She shook her head again, quicker this time, her brows drawn together in consternation. “I don’t know...I can’t believe that…” She took a deep breath and seemed to pull herself together through sheer strength. Her chin tilted up in stubborn defiance.
He’d grown to love that look but right now it made him cold. He knew what she would say before she even said it.
“It does not matter what I want,” she said. Her back was straight, her lips pinched.
He took a step toward her but she moved back quickly before turning to rush off toward her home and her aunt and the future that she did not want but would not defy.
Of course she wouldn’t. This was Pru. Loyal and obedient to a fault.
Except when she was with him.
A sharp pain in his chest had him bending over at the waist, resting his hands on his knees. He’d known she wouldn’t let something so silly as emotions cloud her judgement. When it came to making decisions, his Pru would always choose honor and loyalty and duty over her own wants and desires.
He closed his eyes and let out a huff of air, a humorless laugh. He’d known how this would end even as he’d started to talk. He also knew why. Her parents had made the selfish choice, and she would never make the same mistake.
It was understandable, just like his experience as a boy living outside of society had made him wary of entering back into the fold. In that sense, they were the same. Each so determined not to repeat their parents’ mistakes.
Just as he knew what her response would be to any talk of this new connection they shared, he also knew that she would never be happy living the life her aunt had set out for her. But now that begged the question...at what point had he come to know Pru better than she knew herself?
And more importantly, how could he make her see that her quest to please her aunt was in vain? That no matter how perfectly she acted, no matter how good, how quick, how smart, she would never find the happiness there that she deserved?
He closed his eyes as he straightened, heading back toward his own home to get ready for the evening to come.
His heart felt like a dead weight but his mind was clearer now than it ever had been before.
He loved Prudence Pottermouth. And for better or worse, he was going to make sure she knew it.
But first…
A smile tugged at his lips.
First he would make sure that her performance tonight was a success.
Chapter Thirteen
This night was destined to be a disaster. She would be a failure. The entire idea was ludicrous, and it was all Damian’s fault.
Prudence paced the small quarters of the music room as the clocked seemed to count down to her certain doom.
She huffed loudly at the thought. See what he’d done? Damian’s grand plan had her so off kilter she was starting to have the sort of melodramatic thoughts befitting Louisa.
That would not do.
She forced herself to sit primly on a settee and take deep, even breaths.
She would not turn into Louisa. No, sir. No matter what the situation, she had her head on her shoulders and she would survive with her pride and dignity intact.
She shut her eyes tight at the thought of the horror to come.
Fine, perhaps she would not survive with her dignity, but she would survive. And whatever the extent of Aunt Eleanor’s wrath, she would survive it. There was no other option.
What if there were other options? What if there was someone else?
She clenched her hands into fists and screwed her eyes shut so tightly it hurt. She could not go there. The memory of those few brief moments when he’d touched her...when he’d held her hands and made her believe…
She gave her head a quick jarring shake. He’d gone crazy, that was the only explanation for the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d held her close.
And she was just as insane, obviously. Because she’d let him hold her, and when he’d hinted that maybe there could be a future for them, well…
She stood up abruptly.
Obviously there could be no such thing. He was the heir to a marquess. He could have any lady he wanted. More importantly, he’d never even liked her and she’d never cared for him, either. She bit her lip. She’d never cared for him...until recently.
But what he was saying, what he was inferring—it was just Damian being Damian. He was reckless, impulsive. More than that, he was kind.
She let out a loud exhale as she sank back down into her seat. Her bones suddenly felt like heavy rocks and her whole body seemed to tremble with the weight of this new realization.
He was kind. Even as a child when he was forever teasing and playing pranks, he’d always been kind. He had a good heart. And she had no doubt it was that kindness that had led to his rash actions earlier.
Or at least, she’d assumed he was hinting that he was another option.
She rubbed at her temples as she replayed everything he’d said, every look, every touch…
Surely that was what he’d meant, but it was best to forget it immediately because he’d been taking pity, maybe even hoping to save the poor fool who’d gone and fallen for him.
Her groan sounded loud in the vacant room.
Was that what this was, this muddled mix of emotions? Was this what it meant to have...feelings for someone?
She clapped a hand over her chest and rubbed where her chest ached. Then she supposed it was no wonder all of her friends had fallen victim. This illness was overwhelming in its attack and brutal with its symptoms.
At this particular moment she could even understand why her parents had chosen as they had. They’d been in love.
But they’d also been selfish.
She opened her eyes slowly this time, letting the room come into focus as she evened her breathing and blocked out the memories that threatened to drown her. Damian dancing with her; Damian being patient and kind no matter how many times she fumbled over the keys; Damian teasing her and making her laugh; Damian looking at her and seeing her and…
And liking what he saw.
The realization was so sweet it brought tears to her eyes.
“There you are.” Aunt Eleanor marched into the room looking put out already. “Are you hiding, child?”
