The School of Charm: Books 1-5

by Maggie Dallen

  “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.”
<
br />   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?”

  She let out a harrumph sound that had him hiding a grin but when he glanced back he found her hesitating. “Pru?”

  “It’s Miss Pottermouth.” But her protest lacked the heat it ought to have.

  He arched a brow, waiting her out. This wasn’t the first young woman who was intimidated at the thought of performing for him...the musical genius.

  The thought made him smirk as he waited for her to overcome her nerves.

  He ought to have known better. Pru was not one to submit, not without a fight.

  “This is highly improper,” she said, crossing her arms in defiance. “You are a marquess’s nephew, you should not be tutoring young ladies.”

  “Why are you so caught up on my potential title?” He hated the fact that she’d caused his cool demeanor to slip, but he hated it even more that she would not cease reminding him of the duties and obligations that he dreaded. He took a deep breath. “I told you I neither want it, nor plan on it—”

  “Yes, but—”

  “What is your real problem here?” he demanded.

  “You are not fit to be a tutor.”

  He blinked once. Twice. “Excuse me?”

  Her nostrils flared with her inhale, the only sign that she was flustered. Not angry, he thought. Just...nervous. On edge.

  How odd.

  “This is beneath you,” she continued.

  Now he was actually growing concerned. “You think that this is beneath me?”

  “Of course it is,” she huffed. “Tutoring young ladies? Getting paid for it? It’s...unseemly.”

  “How kind of you to worry about my reputation.”

  She rolled her eyes at his dry tone. “I’m not worried about you.”

  He could practically see her scrambling for an excuse. “I’m worried about your uncle’s good opinion, that is all. Surely he cannot approve of this new business you’ve gone into—”

  “On the contrary. He’s relieved to find that I have some ambition, after all. This all started because he cut me off, you know—”

  “No!” Her gaping stare was nicely shocked.

  “Yes. He and all the other upright morally superior stuffed-shirts of the ton have decided that my new pastime is one to be commended.” He made a show of rolling his hand as he bowed low. “A youthful rake making amends for his past misdeeds...at your service.”

  He heard a choking sound. A scoff, no doubt. He looked up, ready to find a sneer on her face.

  He felt as though he’d been smacked upside the head to discover a genuine smile instead. It faded quickly as she looked away but for a moment there...for just a second he’d thought…

  Had he made her laugh?

  The surge of triumph was bizarre and completely out of proportion to the situation. And yet, he couldn’t deny the heady pleasure of having once—finally—made priggish Pru laugh.

  “So you’ve managed to convince your uncle that you have reformed then?” she asked.

  He shrugged. If this was anyone else talking he would have lied. He would have spun a tale about how he had indeed seen the errors of his ways after his years of carousing with other young gentlemen of the ton, spending too much money for the pleasure of drinking and dining and gambling.

  But truth be told, he did not regret those activities. Nor did he feel wrong for being a man of leisure. It was merely that he’d grown bored with it, that was all. “My uncle is hardly suffering some mistaken assumption about my basic character.”

  “And what is that, exactly?” She rested a hand on her waist and jutted a hip out to the side. He knew she was not trying to appear enticing...but she still succeeded.

  He looked away quickly, temporarily stunned into stupidity over the thought that he had just been ogling Prudence Pottermouth, the world’s least appealing female.

  He glanced back. Or, at least, she had been. At what point had that changed?

  She was waiting for an answer and he shook off all thoughts of distraction. What was his true character? Well, she ought to know better than anyone. “Why, I’m a knave, of course.”

  He gave her his best wicked grin and got a sneer in response.

  This was more like it. Enemies to the end. Her sneers were far more familiar and put him back on even footing.

  “If you’re still such a scoundrel then why did you agree to help me?”

  “For the money, of course. My uncle cut me off last year, and I’ve been paying my own way ever since.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “Good for him.”

  A shocked laugh escaped before he could stop it. “Yes, well, now that you understand my motives and I yours—”

  “What do you know of my motives?” Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion again.

  He moved toward her slowly. “Tell me, did something happen to you as a child to make you so suspicious all the time?”

