“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
