Page 9 of Indecent
“Shall you call me Bennet, then? Pru.” He said her name slowly, even though he used the shortened version, as if he were trying it out.
“If you’re to call me Pru, I shall call you Ben. Does anyone call you that?”
“My Aunt Agatha used to.” His gaze drifted to the fire and remained fixed upon it.
Prudence was tempted to ask if his aunt was still with him, but it sounded as if she was not. He’d been kind enough not to prod after she’d foolishly mentioned her father. She would show him the same courtesy. It wasn’t as if they needed to get to know one another, even if they were trapped together for a longer period of time.
She studied his profile, acknowledging that he was a very handsome gentleman. He also seemed most remorseful, not that his contrition alleviated the trouble he’d caused. Was it a trouble? She’d been frightened and uncomfortable, but she was unharmed and safe. Presumably, her reputation would remain intact. Would it if she was revealed to have been alone with Glastonbury for several days? Elopement would ensure she wasn’t ruined.
Except she didn’t want to marry him, nor was he asking. But if she hadn’t eloped, what could she say she’d been doing? And why had she written the note? She’d have to reveal him and the truth of his actions.
It would be bad enough for him with everyone learning he had no money. Did she want to pile on his troubles by telling everyone he’d kidnapped her?
No, she refused to take any responsibility for the mess he’d created—not just for himself, but for her too. She shook the thoughts from her mind. Since they were stranded here, she had plenty of time to compose a plan.
“What shall we do all day?” she asked.
He looked back to her, his blue eyes brilliant in the light from the fire. “I thought I might take a nap. The chair wasn’t terribly comfortable.”
“You still aren’t sleeping in the bed,” she said. “Not even for a nap.”
“I wouldn’t think so. I’d planned to ask for extra blankets so that I may make a pallet on the floor.”
“How enterprising of you.” She stood abruptly, and he jumped to his feet. Glancing at the window, she said, “I’d take a walk, but it’s still pouring buckets.”
“A nap it is, then. Perhaps cards? Backgammon?”
Prudence found his charm disconcerting. He was contemptible. “I’d rather you didn’t try to be nice to me.”
“Makes it hard to stay angry, doesn’t it?” He flashed her a brilliant smile, and her traitorous stomach had the nerve to do a small but noticeable flip.
“Do not flirt with me, Ben,” she said sternly, immediately regretting using his name. It sounded far too intimate—and tasted that way on her tongue. She gave him her haughtiest glare.
Then she spun on her heel and marched back upstairs. Once there, she wondered what in the devil she’d do next.
Following dinner that evening, Mrs. Logan approached their table with a bottle and two wineglasses. “I’ve brought our best port. May I pour for you?” she offered with a smile.
Bennet tried not to think of the cost. Surely the best bottle of port here was at least moderately affordable? Not that he had even a shilling to spare.
“Thank you, Mrs. Logan,” Pru said primly. She was very proper, but then he supposed she had to be as a lady’s companion. Especially working for the Duke of Evesham.
Had he ruined that for her? Revealing the truth about where she’d been, that Bennet had kidnapped her by mistake would damage her as much as him. Had she considered that? He wanted to discuss it with her, but he also didn’t want her to think his motives were selfish. He was finished—and he knew that. That didn’t mean she had to be too. He’d been half-serious about his elopement-with-a-dead-husband suggestion.
Mrs. Logan departed, and Bennet lifted his glass over the table. “Shall we drink to an improvement in the weather?”
“Has it improved?” Pru asked, glancing toward the window where it was now dark outside. “It seemed to rain all day without interruption.”
“It’s more of a prayer,” he said with a benign smile before taking a drink.
She gave a slight shrug, then also sipped her port. “This is delicious.” She eyed him a moment, seeming hesitant.
“Is there something else you want to say?” he asked. “I think you more than deserve to ask me anything.”
“Can you afford this?” She inclined her head toward the port.
“I didn’t ask for it.” That would have to suffice as an answer. He preferred to avoid admitting the true depths of his insolvency. “But I want you to enjoy it. You deserve that too.”
She took another sip. “What will you do after you return me to London? Do you plan to stay for the rest of the Season?”
