But while it was one thing to feel that way, it was quite another to have to stop and acknowledge the fact.
Intentionally or not, his uncle was rubbing Damian’s nose in the fact that he’d gone and found an—oh curse it. He’d found a work ethic, plain and simple.
As if he could read his mind, his uncle wore a thoroughly satisfied, completely off putting smile when he next spoke. “In that case, I see I have no choice but to condone this new pastime of yours.”
Damian let out a sigh of relief. Not so much because he’d been granted permission—for years now he’d been acting blithely with or without permission of any sort. He was merely relieved that this wretched interview had come to a close.
“But Damian—”
He froze halfway to the door. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. Next his uncle would no doubt make him admit that he was beginning to harbor hopes for the future. He’d make him call it something utterly vile like a ‘life plan’ or some such nonsense.
“If I find out that you are doing this to get close to Miss Pottermouth—”
His short laugh of amusement cut Uncle Edward off before he could finish. Damian turned around. “I assure you, Uncle, I have no nefarious intentions toward the Dowager Demon’s niece.”
Uncle Edward scowled at the nickname but did not argue.
How could he? The dowager duchess’s property had adjoined theirs since time immemorial and his uncle knew their neighbor's character as well as anyone.
Was it any wonder that her ward had been such an unpleasant little brat?
Likely not.
He felt his lips curling in disgust at this flicker of sympathy for the girl who’d made his childhood miserable with her relentless tattling and her ceaseless nagging.
Certainly, she’d been the victim of bad fortune to be raised by the Dowager Demon but that hardly excused her for being a prig.
Uncle Edward was watching him closely. “Are you certain you have no ulterior motives when it comes to Miss Pottermouth?”
Damian rolled his eyes. Did he really have to repeat himself? Couldn’t his uncle have a little trust just this once? But as soon as Damian thought it, he dismissed the idea.
Of course his uncle didn’t trust his word. Why should he? Aside from the fact that his uncle knew very well of his questionable parentage, he had a lifetime of bad behavior to live down.
Or to live up to, depending how one looked at it.
The thought made him grin.
Uncle Edward groaned as he ran a weary hand over his face. “That smile only ever leads to trouble.”
Damian laughed, heading toward the door. “Perhaps. But I can promise you this.” He paused in the doorway. “I have no nefarious hidden agendas when it comes to Miss Prudence Pottermouth.”
Uncle Edward’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “So you don’t have any…” He waved a hand, his expression pained. “Feelings for the girl.”
Damian laughed again, because honestly, the thought was ludicrous. He knew what his uncle meant by ‘feelings.’ He meant attraction. Desire.
It had been years since he’d seen the girl but all he felt when he thought of Miss Prudence Pottermouth was contempt.
Chapter Three
Prudence’s great aunt wasted no time.
The very next morning, Prudence was summoned from the breakfast table—a table at which the servants had been ordered to provide only the bare minimum because of her ‘weight troubles.’
How mortifying.
Her stomach still rumbled with hunger as she left the room at her aunt’s bidding. “We have a full day ahead of us,” her aunt said the moment she entered the drawing room.
Her aunt eyed her from head to toe and she straightened her spine in response, bracing herself for the inevitable criticisms.
Fortunately, this morning her aunt seemed too distracted to delve into specifics and she settled on a simple shake of her head. “We have much work to do.”
Prudence held still. That was it?
She very nearly wilted with relief, but that would have meant that her posture worsened and that would have only incurred more criticism.
So she remained standing as straight as an arrow, her back to the door as she listened to her aunt rattle off a list of all the steps they would take for her improvement.
They had a fortnight to prepare for her possible future husband’s arrival with his family, and Aunt Eleanor meant to make the most of every last second.
“But most importantly, your music lessons.” Aunt Eleanor’s gaze turned sharp. “If you cannot master the pianoforte then perhaps he can teach you how to hold a tune so you don’t embarrass yourself by singing.”
The mere mention of singing had her throat closing up in horror.
“Or we’ll find you some other instrument.” Aunt Eleanor waved a hand as though there were a wide assortment of instruments to be found in the drawing room. “Something that you can’t ruin with those thick fingers of yours.”
Prudence nodded. All she had to do was try, she reminded herself. It was not as though this engagement would be made or broken based on her ability to sing, now would it?
Her aunt took a step closer as the door behind Prudence opened and the butler cleared his throat.
Her aunt took no notice. “Do you understand the gravity of this situation, Prudence?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Of course,” her aunt repeated with a scornful mutter. “I doubt it. If you did, you would have tried harder at Miss Grayson’s school. But you didn’t so now you are here, and do not think for one moment that I will coddle you or allow you to be the lazy ungrateful little cur your mother was as a child.”
The words were barbed arrows, but years of practice taught her how to shield herself against their blows. “Yes, Aunt Eleanor.”
But Aunt Eleanor wasn’t done. “Do you think Mr. Benedict couldn’t have his pick of ladies? Do you believe you are so very special that he will overlook such a monumental flaw?”
