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That sounded far more like a poised countess than the garble of words she’d managed to get out the first time. But no, she wouldn’t chide herself for slips of the tongue. She would freely be herself instead of thinking she had to be countess-like always.
Yet it made her feel exposed.
With a slow, gentle tug, he pulled his arm away from her. Her stomach dropped with the certainty that he would refuse. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and assessed her with a contemplative expression. “I didn’t know you played.”
Chess. Fortunately, she had learned, and even if her skills were never enough to best Charity, she wasn’t an appalling player. Prue lifted her chin and fought not to fidget. “I do. A dear friend taught it to me.”
“And do I know this friend?”
Prue was decidedly curious about that dangerous throb in his tone. Did her husband by chance believe this to be a male friend? Biting back her smile, she replied, “Lady Charity Rutherford.”
“I see. I have heard her brother mention she is a most excellent player. I have a chessboard my father gifted to me on my 12thbirthday. I am sorry I did not know of your aptitude earlier. It has been growing tedious to play myself.”
Prue smiled slightly. “We barely know anything about each other. Don’t you think that ought to change?”
When he didn’t rebuff her outright, Prue grew bolder. She leaned forward, earnestly holding his gaze. “We barely speak. I’d like to remedy that.”
Her words seemed to puncture the strain between them. He laughed, a low sound that might have warmed her if it hadn’t infuriated her. “That’s outrageous, my dear. We speak all the time.”
He scraped his chair back and stood, fixing the fall of his jacket.
Prue stood as well, but she was far less formal about it. She rolled her eyes and turned away from him. “Oh, yes. We speak all the time—about the weather, or the newest style of carriage, or the dinner menu, or the delicate seating arrangements for the guests for your political dinner parties. Nothing of substance. You cannot know me like that.”
She crossed the length of the long table and all the way to the door before she realized that he wasn’t following. On the threshold to the corridor, she chanced a glance behind, only to find that he hadn’t moved from his spot at the head of the table. Over his shoulder, the visage of another earl, his grandfather, leered down a long nose that looked very like Oscar’s. But there, the resemblance ended. For as cold as the old earl and the painting was, Prue had to believe that there was more warmth in her husband. If she didn’t, Prue didn’t know how she would survive this marriage and the challenge she had taken up.
She raised her eyebrows in challenge. “So, to the library?”
That seemed to shake him free of whatever reverie had gripped him. He crossed toward her with long steps and indicated the door at her back. “Lead the way, my lady.”
Although she never lingered in the room, she knew the way to the library by rote. It was where Oscar had set up his desk, where he preferred to pour over matters of his estate, and correspondence, and the other businesses he occupied himself with rather than spend time with her. She’d chosen to enter his domain deliberately, because if she was to shake free from the cage her marriage had imposed upon their life, best to start here.
The moment he stepped in after her, leaving the door ajar, he offered her a libation. “I’m not certain I have sherry, but I can ring for a footman.”
She shook her head. “Don’t bother. I’ll have what you’re having.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “I drink whisky.”
“Two fingers, please.” She held his gaze with a smile that felt all teeth. With a curl of his lips that looked uncomfortably like amusement, he inclined his head and turned to the mantle to fill a pair of tumblers from a waiting decanter.
Prue made herself comfortable. She toed off her slippers as she pulled the pins from her hair one by one. Normally, she stuffed these into her reticule, but she didn’t carry it at home. Instead, she left the pins in a pile on the corner of his desk. As she shook out her hair, the golden-brown strands falling nearly to her waist, Oscar made a choking sound. She raised one foot onto the chair and peered over her shoulder as he coughed and set the tumblers down on the mantle. Since he didn’t seem likely to choke to death, she continued to reach up beneath her skirts and pry off her stocking. Prue rolled it down and off her foot, a swift motion rather than a seductive one. She always felt much better barefoot.
He was studying her now as though she was a curiosity. “Madam, whatareyou doing?”
“Getting comfortable. Feel free to do the same. I won’t faint at the sight of your neck if you’d like to remove your cravat.”
She’d seen much more of him bare in his bedchamber, after all. Ignoring the way her stomach tightened, she hastily removed her other stocking and shoved the wadded fabric into her shoes. Feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel with his gaze burning into her, she found the chessboard and carried it to the lush carpet in front of the mantle. She set it on the rug and arranged herself to one side while she sorted out the pieces. From the corner of her eye, she could see her husband’s Hessian boots, polished and unmoving. My, she must have shocked him half to death. This time, the tightening of her belly was equal parts anticipation and nervousness.
He cleared his throat. “There is a perfectly good desk and chairs.”
She laughed and tipped her head back to look up at him. He’d reclaimed the glasses of whisky and no longer looked likely to choke on his own tongue, but he regarded her with the oddest expression.
Prue braced her elbows on the carpet, resting her chin on her open palm. “I think it’s best going forward that you learn who I really am.”
Her husband ran his tongue over his lower lip. He didn’t look away. Instead, he handed her the glass of whisky and lowered himself onto the rug opposite her. “I must admit, I’m intrigued.”
His response fizzled through her like champagne bubbles.
“I like the idea of intriguing you.” Her voice was throatier than usual. She swallowed down a sip of whisky to calm her nerves. She savored the taste before letting it slide down her throat. When she set down the glass within reach, she found him looking at her with that odd expression again.
