“You make me want to…” He shook his head, tearing his gaze away as he took a deep breath, a familiar teasing smile curving his lips. “You make me want to play the role of savior.”
She blinked in surprise, torn between this impossibly sweet sensation that made her chest ache and a sinking sensation in the pit of her belly as his words registered. “You feel so sorry for me that you wish to play knight in shining armor, is that it?”
Surprise flared in his eyes but he caught himself quickly. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
Now she was the one to look away. Of course he felt sorry for her. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her hands where her aunt had struck her as though she were still a child. She’d seen the way he’d been looking at her ever since she’d fainted at his feet.
As though she were pitiable.
And perhaps she was.
The thought made her more irritated than sad. She hated being pitied. It wasn’t as though she’d been given such a terrible lot in life. Just one without many options.
And that was something a gentleman like him would never understand.
So perhaps it stood to reason that he would feel sorry for her. Maybe to such an extent that he’d feel compelled to help her, to do right by her…
The thought had her fighting tears all over again and this time she definitely could not explain why. “We should head back before my chaperone tells my aunt we have gone missing.”
She headed toward the music room doors without waiting for a response.
Chapter Ten
Damian hurried after her, his head spinning from the moment that had just occurred.
He had the unnerving sensation that in one afternoon his life had been flipped upside down and he no longer knew which way was up and which was down.
Or no, perhaps it hadn’t happened in an instant. Maybe this sensation had been taking root for days now, ever since he’d spotted the now-grown Prudence in her aunt’s drawing room. Maybe it had taken root and been growing slowly but surely this entire time.
But that did not change the fact that this afternoon the new sensations had hit him upside the head. His skull still felt like it was ringing after the intimate moment when he’d held her in his arms, when she’d relaxed enough to sing, when her voice had carried more emotions than she could ever realize. She’d laid herself bare in that moment, and the way he’d felt about her…
It had been painful.
Crushing.
The wave of emotion had been so intense it had shifted something inside of him forever.
And now she was running away.
“Pru, please wait,” he said, finally catching up to her as she reached the veranda outside the music room doors. “Don’t walk away from me just yet.”
She paused with her back to him and for a moment he scrambled with what to say.
“Please,” he said.
She turned slowly, her gaze wary. “What is it that you want, Damian?”
His breath caught at the searching look in her eyes as much as at the unexpectedness of her question. He suspected she didn’t just mean right now at this very moment. But what did he want, in the long run?
“I want to forge my own path, I suppose.” He stepped closer, grateful when she didn’t rush away from him again. “If I had my way, my uncle would remarry, he’d sire an heir and I could be free to live how I wished.”
He expected the sort of pursed-lip scowl he was used to from her whenever he spoke about stepping outside of her precious society and its rules. Instead he caught a flicker of yearning. Perhaps even desire.
But it was tampered by something sad. Regret, maybe, or longing for something she could not have.
“What would you do if you were no longer the heir presumptive?” she asked.
He licked his lips, oddly nervous. He’d never spoken about this to anyone before but after the way she’d opened up to him—knowingly or not—he couldn’t keep it from her.
“This,” he said with a rueful smile, gesturing vaguely to the two of them. “I’d love to pursue music as a career. Perhaps make it something more meaningful, maybe…” He cleared his throat and glanced away. “Maybe open a conservatory one day.”
His gaze darted back and he snuck a peek at her expression, waiting to see amusement or criticism...but what he found was a thoughtful look as she thought it over. “Yes, I could see that,” she said.
He laughed in surprise. “You could?”
She shrugged. “Of course. You’re passionate about music and you have the connections to make it a success, not to mention the wealth to fund such a venture.”
His eyes widened in shock. “You actually think it could work. That I…” He cleared his throat, resisting the urge to tug on his suddenly too-tight cravat as a bewildering surge of nerves made him fidget like a schoolboy. “You truly think that I could do such a thing?”
Her brows came down, her expression so serious it made him want to hug her. She was oddly adorable when she was so serious like this.
“Of course you could,” she said.
“I don’t know. I don’t have much experience managing something like that or running a business of any sort.”
Her lips quirked up in an endearing smile. “I always thought I’d be rather good at running a business.”
He grinned. “Oh really?”
Now it was her turn to squirm and he delighted in her discomfort. She looked to the ground, her arms crossing defensively. “I’ve always been good with numbers and my friends at the finishing school are forever teasing me about my managing ways.” She peeked up at him. “Silly, isn’t it?”
“Not at all,” he said quickly. “I could easily imagine it.”
“You could?” She sounded so surprised but before he could continue, she added, “Yes, well, I suppose my skills will be an asset as a wealthy merchant’s wife.”
The sudden reminder of her arrangement made his throat feel parched and his chest hollow. And then she looked at him and he knew his chest wasn’t hollow at all.
It was full.
It was aching.
And his heart felt like it might burst with feeling.
She looked away first and he had to wonder. Did she feel it, too?
