At her silence he continued, his gaze fixed on his feet. “My earliest memories were of singing, of dancing, of playing music that made the entire household rattle.” A smile tugged at his lips at the memory.
“That must have been a wonderful house to be a child,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
He nodded. “It was. Although it wasn’t all perfect. I’m sure you’ve heard about how my father ran off with a gypsy woman.”
She blinked in surprise at his candor, and he grinned. “It’s all right. What’s a few secrets between friends, hmm?”
“Is that what we are?” she asked.
His smile faltered when he looked at her. “Aren’t we?”
She didn’t answer, and he was glad. Because now that the question was out there, he wasn’t certain how he wished her to answer. Were they friends?
He wasn’t certain what he felt toward her counted as friendship. But it wasn’t the same antagonistic rivalry from their youth either. Whatever this was he was starting to feel for her, it was strong and it was sweet and it was….terrifying.
He looked away quickly, afraid of what she might be seeing in his expression.
“Tell me more,” she said. “What was not so perfect about your childhood home?”
“The whispers. The gossip.” He shrugged. “I knew from the time I could walk that we did not fit in, not the way we ought. My parents never tried to shield me from it. They did not revel in being a scandal, and I know that it caused quite a bit of pain, particularly for my mother. But they cared more about each other, more about our family, than they cared about what society thought.” He swallowed down a wave of emotions as old memories came to light. “I think they would have been content to live as outcasts for the rest of their lives, which…” He scratched the back of his head self-consciously as he finished. “I suppose they did.”
Silence fell and it felt too heavy for such a fine day.
“Anyhow,” he continued in a lighter tone. “Music was the one thing I brought with me from home and I suppose I never wanted to let it go. I suppose that sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
Her voice was soft, sad. “It sounds lovely.”
He glanced up at her and caught it. A rare glimpse of vulnerability. His heart jerked in his chest and his lungs seized, and the truth was out before he could stop it. “You are lovely.”
She blinked, her eyes widening as his words registered. Blushing, she looked down. “Thank you, but you needn’t say things like that.”
He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her that it was the truth, but she was already walking ahead. They’d reached the drive leading to her aunt’s formidable manor and they slowed as the carriage rolled past them to the front door.
“Let us go around this way,” he said.
She arched a knowing brow. “Trying to avoid my aunt?”
He laughed. “Something like that.”
The truth was, he wanted just a few more moments alone with her like this. Moments when she was relaxed and defenseless, when her guard was down and her spirits were up.
Moments when she was herself. Not trying to be some perfect version of herself and live up to anyone else’s expectations. All at once he had a surge of gratitude toward his parents and his uncle. He might have known grief, and he understood better than most how it felt to be on the outside looking in, but in his home he had always been treated with love, despite his imperfections.
He’d been seen for who he was, not who he was expected to be.
“It is a shame you won’t be able to continue with your music tutoring.” Prudence’s words brought him back to the moment.
“What do you mean?”
She arched a brow. “It is exceptional as it is that your uncle allows you to pursue this hobby of yours,” she said. “But when you become the Marquess of—”
“Who says that I will?” He’d meant it to sound light and teasing, but it fell flat. Instead, he merely sounded defensive. “Who says that I wish to be?”
She stared at him in surprise as they rounded the far side of the house toward the glass doors of the music room. “I know you’ve hinted at it before, but I thought you were teasing. You can’t mean that…” She stopped and stared. “You truly do not wish to become the next Marquess of Ainsley?”
He opened his mouth, ready to give one of the pat answers he was used to throwing out there when the topic of his status came up. But one look at her genuine curiosity and the quip died in his throat. “No,” he said simply.
“No?” Her eyes grew so wide it looked painful. “But...everyone wants power, wealth, and status.”
“Yes, but you see, what everyone else wants has no bearing on my own wishes for my future. And I have no wish to be Marquess.”
“But why not?” she asked, still gaping adorably.
He grinned at the rare sight of her not knowing everything about everything. “Why would I want that? I already told you that I was born an outsider, raised an outsider. The peerage and the gentry never had a use for me before my father died, why should I wish to join their ranks now?”
She opened her mouth and then shut it as they continued walking. Finally, she huffed as they neared the doors, pausing to face him. “That seems like an odd sort of logic. Don’t you wish to throw their disdain in their faces by becoming a powerful member of society?”
He frowned as he thought it over. “Not particularly.”
This seemed to vex her, which amused him. “But why not?”
“Because what would that change? What they think of me will likely never alter. And I don’t particularly care what they think of me anyway.” He tossed his hands in the air. “My parents taught me well that what other people say and do doesn’t matter as much as our own compass.”
“A compass?” she echoed.
“Yes. Doing what we feel is right. Following our intuition, our instincts…” He hesitated for a moment. “Our hearts.”
“Well, that…” She bit her lip, her gaze darting left and right as she seemed to chase her thoughts. “That’s very romantic.”
