“You will come, Uncle, won’t you?” He leaned forward eagerly and watched as his uncle relented right in front of his eyes.
“Fine. What better way to spend an evening than listening to a novice musician perform?”
He ignored his uncle’s sarcasm, rising to leave the room before he could change his mind. Damian hadn’t gone far when he was stopped by a servant with a missive addressed to him.
The flare of joy that shot through him at the sight of Pru’s name scrawled across the bottom was alarming. At what point had he become so enamored with the goody-two-shoes from the neighboring estate?
He shoved the question aside for another day because she wanted to see him.
Alone.
He raced toward the thicket of trees that divided the property, not even needing exact directions to know where she’d be hiding. It was the fallen log that had played a role in any number of their childish games.
Well, his games. She’d never wanted to play. She’d been too busy with her lessons or trying and failing to keep her pinafore perfectly crisp and clean.
Now he knew why, of course, but at the time all he’d wanted to do was make a mess of her starched white fabric and tug her long braids until she lost that fearsome scowl.
And now… Well, now she’d lost the scowl and he found he wanted it back. He far preferred an angry sanctimonious impossibly prudent Pru to one who cowered in fear.
When he spotted her, pacing the area between the two trees that formed a sort of gateway between the properties, he was fairly certain his heart stopped. His blood burned in his veins.
Whatever this was, this new reaction to seeing Prudence, he wasn’t certain he liked it and he had no idea what to do about it.
“Damian!” She cried out his name so sweetly when she saw him. Almost like she’d missed him. The thought warmed his heart. It also made him realize that he had missed her. Which was ridiculous. He’d seen her less than twenty-four hours before.
“Damian, what are we to do?” she asked as he drew near.
He stared down at her for a moment, only now seeing the panic in her eyes. And then it hit him.
Of course.
The reality of her situation was only now occurring to her. She couldn’t have spent an evening with that pompous bore and not seen the writing on the wall.
She wasn’t meant for a man like that. A man like Mr. Benedict would stifle her. He would bring out her worst tendencies and smother the parts of her that made her so deliciously Pru. Her passion, her straightforwardness, her vulnerability and her clever methods of hiding it, her big heart, and her even bigger brain…
“Damian, are you even listening to me?”
Her wonderful tendency to sigh as she talked as though she could hardly contain her exasperation for one more moment.
His lips curved up at the thought. “My apologies, what were you saying? You wish to avoid this engagement, of course, but—”
“What? No! Of course I don’t want out of the agreement.”
He found himself gaping like she’d been staring at him. As though she’d just grown a second head. “You don’t?”
She looked pained at the very idea. “Of course not! Why would you think such a thing?”
Why? He shifted uncomfortably, watching as the breeze stirred the dark locks near her temple and pressed the too-loose gown against the lovely curves of her body.
Why indeed?
She’d never show the slightest interest in abandoning this union, only in making it a certainty. That was what these lessons were all about. He rubbed at his forehead in confusion. At what point had he lost track of that?
He supposed it was because up until yesterday afternoon her potential husband had been invisible. Unthreatening. Now he was a dark cloud looming overhead, threatening to wreak havoc and impossible to ignore.
But at this particular moment she seemed less bothered by the doom of her future than by him. Her glare turned fiery. “Are you even listening to me at all?”
He tugged at his cravat as it hit him with full force. She would marry Mr. Benedict. She wanted to marry that man.
Had it suddenly grown uncomfortably warm out here? Why was it so beastly hot on an autumn afternoon like this? His insides felt like they might combust. Perhaps something had gone sour in his breakfast because that was the only explanation for this sudden churning in his gut whenever he thought of Prudence and that doughy-faced bore with the blank stare.
Prudence threw her hands up, her eyes wide. “What are we going to do?”
“About what?”
“About me? Performing.” She hissed the word ‘performing’ like it was a scandalous act.
“What are you worried about? You needn’t play the pianoforte. I’d be happy to accompany you.”
“You want me to sing?” Her voice went up so high he winced.
“I take it you do not relish the idea of singing.” He’d aimed for droll but fell short.
Her answer was a glare. “You had better not be finding this amusing. After all, your reputation as a musical genius is at stake here, remember.”
“I remember.” He tried not to smile, he truly did. But the way she’d said ‘musical genius’ made it impossible.
She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You are not allowed to be amused.”
Without thinking, he placed a hand over hers and held it to him. All at once the atmosphere between them shifted from her bickering exasperation and his answering amusement to something else entirely.
This ‘something’ seemed to crackle in the air between them and weigh him down like he was moving in the midst of a dense, thick fog.
“What are you doing?” Her words sounded muted, her lips barely moving.
He knew this because he couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from those lips.
So many emotions chasing each other like a dog chasing its tail. There were thoughts and feelings and