She must. But she was shifting toward the doors, her expression already hardening, her chin setting with determination, or perhaps resignation.
He moved toward her before he could stop himself. He didn’t want to let her go, he didn’t want this moment to end, and that… That was alarming. “Pru,” he said before he stopped to think. He had no idea what he was going to say.
He felt like he had everything to say and nothing all at once. He wanted to tell her she did not need to live up to her aunt’s impossible standards, but she would not believe him. He wanted to tell her that this gentleman ought to appreciate her for the woman she was, because who she was was perfect. He had this desire to make her see that she deserved so much more than her great aunt could ever know.
He also had the strangest desire to tell her more of his own wishes, to hear her thoughts, to know her opinions, but this wasn’t the time or the place.
He reached for her, grasping her arms and tugging her close. The flicker of shock and heat in her eyes the only giveaway that she felt it too, whatever it was that flowed between them.
He wanted to close the distance, to touch his lips to hers, to feel her breath against his skin.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes wide.
He fought the urge to pull her closer still, because yes, he wanted to hold her but more than anything he ached to know what it was that she wanted. What she desired when she forgot about her duties and obligations. What she dreamt of when no one else was around and her imagination was free to roam.
He wanted to know her deepest desires, but he was too afraid to ask. Because right now, with that little tip of her chin, he knew that she was readying herself for the life she thought she was destined for.
You deserve s
o much more.
But the moment from before was gone. The vulnerable young lady he’d caught a glimpse of was once more tucked away beneath the prim and proper prig persona that he knew now was mostly an act.
So instead, he stood there. Frozen. His hands on her arms as his mind raced to figure out what was going on here and what to make of this pull his felt, and the answering tug of fear that said to walk away.
His entire being torn between pulling her close and pushing her away.
He never did get to decide.
Her aunt made the decision for him.
“Here she is,” she announced loudly as she threw open the doors. She stopped short at the sight of them alone, standing so close it was nearly an embrace, his hands on her arms…
He dropped them just as her gaze fell to take in the odd proximity.
“What is going on here?” she hissed, but her fierce glare faded, replaced by something more frightening. Something he’d never once seen before.
A smile.
It looked foreign and painful, and it frightened him more than her scowls and glares ever could. “Ah, Lord Damian,” she said, her voice scratchy as if it was resisting this sweet tone.
He glanced at Pru who looked equally confused...and terrified.
“I was just telling our guests about you.” She stepped aside, revealing an audience who’d no doubt seen their closeness, not to mention the fact that they were alone.
He swallowed down a protective urge to shove Prudence behind him, away from the scrutiny of her aunt and these two gentlemen he did not recognize.
“Allow me to introduce you to Sir William and his nephew, Mr. Benedict.”
The names took a moment to register and as he went through the proper motions, he saw the change in Prudence. He couldn’t not notice her, it seemed. Even while taking in the not-unattractive but not exactly handsome Mr. Benedict before him, he was acutely aware of Prudence. Her posture, her stiffness, the way she’d retreated back to her old self.
The one that wasn’t really her at all.
He knew that now.
But did anyone else?
Chapter Eleven
Prudence glanced down the dining hall toward Mr. Benedict. He wasn’t awful, so that was something. She toyed with her spoon as a new course was laid before her, trying and failing to keep her gaze from darting over to the man who might possibly be her husband someday.
After an excruciatingly proper and awkward introduction, they had all retreated inside. It seemed there had been a miscommunication along the way. They’d long since intended to arrive today, and she was the only one who’d been unaware of the change in plans.
I was supposed to have another week! That was what kept rushing through her head all afternoon as she watched her husband-to-be and his uncle be escorted to their rooms, and then as she watched far more warily as Damian asked for a moment alone with her great aunt.
Let me deal with her. That was what he’d been saying all day, and now he had and she had no idea what he’d said or how her aunt had taken it.
She turned her gaze down toward the soup before her and wondered how on earth she was going to get through this meal without screaming.
First Damian and her aunt locked in a room together and then hushed conversations with her aunt and their guests.
And now this.
A tense meal at which everyone but her was allowed to speak.
She had the feeling that her life was happening without her. Her aunt, these gentlemen—even Damian—they were all planning and plotting her life as though she were a doll.
Aren’t you, though? Once again it was Louisa in her head.
She scowled at her soup. Why was it always Louisa taunting her. Not mean-spiritedly, just in that way that Louisa had of teasing. Always calling everyone out for their foibles and their facades.
Rather like Damian, come to think of it.
Prudence dipped her spoon into the soup and tried to take a sip, though the rich creamy texture turned her already queasy stomach.
Oddly enough, she missed Louisa right now. Though she might tease, she’d also break this unbearable tension if she were here. And Addie, if she were here, would be casting Prudence supportive, furtive smiles filled with sympathy and understanding. Miss Grayson—oh, her heart ached to think of how the ever-maternal and kind Miss Grayson would make her feel as though all would be well if she were here.
