on her again?
She remembered the servants talking this morning. A fair was coming to town a few days hence. The center of town was miles away but she supposed it was possible that his sensitive ears could pick up on some performers rehearsing.
She furrowed her brow and concentrated but all she could hear was the whistle of wind in the trees overhead and the grass whispering beneath their feet. If she listened very closely she could even hear her own pulse.
Her hand in his was guided between them. Resting her hand on his chest his fingers covered hers and began to pat hers in time to a beat.
To her beat.
To their beat.
She blinked her eyes open in surprise. He was beating a tune in time with their heartbeats. The little smile he wore held no taunting and no mockery.
It was almost...sweet. Gentle. “Do you feel that?” he asked. “That is rhythm.”
She nodded slowly, her steps matching his as she felt the beat, on her hand and in her chest. Concentrating on the feel of it so much so that it seemed to swell around her, to fill the air between them.
“Close your eyes.” This time his command was a whisper and she didn’t hesitate. “Now do you hear it?”
Confusion and frustration had her brows drawing down, her lips pursing. “Hear what? All I hear is the wind and the grass.”
“Precisely.” His voice was so low, as though he didn’t want to disturb this so-called music.
Her eyes popped open. “It’s not music, just background noise.”
His lips twitched upward and as he spun her into a new dance step she did as he asked. For countless moments they spun and whirled and danced in time with the rhythm he’d set out and just when she was ready to throw her hands up and quit, she caught it.
A hint of a melody that seemed to be playing in time with their dancing. It was the wind. It was the grass. It was that combined with the sound of her skirts rustling and his breathing and the soft tap of his fingers on her hand.
She held her breath lest she lose it, but as she screwed her eyes shut he made that tsking sound again, pulling her in closer until she was resting against his body.
So very improper and yet she felt like he was telling her something without words. Relax, his body seemed to say. Be easy, his arms told her.
And so she loosened the tight furrowed brow and let her pinched lips part. She let herself relax into the sounds that swirled about them, creating a sort of melody of their own, and the rhythm that was pulsing so strongly now it was a wonder she’d never noticed it before.
“Music is always around you,” he said, his voice blending into the moment rather than calling her out of it. With his low tone and the rumble of his chest, his voice was another note in the web that seemed to be surrounding her, hypnotizing her.
“It’s around you, it’s everywhere…” His voice was little more than a whisper. “It’s inside you, even now. Do you feel it?”
Her yes came out on a breath that was little more than a sigh. Her body felt light and for the first time in her life, dancing didn’t feel like a tedious chore but like something out of a dream. Effortless and weightless and….delightful.
Her eyelids fluttered open and reality returned all at once.
His eyes were right there, his nose was nearly brushing hers. His lips were…
She drew back with a gasp.
His lips were so close they’d nearly been kissing.
The moment she broke out of his embrace, the music stopped. The rhythm was ruined by her galloping heartbeat that drowned out all else.
He took a step toward her. “Pru…” Again with that tone like he was speaking to a spooked horse.
She glared at him. That tone was insulting.
He sighed and stopped moving toward her. “We’ll continue tomorrow then, shall we?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, and she didn’t give one. She was too busy hurrying back to the house before her aunt discovered that she was missing.
6
Damian’s uncle gave him the sort of disapproving look he was well used to, and it so closely resembled Pru’s permanent expression that it gave him pause.
“Must you leave again?” his uncle demanded. The solicitor and the estate manager were already waiting in his uncle’s office, waiting to discuss his uncle’s holdings. “When you inherit one day—”
“If I inherit,” he corrected, as he always did.
His uncle pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. Damian found himself thinking of Pru and the way she’d looked with her eyes shut. Every part of her being straining to hear music.
When she’d heard it…
His lungs hitched even now at the memory of her expression. Of the delight that had transformed her features and made her come alive in his arms.
That was the magic of music, he’d wished to say. But it was early days yet, and he and Pru had much work ahead of them.
He edged toward the front door. “Miss Pottermouth is waiting, I’m afraid.”
His uncle frowned. “So, you are still teaching her, then?”
“Of course. I made a commitment.”
His uncle’s face was a picture of a man torn. Damian could understand why. For nearly a decade, ever since he’d arrived on his uncle’s doorstep, his good, kind, formidable uncle had been trying to teach him the meaning of commitment and hard work and responsibility etcetera, etcetera.
