Chapter 13
Soren
A week. He’d needed an entire week to recover from his last escapade with Pru.
To see her finally let down her hair—so to speak—and just let go had him tied in knots for days.
He wasn’t supposed to be attracted to an innocent, but her layered wit and intellect coupled with her beauty and passion had him on his knees.
Physically. He’d never experienced anything even remotely close to what he witnessed as Pru explored her body in front of him.
He hadn’t been able to look at or even think of another woman in the last week.
God, just thinking of her made his cock swell in his breeches. So he needed to see her. Fix whatever it was that she had broken in him. If only to connect with Bart and his damn stud. That’s all he needed. That was the only reason. That, and the whole fixing him thing.
It had nothing to do with the desperation within him longing to see her hair actually let down.
“Tell me Ash didn’t send his regrets only upon hearing that Verity would be in attendance tonight?” Looking around noncommittally, Rafe took a sip of his drink.
“I’m sure he did just that. The man has his pride, you know?”
“Don’t we all?” With a subtle nod toward the Hawthorne sisters who had just entered the ballroom, Rafe added, “Though perhaps you don’t?”
The not too conspicuous act of craning his neck to take a gander at Prudence would indicate that he had indeed abandoned his pride. Or least a significant chunk of it.
“You and Ash agreed that she was my best bet at getting at Bart. I’m simply following through.”
“Since when did you play nice?”
“I’ve always played nice. In my own way.” Soren dropped the conversation intending to supplant it with an observational look at Pru, but when his eyes landed on her, she merely gave him a curt nod and turned back to her twin.
“The devil take it,” he muttered under his breath none too quietly.
“You’re not about to approach her in that state, are you?”
“Should I not?”
“Do you really think your reputation mingling with hers won’t stir the gossip mills?”
“Do you ever just answer a question, Rafe?”
“Do you?”
“Gah.” He clenched his fists inside of his pockets and released a pent up breath. “If Ash were here, he’d…”
“He’d what?”
“He’d probably talk some sense into me. Because I am about to approach her. The chit won’t even send a passing glance in my direction.”
“Is that really what you’re searching for?”
No. No, he was not. He was anticipating a shy look. A fervent blush on her cheeks. A demure shrug of her shoulders. God, anything but a brusque nod.
As discreetly as he could, he retreated a few steps to the left, casually bringing Rafe with him. The better vantage point to see her from.
This time when he caught her eye, she jutted out her chin in an unexpected defiant gesture. What was going on with her?
At the risk of being caught staring, he kept his gaze clamped on her. And that’s when he saw it. A small flex in her jaw. A hand to her neck. And then a side eye. Directly at him.
God, how that little gesture made hope soar in his body. He could practically feel his feet lift from the ground. What a besotted fool he was. Drunk off of half a look from her.
But he couldn’t help it.
“I’m going to talk to her.”
Rafe’s question went unheard as Soren’s feet meandered through the crowd toward Pru.
By the time he approached her shoulder, her two other sisters had wandered off in search of a drink, leaving Pru to her own devices.
“Would my little librarian do me the honor of providing a tour of the library in five minutes’ time?”
The brevity of her reply caught him off guard. “Ten.”
But when he realized what she said, he countered with, “Eight.” And before she could negotiate, he footed it out of the room.
Eight minutes couldn’t pass quickly enough. Mostly because in only forty they’d be ushered in for the dinner meal, which didn’t give them much time alone.
In the midst of checking his pocketwatch for the thirty-third time, he heard the soft snick of the door and unhurried footsteps enter the room.
The sight of her had him catching his breath. Her blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun that he wanted to spend all night unpinning. The prim and proper cut of her dress, too modest to show off any curves. They were all for him. Every last covered inch of her was for his eyes only.
But when her fingers twitched at her side, he knew to tread carefully and therefore added levity to his voice in suggesting, “Let’s answer your second question, shall we?”
But she didn’t answer him as expected. If anything, she replied to him as if he had asked for word from her sister. “I wish I had better news, Soren. She’s not prompt to reply, but the missive she sent was a refusal to say anything to Bart.”
That news should have left him more disheartened than he felt, but clearly the wringing of her hands showed her distress outweighed his own.
“I’ll make it up to you.” She took one step forward and stopped, looked down at her hands, and then braved his gaze.
“There’s nothing you need to make up to me, Pru.”
“I should try again. I should try harder. If we show up at her house together, she wouldn’t turn us away.”
“Is that what you’d like to do?” Though his legs wanted to rush toward her, he permitted only that his feet could approach at a snail’s pace.
“I would. I want you to get what you want, Soren.”
He was toe to toe with her now. “You know that I’ll answer your questions without any more effort from you though, right?”
“I-I wasn’t sure.”
“I’d never ask for you to strain a familial relation for my sake. It’s just a horse.” Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that he would put a woman—nigh a stranger—above the desire to breed Bart’s stallion. Night Sky was an underrated stud with the promise of future winnings.
“Thank you, Soren.” And never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that simple gratitude would be his undoing.