But it was Delilah she missed most of all. Dee would know what to do. She never took a back seat to her own life. Even now she was probably working with her dashing fiancé to orchestrate some sort of plan to take control of her father’s estate and get vengeance on her stepmother who’d wronged her.
She certainly wouldn’t be sipping soup in silence as the people around her planned the rest of her life.
Prudence dropped her soup spoon with a clatter. Not entirely on purpose, but it still served to break the unceasing silence that was fraught with tension. For her, at least.
All eyes were on her and her mouth went dry. Her aunt’s withering stare, in particular, seemed to be boring a hole into her skull. “Mr Benedict, I trust your sister is well,” she said.
She had no reason to believe his sister was well or otherwise. She’d only met the woman once and had barely exchanged three words. But it was the best she could come up with at the moment.
“Oh yes, quite well.”
Sir William launched into speech then and Prudence was finally able to relax a bit as he filled the air with boring talk of their other relations. His nephew, meanwhile, watched her with an intensity that was alarming.
“Isn’t it odd that Lord Damian has taken to tutoring young ladies in music?” he mused as another silence descended.
Prudence tensed even though his tone was as mild as his expression. He hardly seemed put out by the fact that his potential bride had been caught alone with a known rake.
That was...good, she supposed. It wouldn’t do to have a jealous hothead for a husband. Not that he had anything to be jealous about.
Damian might have been exceedingly handsome and extraordinarily dashing, particularly when compared to the plain, one might say bland-looking Mr. Benedict, but no one in his right mind would believe that he was interested in her. Not as anything more than a student, at least.
Aunt Eleanor’s laughter was jarring. “You know how eccentric these young lads can be. Always wanting to make a name for themselves.”
Mr. Benedict’s sniff seemed to indicate that he did indeed understand. Or perhaps he was merely coming down with a cold. Either way, the sniff rubbed Prudence the wrong way.
“But you know,” Aunt Eleanor continued. “Lord Damian is quite in demand as a tutor. He only takes on special cases.” She flicked a damning gaze in Prudence’s direction. “Those who deserve extra attention.”
“Ah.” His face lit with pleasure as he turned to Prudence. “You take your studies seriously then, that is good to hear.”
“Mmm,” she murmured. “Quite.”
“You have a special interest in music, I take it?” Mr. Benedict looked so eager at this news she was stumped as to how to answer.
“I, er…” Her mind flashed back to her lesson this morning, the way Damian’s face seemed to glow with happiness as he talked about music. “I believe music can be quite powerful.”
She expected this man who apparently so revered music to agree, but to her surprise he tipped his head from side to side. “Personally, I find music to be a silly and frivolous waste of one’s time. But for a young lady it’s a necessity, I assume.”
Her brows arched and she had to resist the urge to shoot Aunt Eleanor with a questioning look. She’d made it seem as though Mr. Benedict held a woman’s ability to play the pianoforte above all else.
She ought to have known that her aunt was exaggerating. By the sounds of it, this man was more sensible than she’d given him credit. “My best subject has always been mathematics,” she offered.
He stared at her for
a long moment. Then he laughed, exchanging an amused look with his uncle. “Mathematics? Whatever will you use that for?”
She straightened, ready to reply, but her aunt spoke first. “Young ladies are often encouraged to learn their numbers and figures. It’s highly useful when managing a household, I assure you.”
Prudence stared at her aunt with an open mouth. Had Aunt Eleanor just...stood up for her?
But Aunt Eleanor chose that moment to shoot her a glare that made her insides wither. Prudence had spoken out of turn, that glare seemed to say. And now her aunt was doing her best to fix the situation.
“Is that what they’re teaching young girls at these finishing schools nowadays?” Mr. Benedict asked with a sneer that made Prudence squirm in her seat.
Aunt Eleanor merely took a sip of her soup.
“All a young lady needs to know to run a household is how to add two plus two, isn’t that right, Sir William?”
His uncle laughed heartily. Aunt Eleanor did not.
“What else are they teaching Miss Pottermouth at that school of hers?” Sir William asked.
“Never fear, gentlemen. The ladies who run the school have their priorities in order,” she said with a sniff. “Why, several of the girls there have recently become engaged. Isn’t that right, Prudence?”
“Yes, Aunt Eleanor,” she murmured dutifully.
Her aunt rattled off the engagements, which sounded impressive indeed. An earl. A marquess. The second son of a duke.
Prudence had to fight to keep her posture straight as she listened to her friends’ epic romances reduced to a list of titles and connections.
It wasn’t as though she were jealous. She wasn’t. Aside from her great aunt, her connections were not so very great. And being the daughter of a scandal hardly helped her situation. She’d never had hopes for a great marriage or even dreamt of a title.
She glanced over at Mr. Benedict who was clearly impressed with her friends and their newfound status.
The School of Charm: Books 1-5 Page 49