He laughed. Was it? He didn’t think so. But even so… “How do you manage to make romantic sound like a curse word?”
Her lips twitched up as she shrugged. “Just as I know about your family scandal, I’m certain you know of mine.”
He nodded slowly.
“So you see, romance for me is not something I particularly admire.” She sniffed and the priggish girl he knew was back in full force, and the sight of her made him want to laugh and tease until she was either giggling or smacking him.
Instead, he imitated her with a haughty sniff. “It’s not something I particularly admire. Really, Pru, you sound like your aunt.”
She choked on a laugh. “I don’t! I merely think romance and love and all that is just an excuse for being selfish.”
He nodded, his gaze searching hers for more. For something he couldn’t name. “I see. But I, on the other hand, see talk of duty and obligation as just an excuse to avoid being brave.”
She gasped and jerked back as if he struck her. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
He thought that over. “Is it?”
“It is.” She sounded so vehement he thought it best not to argue the point further. While he’d discovered that he truly loved bickering with Pru—possibly more than was sane—he had no wish to mar this day which had started so terribly and ended… Well, perfectly.
He wondered if she was thinking something similar when she glanced wistfully toward the house. “Are we done with today’s lesson then or...or is there more?”
He was done. It should be done. But he found he didn’t want this to end.
Reaching for her hand, he tugged her away from the door and toward the gardens. “My dear, we have only just begun.”
Chapter Nine
Her heart was thumping wildly as she let him lead her away from her home, from her aunt...from her chaperone.
Prudence never broke the r
ules. She lived by rules, led her life by the compass of propriety, and prided herself on being everything that her parents were not.
Dutiful. Obedient. Proper.
So why on earth was she letting him lead her astray? Why could she not bring herself to dig in her heels or say something biting?
And why on earth was her heart on a mission to leap out of her chest? With her free hand she clutched her chest just as he finally came to a stop at the edge of the gardens. Not entirely hidden by the hedges that surrounded them, but not in clear view of the main house either.
Her chaperone, the servants, even her aunt, were within shouting distance, and possibly even watching her right now.
As far as decency went, she was walking a fine line. She was courting trouble.
She ought to stop this. Now, with her future at stake and spinsterhood looming if she failed to win over Mr. Benedict—this was absolutely not the time to become a rebel.
Damian’s lips curved up into that wicked grin that used to drive her mad as a child.
It still drove her mad, but this madness wasn’t the same.
Her heart went wild again, racing in her chest like she was running for her life and not standing here with her music tutor.
No, this madness wasn’t the same at all.
“Are you ready to sing for me yet?” he asked.
She blinked. He was serious. “No. I shall never be ready to sing.”
He looked around pointedly. “That nasty old crone isn’t here to watch you like a hawk, we are far from the stifling atmosphere in your aunt’s unwelcoming home.” He arched his brows. “Is it me you are uncomfortable with?”
She opened her mouth and closed it abruptly. No. The answer was no, but that was alarming. While he made her heart race and a tension seemed to fall around them whenever they were alone, this sensation wasn’t unpleasant. It wasn’t nerves or intimidation or fear that he would judge her.
It was something else entirely. And that…
That was more frightening to admit than anything else she could say.
“Ah,” he said with a knowing tone. “You are worried about what I might think, hmm?”
She pursed her lips. No. That wasn’t it at all. But before she could say as much, he was singing.
He was singing loudly and enthusiastically and...inappropriately. The song he was singing was some sort of crude tavern tune that had her cheeks burning even as she burst out in a laugh. “What are you doing?”
He took a deep breath and started on the next verse before she leaned forward and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Stop it,” she said through her laughter.
His eyes still danced with amusement and her cheeks hurt from grinning but as their laughter faded, the tension returned and she dropped her hand from his mouth as if he’d burned her.
Turning away quickly, she took a deep breath to calm the butterflies in her stomach that she knew without a doubt had nothing to do with singing and everything to do with this bizarre connection she felt whenever he was near.
Physically it was impossible to ignore or deny. Even now, when he was out of her direct sight, she could feel his body coming closer as though she had some sort of sixth sense. Emotionally, too, she felt it. Never before had she felt so seen. So exposed.
So vulnerable.
Maybe it was because he knew of her past and had been acquainted with her for so long, but not even her closest friends seemed to understand her the way that he did.
It was unnerving.
“Now it is your turn.” His low voice behind her made her stiffen.
“I-I’m too embarrassed,” she said. “Even singing that horrible song, you have a lovely voice and you know it.”
He chuckled. “Then keep your back to me if that makes you feel better, but know that I am not here to judge. And nothing you could do, say, or sing would ever make me think less of you, Pru.”
She blinked as a surge of unexpected emotions had her throat aching and her eyes stinging. That was absolutely the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.
Ever.
The sincerity in his voice left her speechless but his hands on her shoulders made her stiffen again.
