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
