“Then tomorrow night.”
Prudence didn’t want to be the one sneaking out of a house at odd hours. If she were stopped or recognized, it would be a disaster. But for Leo, no one would bat an eyelash at him skulking about at odd hours. Men’s intimate lives were not to be questioned.
“I’ve sent my companion to another suite. I will be alone in mine now.”
Leo’s forehead creased in amusement. “Is that so?”
“I may have been putting things in place the last few days.” Prudence sipped the last of her scotch.
“Is that what took so long?” Leo asked, crossing his legs.
He was such a picture of English elegance. It wasn’t just the pose, the scotch, or even the clothes. There was something almost too perfect about it. Studied, even. It was like watching the difference between a woman born as a proper lady versus the middle-class women who elevated themselves with their strict mannerisms in imitation.
Leo’s affect was intoxicating. And almost effortless. But it bothered her in some way. Like she knew this was a show for her benefit. Despite it, she still trusted him some way. This intimacy,the way he’d treated her, always making sure she wanted to continue the way he’d suggested, it felt real. He was taking care of her, in his own way.
“So tomorrow night then? A late supper?”
“If you like,” Prudence felt suddenly shy. Her chest felt heavy with anticipation and nerves.
“I can bring wine. Or scotch, if you prefer.”
“Or I can bring out the bourbon I have stashed away for special occasions.” Prudence looked at the tea tray laid out on the table next to the chaise, forgotten and cold. He had tried to steer her in this direction, and she’d refused. She’d wanted to get business conducted, and had they even accomplished anything? Her mind was foggy about everything before he kissed her. She couldn’t even remember how it started. What did this man do to her?
“I’d be honored.” He threw back the last of his scotch, maintaining his eye contact with her. Something about his expression was different. A wryness, a crack of opening and familiarity in that face. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she liked it.
Chapter Four
“YOU SEEM MORErelaxed,” Justine remarked, looking her up and down. They all stretched in Ophelia’s extensive garden, wearing the old-fashioned jumps instead of corsets because they worked better for running. Their skirts were shorter than normal so they didn’t trip. Their blouses were cotton and loose. They would sweat into them and it would be challenging to get the scent of hard work out.
Prudence certainly didn’t want to tell Justine why she was more relaxed. So she gave her big Minnesota smile, which never fooled Bad News Brewer. “I slept very well last night.” Which was true.
Eleanor, the only other married woman in the group, which likely meant the only other non-virgin, gave Prudence a conspiratorial smile. Eleanor would never judge or begrudge Prudence for finding a lover. But Prudence didn’t feel like telling her either. This was her secret, for herself alone. She ducked her head and stretched out her calves. They were tight and threatening a spasm since yesterday’s “exercise” in Leo’s study.
“Remember, it isn’t about the speed,” Ophelia said, walking across their group.
“It’s the distance,” the rest of them chimed in.
Prudence liked being in a group again. It reminded her of being with her sisters, a part of something bigger than herself.
“How did the meeting with Mr. Moon go yesterday?” Ophelia asked as they all started a slow jog.
“Fine,” Prudence said. They hadn’t figured out any real numbers or suggestions or a budget. So basically, they’d yelled at one another and then became as intimate as Prudence had ever been with a man. More, really, despite the fact that the ending act was not one of insertion. She’d never seen a man’s face when he finished. It was exciting. Eye-opening, really.
“I can’t believe he went over your head to Ophelia’s father.” Justine made a face of disgust.
“It’s fine,” Prudence insisted. And, now, it seemed like it probably was.
“It isn’t,” Eleanor insisted. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. You had, what was that called? When you looked at our monies after Ben Nevis, to see how much we might need for the Matterhorn?”
“A post-mortem.”
Justine made a face.
“Ghastly word,” Ophelia said.
“My brother is a doctor. That was what they called opening a dead body to see what killed them.”
“Bleh,” Eleanor said. “I’m glad this was just numbers.”
