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

Mr. Matheson sensed her hesitation to move back as he’d commanded her, and shook his head. “You’re careless, aren’t you, just like my sister.”


“I am not your sister,” she said to his mouth.

A lopsided smile of appreciation appeared on his lips. “No, you’re not.” His gaze wandered down, to her spencer. “Have a care, Prudence. There will be a young man who comes along—”

Mr. Matheson suddenly scrambled to his feet, squinting into the shadows that had moved in around them.

“What is it?” Prudence asked, jumping to her feet, too.

He put a finger to his lips, indicating she should be silent and stepped forward, scanning the trees around them. She saw him tense just as three men emerged from the woods, spread out a bit, so that there was no possibility of running past them. Prudence’s heart began to pound.

“Wha’ have we here?” The one who spoke was tall as a tree and was missing some teeth. “A lovers’ tryst?” The other two men, who were just as bedraggled as the tall one, laughed.

Prudence felt ill. The horrible tales that Mercy used to tell her were rearing up in her memory.

“Good evening, sirs,” Mr. Matheson said, bracing his legs apart, his hands fisted at his sides. “I’d ask you to dine, but as you can see, we’ve nothing to share.”

The tall man’s gaze slid to Prudence. “Don’t ye, indeed?” he drawled as his gaze moved over her.

Prudence thought she might vomit. She must have made a sound of distress, because Mr. Matheson gripped her arm and pulled her to stand behind him. “As I said, we’ve nothing to share,” he reiterated, his voice deep and angry.

The tall man moved closer, and his two cohorts circled around them. One of them stooped to pick up Prudence’s valise.

“No!” she gasped, then heard the sickening thud of fist on bone. Mr. Matheson had apparently hit the tall man squarely in the face when she’d cried out, knocking him to the ground. He leaped on him before he could gain his feet.

Prudence shrieked as the two men began to roll about on the ground trading punches, rendered almost immobile with her fear for Mr. Matheson’s safety. Especially when the tall man’s two companions pulled Mr. Matheson off him.

But Mr. Matheson was not ready to end his fighting. He took a swing at one of the two men, connecting with his jaw with such a crack of bone on bone that Prudence thought she might be sick. That man tumbled to the ground, his hands covering his face. Mr. Matherson continued to fight all three of those men, managing to strike them all and to dance just out of their reach. In the melee, his pistol fell and scudded across the grass. Prudence dived for it, picking it up before any of the other men had noticed.

But tackling three grown men at once was all too much for Mr. Matheson—and with some difficulty, the two men finally caught hold of Mr. Matheson’s arms and held him while the tall man hit him in the stomach.

Prudence panicked then, fearing Mr. Matheson would be killed, and without thinking, she screamed.

That scream brought all four heads around as if they thought someone else had joined them.

“Are you mad!” Prudence shouted at them. “Do you think his lordship will waste a single moment finding who has done this to his guest?”

The tall man’s fist froze midswing. He slowly turned toward her.

“That’s right,” she said heatedly, nodding with great enthusiasm as she hid the gun in the folds of her gown. “This man is the guest of Lord Cargyle!”

“Prudence, don’t—” Mr. Matheson tried, but one of the men ended whatever he might have said with a punch to the ribs.

The tall man laughed. “Cargyle, you say, pretty? He be miles from here,” he said, slowly advancing on her. “No one to hear yer screams.”

Prudence couldn’t catch her breath. She suddenly brought the gun up, pointing it at the tall man before he took another step. “Or yours,” she croaked.

The gun served its purpose—he hesitated and lifted his hands. “Put the gun down, pretty,” he said. “Ye don’t know how to use it—”

“But I do,” she said. Her voice was hoarse with fear. “My father, the Earl of Beckington, made sure of it.”

With a hoot of delight, the man looked back at his companions. “Beckington, is it?” he repeated, and bowed grandly...but his gaze was on her gun.

Prudence cocked it as Mr. Matheson had shown her how to do.

“Prudence, don’t—”

“Shoot him?” she finished quickly. Her heart was pounding so hard now that she was shaking. “Let him go,” she said to the tall man. “Let him go now, or I will shoot you square between the ears!”

“Will you now,” the tall man said, and grinned in a lascivious and disgusting manner. She knew instinctively that he sensed her fear. He began to move toward her again. “I like a lass with a bit o’ fire in her.”