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 quite 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
