Her mind blanked. Her stomach clenched as if she were about to be chastised by her father—the absolute worst punishment she’d ever experienced.
“I would like to put myself forth as a candidate.” His facial expression betrayed nothing.
Prudence wasn’t sure her mouth wasn’t hanging agape. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve done some inquiring about town. I understand that the Ladies’ Alpine Society requires its members to be above reproach. Even as a widow, you must be discreet for the benefit of your maiden members.”
“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to be going around letting my decolletage hang out of my gowns.” Prudence felt strangely dizzy thinking about this. She was affronted. Definitely insulted.
Mr. Moon’s eyes flicked to her bosom. He murmured something low and deep that she didn’t hear. He cleared his throat and looked into her eyes. “My offer stands. A business agreement, if you wish. I’ve discovered you are quite the shrewd investor. You must know an advantageous deal when you see one.”
Was he trying to flirt with her by praising her business acumen? Or was he after something else? He must be after her money or investment secrets. There was no way a man would just offer up his body as her lover. This was absurd. “I don’t appreciate being mocked.”
Mr. Moon relaxed his posture, and with it, his facial expression. An almost-smile toyed at his lips. “I offer no mockery. In my questioning about you, I learned that several men were taken with you last season, but you failed to reciprocate interest.”
“What? Who?” she demanded. No such men existed.
“Lord Avendon, Mr. Nathaniel Ryksted, and Mr. Richard Reeves,” he said, ticking them off his fingers.
Prudence sputtered her protests. Those men had paid her some attention, had danced with her, fetched her drinks, but they weren’t interested in that way. “They were only being polite.”
Now Mr. Moon smiled, and it seemed to transform his face into someone approachable. Someone kind. Someone, well, handsome. “Men don’t make a habit of being polite. Especially powerful men. They were trying to get into your bed.”
Prudence searched the room, mulling the information. Then, upon a realization, she turned her gaze back to him. “You aren’t being polite.”
“No, I’m not. Politeness didn’t get those men anywhere. And since I’m not interested in taking a wife, as I have my mother to contend with, and I have no time to seek out a mistress who may be very expensive to maintain, I believe a proposal between the two of us makes a great deal of sense.”
She frowned. “Why would your mother preclude a wife? She’s perfectly lovely.”
His sudden bark of laughter startled her. “My mother is anything but lovely. She’s smart, she’s insightful, but she suffers no fools.”
She chewed her lip, thinking. It would solve her trouble of finding a lover. And they had every excuse to seek one another’s company. But this didn’t leave her with butterflies in her stomach. There was no poetry in this. There was no wooing. Was everything to be so dry? Would she even enjoy coupling with him?
To be utterly fair to Mr. Moon, he stayed silent as she thought, which she appreciated. He didn’t pressure or cajole. Merely answered her questions when she posed them.
“This isn’t what I had in mind,” she said, finally.
“Am I not handsome enough?” It could have sounded pleading or whining, but it was not either. He was asking for her opinion.
“It isn’t that,” she said quickly. “I find you unconventionally handsome. You are fascinating to look at. But this seems so...”
“Business-like?” he suggested.
“Exactly. Yes. I was hoping to be wooed.”
Mr. Moon nodded. “That can be arranged.”
Prudence shook her head. “I shouldn’t like prescriptive things. It isn’t worth it. Please dismiss this entire conversation. I should go.”
Feelings of disappointment whirled around her as she stood, making her way to the study door. She turned, thinking tomention that they hadn’t even discussed their actual business, but he was right behind her.
Prudence was tall for a woman. But still Mr. Moon had inches and inches on her. And up close, he was not nearly as thin as he seemed to be. In fact, it seemed a trick of his tailored clothing. The first sound of his name died on her lips. Lips that he was staring at quite intently. And she found herself looking at his.
No, she ought to be looking at his eyes. But those seemed to draw her in even further. His gray eyes were shot through with green and gold, as if they couldn’t settle on a single color to accent the hard coldness of his gaze. She wanted to lean in further, pick apart the strands to make sense of him. But no, she couldn’t be leaning in further to him. What was she thinking?
Oh, what would Gregory think? She felt suddenly foolish and utterly childish for trying to seek a lover.
He caught her cheek in his hand, cradling her face. He pulled at one of her curls. “I would very much like to kiss you, Mrs. Cabot.”