She ought to keep quiet. She knew this very well. Yet her entire body quaked with the urge to speak, to protest, to defend herself. “But I have many other skills—”
“Other skills?” Her aunt’s face grew flushed and her entire body seemed to quiver with anger.
Fear sliced through Prudence, cold and sickening as she stumbled back a step.
“Do you think Mr. Benedict cares that you can do maths? Do you think he will be so very overcome by your spectacular looks that he’ll forget the fact that he is in need of a wife who can host and that his very business depends on having a wife who can entertain?”
She was still trying to stammer a response when a voice from behind her saved her.
“My apologies for intruding, my lady.”
That voice. She knew that voice.
Spinning around quickly, she found herself right smack in the middle of her worst nightmare.
Him.
Damian the reckless beast was there, in the doorway...and he’d heard.
He’d heard it all, of that she was certain. When his dark gaze flickered in her direction she saw it—worse than any tirade or criticism her aunt could ever throw her way.
Pity.
She saw pity there, and it was so much worse than her friends’ sympathy. It made her insides recoil, her stomach churn.
It made her want to heave those meager contents in her stomach to rid herself of the vile sensation.
“You are late.” Her aunt snapped at him as she strode toward the door, past Prudence, who no longer seemed to exist. The tirade forgotten.
“Apologies again, my lady.” Damian bowed low, his gaze cast down to the floor in respect.
Prudence narrowed her eyes, registering him anew now that the shock of his sudden arrival was waning.
“I arrived a short while ago but did not wish to intrude.”
Her aunt glared at the butler who cowered beside him as he murmured an apology for not interrupting sooner, although Prudence was c
ertain that they all knew he would have been chastised either way. The poor old servant was forever in trouble.
“Hmph.” Her aunt gave a grunt that no one would refer to as ladylike as she eyed Damian from head to toe.
Prudence did the same from a safe distance.
What she found was remarkable. It was him...and it wasn’t.
There was no denying those dark eyes, that sharp jawline, the narrow, aquiline nose, or those cheekbones that hinted at a heritage she could not quite place.
There was something beautifully exotic about him, with his thick, dark hair and his tall, lean build. He’d always stood apart from any crowd, and at this moment she would have recognized him anywhere, even if a few years of aging had given him a bit more of a mature look.
No, he looked exactly the same as she remembered. But his demeanor…
Well, this was new.
Gone was the roguish, disreputable rake with the languid air, the hooded eyes, and the ever present smirk. In his place was a dignified, upright, superior sort of man.
The kind of man her aunt adored. One who cast young ladies such as herself a derisive glance before turning their allegiance and respect to whomever held the most power.
In this case—in most cases—that meant her great aunt.
“I assure you, I will have your niece ready in time for her next performance,” he was saying in that low voice of his. Although rather than that smug, sarcastic tone she’d always despised, his voice now was filled with reverence and respect.
“Be sure that you do,” Aunt Eleanore snapped. “Your reputation precedes you, Lord Damian. But if you cannot deliver as promised, I shall be forced to let my friends know that your talents have been exaggerated.”
He dipped his head low in acknowledgment, showing none of the fear that many would in his position, but none of that galling bravado either.
Prudence’s eyes narrowed further. What was he about? Had he truly changed so very much? Had he matured into this man she saw before her or was this some sort of act?
Mistrust had her pinching her lips to keep from asking him outright, something she would certainly have done if her aunt were not here in the room with them.
His gaze flicked past Aunt Eleanor and clashed with hers, and that was when she saw it clear as day.
His mockery. His silent laughter at her expense.
Oh, nothing had changed in his outward demeanor, but she didn’t need it to. She knew. She could see right through this act of his and the fact that her great aunt was fooled—and she surely was because even now she was walking out of the room and leaving them alone together, telling the butler to leave the door open and stay close, but otherwise leaving them alone.
Together.
Something she could not name had her heart racing in her chest. Or maybe it wasn’t something but several things. She could not tell if what she was feeling was panic, fear, disgust, or anger.
She suspected it was all of the above.
His gaze held hers as her aunt threw out one last parting shot to Prudence about trying her best or not bothering to join her for supper.
Prudence flinched slightly but waited to breathe again until her aunt left the room and a sudden silence filled the air in her wake.
All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing in the muffled room with its thick carpeting and outdated, oversized furniture that used to make her feel like a human visiting a giant’s kingdom when she was a child.
She couldn’t recall ever seeing Damian in this room or in this house, despite their long acquaintance. Perhaps that was why she found it so unsettling. His presence here felt ominous...and that was before he opened his mouth.
“And so we meet again, Pru.”
She frowned. “It’s Miss Pottermouth.”
He arched a brow and….there he was. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened. The transformation was remarkable. As if a curtain was drawn back, she found herself facing the boy who’d terrorized her youth with his merciless teasing and his awful pranks.
“I’ve called you Pru for years,” he said, his eyes dancing with mirth. “And now so formal?”
She pinched her lips together. He was baiting her. This time—for once—she wouldn’t fall for it. “We were children then. Times have changed.”
“Ah.” He clapped a hand over his heart. “And here I’d hoped you’d call me Damian once more and we could rekindle our childhood intimacy.”