“No, Aunt Eleanor.” She came to stand just as voices filled the hallway. Aunt Eleanor’s voice dropped to a whisper that was all the more terrifying for its softness. “Mr. Benedict is your only chance, girl, and don’t you forget it. After everything I’ve done for you, you had better make this match, or else.”
Pru blinked. She had no idea what ‘or else’ meant in this context but she could guess. Her aunt would wash her hands of her once and for all, no doubt. Her only family would abandon her...again.
“I understand, Aunt Eleanor.”
Her aunt grunted in acknowledgment.
“Pardon the interruption...” Damian swept into the room so quickly, his voice so loud it made her stiffen. He flashed her a small smile before turning a far more elegant grin in the direction of her aunt, charming her with small talk and questions about the elderly lady’s health.
Pru took the opportunity to watch him. There he was, the consummate charmer. The heir to a marquess. The golden boy who lived life dangerously, led by his heart and his soul and his passion.
She caught a pathetic little sigh before it could escape.
Oh yes, Damian’s appeal was undeniable, but her aunt was right. He was not for her. Even if he felt this way for her. Even if it wasn’t just kindness and pity on his part…
Choosing her would be selfish on his part.
Choosing him would be even more selfish on her part.
“And so, if you’ll excuse us,” he was saying to her aunt with a wave of his hand that seemed to include Prudence. “I’d like a word with my protege before the recital begins.”
The recital.
How had she managed to forget that in mere moments her world would come to a crushing, brutal, humiliating end?
Drat. She truly was turning into Louisa. Perhaps love made everyone dramatic.
Her aunt gave them space. Not so much that they could repeat the incident that occurred earlier today, but enough so that they could speak privately in hushed voices.
“We didn’t finish our talk earlier,” he said the moment her aunt had reached the far side of the room to loudly criticize the flower arrangement. A nearby maid looked ready to cry.
That girl wouldn’t last in this household for long if she couldn’t handle being yelled at.
She couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Damian. It was easier to watch the poor girl tremble than to face the tenderness and affection she feared she might see when she looked to Damian.
“Pru, look at me.”
She huffed, pursing her lips as she tried to feel annoyed with him for his heavy handedness. “I do not know why you got me into this in the first place,” she said when she finally dragged her gaze upward to look at him.
His lips twitched with amusement. “You couldn’t avoid this forever, you know.”
For a moment she wasn’t sure to what he was referring. To this moment right here and now? To her potential marriage? To another dreaded recital?
It didn’t matter.
“I’m not ready,” she hissed.
“Of course you are.” For once there was no laughter in his eyes, no twitch to his lips. He was serious. “You are Prudence Pottermouth, the strongest, bravest girl I know.”
She tried to think of a way to snap at him, to chide him or glare at him...but she couldn’t. Her lips were trembling too much to purse, tears were pricking the back of her eyes, and her heart…
Her heart felt as though it was breaking. The way he was looking at her right now, with such confidence and admiration, with such tenderness and...and love.
It made her want to laugh and weep and scream all at once.
Instead she turned away. Her gaze moved toward the door where the small crowd of soon-to-be-horrified audience members were talking amongst themselves. The marquess seemed to be the center of attention and she watched in horror as her potential fiancé fawned over the man like he was the prince regent himself.
“I can’t go through with this.” The whisper escaped before she could stop it. She wasn’t even certain herself to what she was referring. Watching this man—this bore—this would-be gentleman who cared not for her intellect nor her company, but who was merely in the market for a show horse. Someone with the right connections he could trot out at gatherings to impress his colleagues.
She pressed a hand to her belly. No, she could not do this.
“You can.” Damian murmured the words of encouragement gently. “I did not lie to your aunt when I said that you were ready.”
“You told her I was perfect,” she hissed, latching on to anger and her fears of performing in front of an audience because it was easier than thinking about what else was to come. The stand she must take. The decision that had been made in her heart that could not be undone.
“Music is not meant to be perfect,” he said, his voice low but insistent. His gaze held hers, so fierce. So kind. So understanding. “It is meant to be filled with emotion, which you have. It is meant to encompass passion and beauty and elegance.” He leaned forward, so close that his lips brushed against the wisps of hair at her temple. “And that is all you, my dear.”
She shut her eyes as if that could shut out the words. “You know what I mean, Damian. Now they expect me to be good. To be perfect.”
“And you are perfect.”
Her eyes snapped open and she found herself looking straight into her worst fear. Love.
“You are perfect to me,” he said. His fingers touched her chin, tilting her face up so she was forced to see the emotions there.
Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of it, at once so eerily familiar and so disconcertingly strange.
“Just keep your eyes on me,” he said. No, he commanded.
Her brows arched in surprise at his tone and his lips quirked. “Just this once, Pru, do as I say. Yes?”
She nodded and even managed to add, “I suppose I must. You are the musical genius.”