  She sniffed. “Yes. I was forced to be playmates with a heathenous neighbor who lived to torture me.”

  He started to laugh which made her eyes narrow even further.

  “I developed the good sense to be wary whenever he seemed too pleased with himself.” She arched one brow. “His pleasure could only ever mean my doom.”

  “Your doom!” he crowed. “Oh, I like that. A frog in your bedding could hardly be considered your doom.”

  Her lips twitched and he could practically see her cataloguing his every indiscretion, ready to hurl them at him as she always did. She couldn’t bear to let an occasion pass when she could throw his bad deeds in his face.

  But that was the past, and this was his present, and his future…

  He gave his head a sharp shake. He had no desire to think of the future. He had a mission to complete and while willful and obstinate, he was certain he could help Miss Prudence Pottermouth.

  “Your motives,” he said, bringing them back to the topic at hand. “That seems easy enough to suss out, even for one such as me.” He eyed her from head to toe, trying not to grin when her blush spread.

  Blushing was new.

  He liked it. It meant that while she might treat him as the boy he once was, she saw him as the man he’d become.

  “You wish to marry,” he said softly. “And you are expected to marry well.”

  She sniffed.

  “Is it still that Benedict chap you’re set to marry?”

  She pursed her lips.

  His mind was racing back to the bits and pieces of gossip he’d picked up over the years. There was an understanding between the families and to be honest, he’d been surprised to find that she returned to the Dowager Demon’s house unmarried. He hadn’t given her much thought since she’d been shipped off to that finishing school years ago, but if he had he would have guessed that she’d been happily married by now.

  Well, not happily.

  Pru never did anything happily.

  “I thought that agreement was as good as done—”

  “Yes, well, apparently not.” Her voice was clipped, her lips curved up in that sneer he despised. And yet…

  There was a flicker of uncertainty there that made it impossible to come back at her with a barb about how she had likely driven off the poor man.

  Her gaze flickered away from his. “Aunt Eleanor fears I’m not quite…satisfactory.” Her throat worked as she swallowed and he wondered how much it pained Miss Perfect Pru to admit it.

  “So music is your fatal flaw, I assume.” He tried for teasing but was horrified to find that his tone fell just shy of sympathetic.

  That would not do. Neither of them wished for his pity.

  She nodded. “You assume correctly.”

  He rocked back on his feet. After years of hating Pru’s smugness and her superior attitude, he was horrified to find that he liked this humble side of her ev
en less.

  She looked...shorter. She seemed to be shrinking right in front of his eyes. He tilted his head to the side. Had she always been so small?

  Funny, he’d always seen her as a formidable enemy. A sword-wielding virago from Greek mythology. Of course she wielded sharp words in lieu of a sword, but even so, the image had stuck in his mind and finding out now that she was—well, human…

  It was upsetting.

  Her gaze flicked up to meet his and she stiffened. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “As though you feel sorry for me.”

  He scoffed. “Trust me, Pru, you are the last person I’d feel sorry for.”

  “Good.” She straightened and he had a flash of the warrior, and the world righted itself nicely. She glanced toward the pianoforte with the sort of set chin and straight shoulders one would expect from a soldier going into battle. “I will master this topic, and once I do I will prove to my aunt and to...to everyone that I can be the perfect wife.”

  “Perfect,” he repeated. Ought he to tell her that no one is perfect? He eyed her closely. It seemed cruel to burst her newfound hope. “Of course you will.”

  She shot him a quick look. Suspicion again. She feared he was mocking her...and he was. But only a little.

  He moved to stand beside her so they were both facing the instrument. “You will master music, Pru.” He grinned. “I will make sure of it.”

  Her expression wavered between wariness and hope. “Truly?”

  He leaned down, catching a whiff of a floral scent that was soft and sweet and beguilingly feminine—and totally at odds with every other hard edge of her personality. “I promise.”

  Chapter Five

  She shouldn’t have been surprised that a man like Damian was making promises he couldn’t keep.

  What was more shocking was that he seemed to be unaware that he would fail. “Right.” He lifted a fist to his mouth, his expression uncharacteristically grim as he eyed her hands on the keys as though they were a riddle he could not quite solve.