She scowled. “We were never intimate.”
He gave his head a woeful shake. “And more’s the pity.”
She opened her mouth. She closed her mouth. “What are you on about?” Planting her hands on her hips, she eyed him as he’d been studying her. “And what is with this music tutor nonsense? Surely your uncle doesn’t approve—”
“I have my uncle’s full support,” he interrupted.
She narrowed her eyes. He seemed to be telling the truth.
But then again, unlike her, his guardian had always been kind and supportive. No doubt this was why he’d also been so disobedient as a child.
As though he could read her thoughts, his eyes narrowed and his lips twitched with a mocking smirk. “What’s wrong, Pru? Worried I’ll cause you trouble?”
“I would not put it past you.”
He laughed. “You can rest assured, my days of hijinx and pranks are well behind me.”
“I see. Now you merely act the part of the proper young gentleman while you weasel your way into the private rooms of the ton’s most eligible young ladies.”
His brows shot up in surprise and the flickering look in his eyes was a mix of irritation and admiration—which precisely summed up the way he’d always treated her. Even as a child he could not seem to determine whether she was a worthy adversary or merely a pest.
He recovered quickly, a sinister smile replacing his smirk as he strode toward her, not stopping until he was so close she could feel his heat. “Is that what worries you, Pru?” He glanced down, taking in her modest, perhaps slightly frumpy morning gown, and moving up to eye her tidy but practical hairstyle. “I assure you, you have nothing to fear on that front.”
She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes...but a dreadful heat rose up in her neck, no doubt leaving her decolletage a mottled, ugly sight as his meaning registered.
She had nothing to fear because she was not attractive enough to warrant his attentions.
Tilting her chin up higher, she sniffed. “Good. I’m glad we are clear.”
His dark eyes flashed, and for a moment she was nearly knocked sideways because something passed between them. An understanding, perhaps. The wicked banter and the unpleasant insinuations fell away and for a moment it was just Pru and Damian.
And in that moment, in his eyes, she caught something alarmingly like guilt. Maybe regret. There and gone so fast she nearly missed it.
“Are you ready then, Miss Pottermouth?” He said her name mockingly.
She wasn’t entirely sure what prompted her to do it, but she shot back with, “After you, Damian.”
His eyes flared wide with surprise and amusement before he led them toward the music room. For a moment, her dislike for Damian was forgotten. It was drowned out by dread.
That dread grew to panic as they entered the large, wood-paneled room with its oriental rug and the ferns that added little life to the stale, memory-filled room.
He turned as he reached the pianoforte. “Now then, Miss Pottermouth, where shall we beg—” He stopped abruptly as he faced her. “Pru?”
His brows drew down in an expression she’d never seen from him before—and she’d thought she’d catalogued his every smirk, smile, and sneer.
But this didn’t fall into any of those categories. This was a frown. And frowns made him look different. They made him seem more mature, more serious.
And that look in his eyes?
Was that…?
She couldn’t be certain.
And then it didn’t matter because the
room was spinning. That panicky sensation giving way to a sick feeling that was enhanced a million times over by the familiar scent of this room, with its wood polish and that musty stench from the curtains.
“Miss Potter—oh curse it. Pru, are you all right?”
The room ceased spinning just long enough for her to catch sight of the concern in his eyes.
Concern. Now that was definitely a new look from this man.
That was the last thought she had before she lost all sight and the room went dark.
Chapter Four
Damian’s heart stopped when Prudence collapsed.
Instinct had him rushing over to her and catching her just before her head made contact with the floor. But now he was stuck holding her in an awkward grip, half crouching and half kneeling as he attempted to gently lower her weight.
He might not like Prudence but he had no wish to see her harmed.
In fact, the sight of her lying prostrate like this, all vulnerable and fragile and—
Pfft. He let out a little scoff of rueful amusement. Fragile? Prudence? Hardly. The girl was a force of nature.
And yet…
He tapped her cheek gently, her head lolling in his lap as he adjusted to make her comfortable. Should he call for assistance?
Most likely.
He stared down at her features, so sweet when they weren’t pinched in distaste or pursed with judgement. So surprisingly...pretty.
He frowned down at her as he felt for her pulse at her neck. Steady. Her chest was rising and falling normally.
He was no doctor but she seemed to have merely fainted. And truth be told, the last thing he wanted was another run-in with her great aunt. More importantly, he had no desire to give the Dowager Demon another reason to criticize poor Pru.
Poor Pru. He exhaled loudly in exasperation. He’d never felt sorry for this girl before and he wasn’t keen on the feeling. More, he had a suspicion that she would hate it if she knew he was pitying her.
But he couldn’t quite shake the sight of her when she’d been bearing the brunt of her aunt’s harsh words. Even from behind he could see it, the way her normally rigid posture seemed to slump beneath her aunt’s criticisms. And when she’d turned, he’d seen it in her eyes. The sort of weary resignation he’d never thought to see in someone so rigidly sure of herself and the world around her.
The School of Charm: Books 1-5 Page 43