“Easy, Pru,” he soothed, his hands rubbing her shoulders, massaging the tight muscles there until she felt like hot butter, ready to melt at his feet. “There,” he said. “Just relax, and you will be fine. Like I said, as a child you knew how to hold a tune. You have a natural ear for music, you’ve just had it beaten out of you.”
She cast a quizzical glance over her shoulder. “Beaten out of me?”
He nodded, utterly serious despite her wry tone. “Your aunt turned something that should be lighthearted and joyous into something unpleasant.” His gaze roamed over her. “A punishment, I’d imagine.”
Her stomach turned at the mere memory of music lessons that ended in scoldings or bedtime without supper.
“Your aunt made music so unpleasant that you tense up at the mere mention of singing or performing. But it is impossible to play any instrument well if you are overthinking every movement at every turn.” He gently turned her head so she was staring at the garden rather than at him. “And you cannot sing at all if you are frozen with fear.”
Frozen with fear. The words resonated inside of her as if they’d just struck a bell. She had been living in fear. In some ways, she supposed she was so accustomed to this state that she forgot. She’d grown so used to it that she’d become numb to it.
But now he’d called her out on it and she found herself shaken to her core.
He moved to stand in front of her and tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “If you let go of that fear and relax, I have no doubt that you will be amazing.”
She arched her brows dubiously.
His lips curved up. “Fine. I have no doubt you will be passable.”
A laugh slipped out before she could stop it and he smiled in return. “You should do that more often.”
“What?”
He shrugged, his hand dropping. “Smile. Laugh.”
She looked away in discomfort. Was she really so very stiff that a laugh was something to remark upon?
Yes. She could practically hear Louisa laughing as she shouted it in her ear. Yes!
She pursed her lips with a scowl and made a mental note to tell Delilah how Louisa had become her own personal spectre, haunting her in broad daylight.
“Right. Before you can overthink it, let us do this.” He spun her around abruptly so her back was to his chest. His arm wrapped around her waist until his hand was covering her belly.
She froze.
No, she melted at the touch. Heat seemed to sear her insides as he held her close, his voice a low murmur in her ear. “Take a deep breath in so you can see my hand rise and fall.”
She did as she was told, too stunned by the intimacy to protest.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now sing.”
She blinked at the shrubbery before her. “Sing what?”
She could feel his shrug. “Anything. Whatever is familiar.”
Shifting a bit she wracked her brain for something that she knew well and settled on an old-fashioned song that her first nurse used to sing to her as a lullaby. She opened her mouth, her throat threatened to choke her.
“Relax. Be yourself,” he whispered in her ear, his arm closing tighter around her in an odd sort of comforting embrace. “I’ve got you.”
With a sigh she began, and the sound of her own voice filling the silence startled her. How long had it been since she’d heard herself sing?
Too long.
Not long enough.
The act of singing awoke a myriad of emotions she couldn’t quite name. While trying to remember the words and stay on key, it was difficult to dwell on these sensations, the old feelings she’d thought she’d buried.
She’d thought she’d killed.
They weren’t dead and they weren’t even gone. They were right here, just under the surface, it seemed. They came to life a
s she sang and…they were overwhelming. She found herself grateful for Damian’s tight grip, and when he turned her around as her voice trailed off, she was stunned to discover she’d been crying.
It wasn’t until he lifted a hand and wiped away her tears that she realized it.
“Pru…” The tenderness in his eyes was nearly her undoing.
She shook her head quickly with a sniff. “I’m all right.”
“You’re better than all right,” he said with a grin that helped to wipe away the heaviness of the moment. “You were perfect.”
She snorted in disbelief and that made his grin widen. “I mean it. You sounded lovely when you forgot to be a stuck-up goody two shoes.”
Choking on a laugh, she swatted his arm away when he went to brush more tears from her cheeks. “Perhaps I am a bit of a goody two shoes, but I hardly see how that’s a bad thing.”
He laughed. “Don’t you?”
“No.”
He tilted his head to the side to study her. “Tell me, Pru, haven’t you ever once wanted to rebel?”
She opened her mouth to say ‘no’ but it wouldn’t come out. The question threw her more than she wanted to admit. Instead, she sniffed. “You do enough rebelling for the both of us.”
He laughed and she caught a whiff of understanding. He knew what she was doing, he knew that she was deflecting, and he wasn’t going to push her. “You’re probably right. I do like to push the boundaries.”
She looked around at their current secluded surroundings and shook her head with a mix of awe and horror. “What is it about being with you that has me wanting to break the rules, too?”
She felt the change in him. A stiffening or a tension as he gazed down at her. “Do I do that to you?”
She nodded, unable to meet his searching gaze. “You do.”
She wasn’t entirely certain what she was admitting to, but she felt certain that he knew. There was some undercurrent here that made her feel as if she was on shaky ground while he seemed to be more confident than ever.
“You make me want to do the right thing,” he said, so quietly she almost missed it. She glanced up quickly and saw the dark swirl of emotions in his eyes and it took her breath away.
The School of Charm: Books 1-5 Page 48