But in all those countless lectures, he’d likely never intended for Damian’s sense of obligation to be used like this. Even though he was the son of a younger brother and one cast out of society, at that, his uncle still held hopes that he would be the heir of his dreams.
But Damian had no such hopes, and in some regards he thought he knew his uncle better than he knew himself.
The marquess had not given up on life and love qui
te as thoroughly as he might pretend.
His uncle just needed to realize that.
He slipped out the door before his uncle could figure out a way to argue that while making a commitment to teach a young lady was nice and all, it was not as important as taking the reins of his uncle’s estate.
Learning to be a proper young lord was nearly as important to him as learning to be the perfect wife was to Prudence.
He made a sort of growling noise that made his horse whinny and shy away from him when he went to ride. “Sorry, Bert,” he muttered to the old stallion he’d had since he was a teenager.
He couldn’t stop brooding on the ride over, however. Between her great aunt’s aggressive, cruel remarks even in front of him, or the way she’d all but pleaded with him to help her, Prudence was rapidly becoming a concern.
He was worried about her, and he’d never worried about anyone before. Not since his parents died, at least. Once they’d left him he didn’t have to fear what people said because it wouldn’t get back to his mother and he wouldn’t have to see her pain.
But now…
Well, now he felt that concern again. Even now, riding over on a beautiful cloudless day, all he could think about was what sort of hurtful comments her aunt might have made today.
Something about her weight, no doubt. He gripped the reins tighter as anger made his heart pound furiously. He’d overheard her the day before. And the day before that.
The Dowager Demon seemed to have little care for who heard her cruel and thoughtless remarks.
Her inaccurate remarks. Yesterday morning when he’d arrived, he’d overheard her telling Prudence that no gentleman worth his salt would want a cow for a wife.
If her aunt thought that any man would be turned off by the sight of curves in all the places women ought to have curves, then the old woman didn’t know the first thing about the male species.
He groaned as memories came back to him—the very memories he’d been doing his best to forget ever since she’d walked away from three days before.
The feel of her in his arms. The way she’d melted into him, trusting him, relying on him, letting him lead. Her trust in him had been the first thing to tug at his heart.
Then it was the sight of her, concentrating so fiercely. The little warrior in his arms. But it was the delight when she’d heard it that he knew he’d remember until the day he died.
The look of sheer pleasure. Complete joy. It was a look he hadn’t been aware she was capable of, but now that he’d seen it, he wanted to see it again, and again, and again.
He wanted that joy to be her norm, not the suspicion and wariness with which she seemed to regard the world.
His mind flashed back to the aunt’s harsh words and he winced.
He supposed it was no wonder she viewed the world with such distrust if that cruel, bitter woman’s voice was forever in her ear.
Even as he thought it, he heard her. Or rather he heard shouting as he handed over his reins to a stable boy and approached the house. The butler showed him into the music room and he could feel the havoc that Pru’s aunt had wreaked.
She was nowhere to be seen, except for in the trembling of Prudence’s lower lip.
“Ready for another lesson?” He tried to keep his voice calm, pleasant. He knew very well that his pity would only be met with contempt.
She was proud, his Pru. Always had been. Always would be. It was what made her such a fierce warrior.
She nodded, her head bowed over the piano, her fingers already going into position.
That was when he saw it. The red mark across her fingers. The painful welt that was forming and the way her head was bent so low as if…
“Pru?”
Her head came up slowly and he caught it. The shimmer of tears in her eyes before she blinked them away with an upward tilt of her chin.
His chest did something unwelcome. It seemed to tighten and twist all at once, his heart lurching at her pain and aching at the sight of her pride which wouldn’t let her show it.
This girl was brave and strong...and more stubborn than a mule.
“Let’s go,” he snapped, his voice harsher than intended.
“Where to?” she asked.
“Anywhere but here.” He wasn’t even entirely sure where he was taking them when he sent word that they would need an escort.
“If Aunt Eleanor finds out—”
“Let her try and stop us.” His growl had her eyes widening in surprise and it was with effort that he softened his tone and forced a smile. “I will deal with your aunt if she has an issue with our outing.”
She arched one brow in doubt. His smile felt far more genuine at her look of disbelief. A flicker of the Pru he knew and—well, not loved. It was a flicker of the Prudence he knew and tolerated.
Still, it was good to see her again. For a moment there he’d thought he’d lost her.
