“Tuck in, dear. You must be famished.” Mrs. Moon looked pointedly at the plate in front of Prudence.
As they bickered, Prudence ate the pork with a cranberry sauce, the chunks of seared potatoes, and the thick slice of bread with butter and honey. Her stomach was full and her heart content. She wanted to forget any misgivings she’d ever had about Leo, about their affair, all of it, and mindlessly reenter the times they had in the spring. She had missed him far more than she’d been willing to admit.
But then another man walked into the room. He was welcomed and admitted not as a servant but as one of their own. Prudence stared as Leo introduced Granson Morgan.
He was the stout man that had been asking for Lenny Morgan at the cottage. Prudence went cold. The one that made Leo willing to abandon her in the countryside because he’d appeared. And now he was, by the looks of it, living here?
Prudence glanced between the happy faces of her hosts and hostess. None of them felt his presence was amiss. Alarm bells clanged in her head. Her heart began to hurt—the reminder of Leo’s dismissal of her safety roaring to the surface.
“I am feeling a little overwhelmed,” Prudence said to no one in particular. “I think I might need to retire early.”
Leo sprang to his feet. “I can show you to your room.”
Prudence looked around to see if anyone else could—but Mrs. Moon had her cane, Mr. Morgan would be just as inappropriate, and like hell she was going anywhere with Granson Morgan.
Leo walked her down the hallway, but while he waited for her to speak, her mind whirled like a top.
“Prudence, I don’t know why—”
They reached her door. “I’m really very tired, Leo.” Prudence put her hand on the doorknob. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”
He nodded, his expression strangely open to her. She was able to read his confusion and disappointment and hope that had all flickered across the sharp lines and steel-gray eyes. “Tomorrow.”
Prudence slunk gratefully into the guest room. She took off her boots by the fire that was already warming the room, and then began to cry. There was no true reason for it—not just one anyway. She cried because she was exhausted. She cried because she was lonely. She cried because Leo had wanted to abandon her because of the man who now lived in his house. She cried because she was still scared that this man was in the house and she didn’t know how he came to be there, only that he was some kind of relation.
She cried because she wanted to be with her friends, but at the same time was glad she came. She cried because she missed the steady presence of Gregory, even if he hadn’t been the husband that she’d wanted. She cried because she was a young widow and she didn’t get to have the lives that Ophelia and Justine got to have. And she sobbed because she was so lucky, and yet not.
Chapter Twelve
LEO WAS UPat dawn. He was normally an early riser, but not usually this early. He’d slept poorly, anticipating his talk with Prudence. She’d seemed so happy to arrive last night, and he was sure that she felt... what, exactly? She’d traveled through a snowstorm to see him. Clearly she felt something positive.
And what was he asking for? His training as a broker reared up. He needed to be clear about what he wanted before he could make any demands of her. They certainly couldn’t be so cavalier as to fall into bed together without making sure feelings were known. Even though he’d missed her so much. The knowledge that she slept in under his roof made it difficult to think straight. The memory of her taste, of her feel, the swell of her calves as they melted into the back of her knee, and the rise of her strong thighs... he needed to not think that way. He was getting hard, and that made thinking impossible.
Leo worked in his study, and when he heard stirrings of others in the house, he took the daily newspapers into the breakfast room. He felt as if he were lying in wait for Prudence. And in some ways, he was. But not as one might ambush an enemy, more as a man impatient for the woman he liked very much.
His mother would not be down for breakfast—she had always taken a tray in her room. Reggie would sometimes take a tray and sometimes come down. “Jeffrey,” Leo said as the footmancame in with his coffee, “would you be so good as to make Mr. Morgan a tray? He should take breakfast in his room.”
Granson appeared, filled his plate and sat down. His mouth full of jammy toast, he asked, “What?”
Leo shook his head, as if he weren’t wishing Granson gone with all of his being. Then Prudence appeared. She looked lovely. Her dark-green day dress was embroidered with white and pale-green botanical designs, and Leo barely managed to keep himself from sighing as she swished across the room.
Granson watched Leo watching Prudence. He swallowed his toast hard and picked up his plate. “Excuse me, I have somewhere to be.” He scurried out of the room, for which, if he noticed correctly, both he and Prudence were glad.
Leo said nothing as Prudence fixed her plate. Jeffrey asked if she would prefer tea or coffee, and Leo was gratified when she answered coffee, just like him. “Good morning,” he said to her as she sat down next to him.
She gave him a tentative smile, which confused him. Prudence was known for her embarrassingly large American smiles. He frowned as she returned his greeting in a small voice.
Then he noticed the puffy redness about her eyes. She’d been crying. He didn’t know what to say, so he put his hand on the table, palm up, inviting her to hold his hand.
She looked at it, as if she were debating the wisdom of touching him, but then slid her hand into his. Even that small contact felt so good to have.
“May I ask what has you out of sorts?” Leo curled his fingers around her hand.
She looked away. Leo didn’t blame her, speaking of discomfort was against his upbringing as well. But they had to find some way through the thornbush in their relationship. She withdrew her hand as Jeffrey entered and placed a coffee pot between them. He poured Prudence a cup.
“Jeffrey, please excuse us. I’ll ring for you when we are finished.” Leo dismissed him, once again taking the room for the two of them.
Prudence sipped at her cup with both hands, clearly fortifying herself. Leo could do nothing, say nothing. He was at an utter loss.