His low rumble of laughter warmed her all the way through and eased the tension that had been choking her throat and making her rib cage feel too tight.
“This is as simple as singing a hymn at church, which you did beautifully as a child.”
She opened her mouth to protest but he held up a finger to stop her.
“And today will be no different. Do not try to be anything other than who you are, Prudence, and you will be perfect.”
She swallowed down the last of her protest and gave him a short nod instead.
Her aunt was shooing the small audience to their seats and Prudence moved so Damian could take his seat at the pianoforte. As he passed her, he paused. “And Prudence?”
“Yes?” She looked up and her heart thudded wildly at the heat in his eyes.
“When this is all over, you and I…” He leaned in closer. “We will talk.”
She swallowed.
“We will finish the conversation we started today.”
It wasn’t a question so she did not answer. She merely watched him walk away.
When at last the dreaded recital got underway, she did as Damian instructed. She watched his fingers move over the keys so effortlessly, the way he walked through life. She kept her eyes on his soft smile that seemed to say everything would be fine.
And it would. For him, it would.
She watched his eyes, which were the first eyes to ever look at her as though he saw her—completely and in all her imperfect glory—and found her loveable nonetheless.
And when it came time for her to open her mouth and sing, the sight of him staring back at her, that smile and his gaze—it relaxed her enough to get through the song.
Not perfectly. Very far from perfectly.
But she savored the moment all the same.
While the marquess was cornered by Mr. Benedict, Aunt Eleanor was having a quiet conversation in the far corner with Sir William, that left Pru and Damian on their own.
Alone...except for all the other people in the room.
They might as well have been alone, though. To her mind, there was no one else there.
“You were amazing tonight,” Damian said.
She laughed. “I was passable.”
“You were perfect.”
She rolled her eyes. “You were the only person to think so.”
He narrowed his eyes as if mulling it over. “Everyone else is a dullard.”
She let out an utterly unladylike snort of amusement. “If you say so.”
He puffed his chest out. “Well, I am the musical genius here. And I do say so.”
She tipped her chin to concede. “I will not argue the point. If the musical genius says I was perfect, who am I to fight it?”
He laughed at the teasing in her tone like she’d hoped he would.
She truly hadn’t been all that good, but she’d held a tune, all thanks to him. Her gaze hadn’t wavered from him, though it was likely rude to ignore the audience.
But with her eyes on him and his on her, she’d been able to relax. To be herself. And whether her aunt had approved...she knew not.
She doubted it.
She was almost guaranteed to have been disappointed.
But even so, Prudence would survive. Just like she would survive whatever retribution came her way when she informed her aunt that she would not marry Mr. Benedict. She couldn’t, not when she knew for certain that it would be more of the same. She’d always thought marriage would spare her from the miserable life she’d had with her great aunt, unappreciated, unvalued, and unloved.
But if she were to marry Mr. Benedict, it would be more of the same. And the thought of it, a lifetime sentence of more of the same…
She could not do it. It was no longer a matter of what she wished or what she wanted, it was no
w a matter of what she could bear.
She might not be able to have the man who’d stolen her heart, but she could not bear to commit the rest of her life to more of the same. She’d rather face the fear of an unknown future than the certainty of crushing disappointment.
Now she just had to tell Mr. Benedict.
And her great aunt.
Her stomach roiled at the thought but she shoved it to the side. For tonight, for just a little while, she wanted to be happy. Was that so much to ask?
“Pru…” Damian’s voice instantly set her on edge, so filled with meaning. “We need to talk.”
She looked away to make sure no one overheard. She supposed he was right. So much had happened between them, and yet...nothing at all.
He hadn’t compromised her, and she was still promised to another. Or at least she assumed that was the conversation happening right now on the other end of the room.
She wouldn’t be for long, but Damian needn’t know that. Because if he did, if he thought for one moment that her crying off this potential engagement was because of him…
She winced as she remembered what he’d said only the day before about wanting to save her.
He would, that was the beautiful thing about Damian. The thing she hadn’t noticed when she’d been young, or at least she hadn’t been charitable enough to give him credit for.
He was protective and generous and thoughtful. A tease and a prankster and a rebel...and good. He was such a good man.
So good that he would anger his uncle and thwart all of society just to save her from an unhappy marriage.
The thought made her breathing shaky.
He was so kind that he would feel the need to take care of her, maybe even marry her if he knew that what she felt for him was what was finally setting her free.
Terror the likes of which she’d never known had her closing her eyes for a moment. But this terror wasn’t enough to shake her resolve.
Damian had opened her eyes to the fact that she’d been living in fear for far too long. She’d spent a lifetime trying to fit into a role that was too small. She’d worked her whole life to be the perfect niece and one evening in Mr. Benedict’s presence and she’d known that her future would be more of the same.
The School of Charm: Books 1-5 Page 51