“Come,” he said when a footman announced that the carriage had been brought round.
“Where are we going?” she asked again when they reached the carriage and he helped her into her seat beside her lady’s maid.
He had no idea but the sound of church bells in the distance gave him an idea. “We’re heading into town.” He turned to let the driver know and when he climbed in to join the ladies, he caught her frown.
“But there is a festival going on,” she said.
He laughed at her confusion. “And so there is. The fall festival. You used to love it as a child.”
Her frown intensified. “I did not. You loved it.”
“Mmm.” He nodded in agreement. “So I did. You should have loved it, though, and perhaps today I could show you why.”
She huffed. “How is this supposed to help me improve in the music room?”
He tapped a finger to his temple. “I have my ways. Musical genius, remember?”
She rolled her eyes at the now-familiar joke, but he caught the twitch of her lips as she fought a grin. “I should never have told you that.”
“Ah, but you did,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “And now it is an absolute truth.”
“Why?”
“Because the ton said so.” He half turned to face her. “You’ve told me time and again that what society says is as good as law. It’s akin to holy scripture, even, by your accounts.”
She tsked, her gaze darting toward the lady’s maid who was studiously ignoring them both. “Don’t be sacrilegious.”
“I am merely quoting you,” he teased.
“And yet, I never said that.” Her tone was all huffy and indignant, her lips pursed as usual, but there was no denying the laughter in her eyes. For a moment her gaze met his and held. For the first time in a long time—perhaps for the first time ever—they seemed to be in on the joke together. Not him mocking her, or her chiding him, but both of them finding humor in their own foibles.
He was incorrigible; she was a prig. And for once, that was rather amusing.
She looked away first. “I still do not see how this outing will improve my performance.”
“Don’t you?” He smiled when she gave the view outside her window the prickly glare he was so familiar with.
“There are no instruments at the fair,” she pointed out as the bumpy dirt road they traveled upon grew cluttered with crowds heading toward town.
“Aren’t there?” He pretended to be shocked and outright laughed when she turned that glare his way.
“So then how shall we practice?”
When he didn’t immediately answer, her eyes clouded with something he could not name but hated more than life itself. “What shall I tell Aunt Eleanor when she asks?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched with anger.
Fear. That look he’d seen there in her eyes was fear...and he hated it. He’d loathe seeing that fear in anyone, but from Prudence—who might have been a goody-two-shoes, but was braver and more confident than most people he knew…
It was unbearable.
It made
him want to shake some sense into her aunt, or at the very least steal Prudence away so she wouldn’t have to face her again.
“Leave your aunt to me,” was all he managed to say.
Something in his tone had her eyes widening and her lips curved up into a wan smile. “I should like to see that.”
He returned her smile and once again there was a moment. An understanding.
Before she broke it with a frown, leaning forward in impatience. “But honestly, Damian, how shall I practice here? There is no instrument in sight.”
He grinned, reaching out and bopping her nose like she was a child. Her look said she was not amused.
“The fact that there is no instrument here is precisely the point.” The carriage rattled as it slowed. “For now we are through with those lessons. Today we focus on your voice.”
Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her throat. “My voice?”
The voice in question sounded an awful lot like a squeak at the moment.
“Your voice,” he repeated slowly, as if she had merely misheard.
“But I can’t—” Her protest was cut short as the carriage came to a halt and he swung the door open. Helping her out and then the lady’s maid, who’d clearly been trained well to be all but invisible, he led Pru toward the center of excitement.
They headed through a maze of stalls, past a marionette show which was thronged with children, away from the livestock which stunk to high heaven, and bought them each a jam tart before finding a bench for them to sit and watch the action.
The lady’s maid hovered nearby, watching them like a hawk. “She could have had a treat too, you know.”
Pru shrugged. “I offered. She refused.” She eyed the tart in her hands with such longing, he had the sudden urge to snatch it away from her and hold it up in front of his face to see what it would feel like to have her look at him that way.
Stuff and nonsense. He took a bite with a shake of his head, waiting for her to do the same. When she didn’t, he nudged her arm. “Is there something wrong with it? I can get you another if you’d prefer—”
“Oh no, there’s nothing wrong. I just shouldn’t, that’s all.” She continued to eye the treat as if it were her first love leaving for sea.
The Misgivings About Miss Prudence: A Sweet Regency Romance (School of Charm Book 4) Page 5
