The Scoundrel and the Debutante (The Cabot Sisters #3)

Roan was set to send her back to her spot, perhaps even with a swift kick to her very shapely derriere, but the old man surprised him. He gave Miss Cabot a look that Roan was fairly certain was a smile. “Aye, quite a lot,” he agreed.

“It would be very kind of you to accept twenty pounds. My cousin,” she said, gesturing to Roan, “hasn’t a lot of money, really, and I, in particular, would be most grateful if you could see your way to agreeing to that price?” She smiled sweetly and looked remarkably angelic.

“Aye, for you, lass, I will agree to that price,” the old man said.

Roan gaped at Miss Cabot. Had she really agreed to twenty pounds, ten pounds more than he had intended to pay? For two horses? At least Roan hoped it was two—as the old man had been speaking of only one, he wasn’t certain. “For that price, we ought to have saddles, too,” he said. “I can ride without, but one cannot expect my cousin,” he said, looking askance at her, “to do the same.”

“For that price, you have one horse, no saddle,” the old man said.

“What?” Miss Cabot cried. “We agreed to two!”

“We agreed only to price, miss. Not the number of beasts. I said fifteen for one. You countered at twenty. That’s twenty pounds for one horse.”

She gasped and turned a wide-eyed gaze to Roan. “That’s not at all what I meant!” She suddenly swung back around to the old man. “See here, sir,” she said, pointing at him.

Roan managed to intercept her before she cost him any more money. “That’s not fair—”

“No, no, no, no,” he said quickly. “Don’t speak. Don’t say another word.”

“But he—”

“He has the horses,” Roan said, staring hard at her, hoping that she would read in his eyes how important it was that she not say anything else.

“But you can’t agree,” she whispered hotly.

“You already did,” he whispered, just as hotly. He glanced over his shoulder at O’Grady, who was watching with some amusement. Roan pushed her a few steps back. He stood so close to her now that he couldn’t help noticing how smooth her skin was, or how fair the hair at her temple, or the tiny lines of laughter around her eyes. And that mouth that he had so impetuously kissed looked fuller, more lush than it had under the sycamore tree.

Her dark golden brows suddenly snapped into a frown. “You’re cross and so am I,” she said, startling him back to the moment. “But I can’t allow you to purchase a horse for that,” she said, and lifted the reticule that dangled from her wrist.

“Put that away or I will take it. I do have my pride, Miss Cabot.”

“And I have mine!”

“Trust me, my pride is greater and stronger than yours ever dreamed of being. If you don’t put that silly bag away at once, I will not only sell you to Mr. O’Grady for a wife, I will also take a pig in exchange.”

She gasped with shock. And then her lovely face melted into a glare of vexation so intent, he could almost feel the heat of it. She whirled away from him and marched off in the direction of the pasture.

One horse, one bridle, one rope and no saddle later—eighteen pounds all told, as the man had agreed to negotiate the price a bit—Roan lashed their bags on the back of a worn-out horse. He cupped his hands for Miss Cabot, who stomped her foot, heel down, into his linked palms.

He launched her up.

She landed on the horse’s back with both legs on one side.

“Hike your hem,” he said, gesturing to her gown. “Swing a leg over.”

“I will do no such thing!”

“You can’t ride in that fashion,” he said impatiently. “There are two of us who must fit on this horse.”

She refused to look at him as she situated herself on the horse, clinging to its mane.

Roan groaned. What was it about young women that made them so damned recalcitrant? It was as if the entire feminine race was out to prove they were capable of all the things men did. He put his hand on her thigh to gain her attention, noticing how small it was, how firm. “The day is wasting,” he said.

“Then mount the horse, Mr. Matheson, and let us be on our way.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “But I will not tolerate your tears if you fall!” He threw himself up on his horse in one leap. The old beast stepped twice to the side, clearly unused to the weight on her back. Roan had to drape Miss Cabot’s legs over his right thigh and put his arms around her to reach the reins. The horse gave a flick of its neck, and Miss Cabot slid into him, her shoulder just beneath his chin.

“Of all the...” She suddenly began to squirm, somehow managing to hike her leg up onto the horse’s neck. She took several moments to situate herself, tugging at her hem, straightening her bonnet.

It was all too much, the feel of her body rubbing against him.

“You realize, don’t you, that if we meet anyone, I will throw myself off this horse?” she said tetchily.

“If you keep up this squirming, I may toss you off myself,” he bit out as he set the horse to a trot.