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

“Terrifying,” she agreed, and tried again to wipe the blood from his nose, but he caught her wrist and pulled her hand away, laced his fingers with hers as he rested his head back against the tree.

“I’m so very sorry, Mr. Matheson,” she whispered again.

“Yes, well,” he said, wincing deeply as he moved to one side, his hand going to his ribs. “I don’t know if I’ll die tonight, but if I do, I would like to leave this earth hearing my given name on your lips.”

“You won’t die.”

“That’s certainly my sincerest hope, but one can never know when hospitality is extended so violently. I once heard of a fellow who dropped dead two days after a fight.”

“Two days!”

“You see? My demise could come at any moment. So give this dying man his wish and say it, Prudence,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Say my name.”

“Roan,” she said. “But you won’t die, Roan. You won’t.”

“Ah, at last,” he said, and smiled as he closed his eyes. He rested their hands on her knee. “You astonished me tonight. Very brave and clever on your feet.”

Prudence smiled sheepishly. She hadn’t been brave, she’d been rash. She looked at his hand atop hers, battered and bloodied. “But...but what am I to do now?” she whispered as she tried to clean the blood from his knuckles.

“Do?” He opened one eye, put his hand on her shoulder, gripping it, pulled her forward, then drew her near enough that he could put his arm around her. He tugged her into his body and held her there, his weight sagging against hers. He set the gun and handed it to her. “You fire if they come back, and this time, hit him square between the eyes, will you?” He sighed and closed his eyes. “In the meantime, I’ll think on it.”

“They’ll kill us if they come back.”

He said nothing.

Prudence sat up to look at him. “Mr. Matheson? Roan?” She jostled his shoulder. It was no use—his eyes were closed. The man had fainted. Or had he died?





CHAPTER EIGHT

ROAN WAS BENT over the neck of his favorite horse, Baron, flying as fast as the stallion could run across the fields at his family’s home in New York. He was certain he would be too late to warn the lumber train that the wheel would come off the wagon as they headed down into the Hudson Valley. But he and Baron were presented with obstacle after obstacle—fallen trees, swollen rivers, a fence too high for Baron to vault. As he neared the road, Roan saw that the wagons had already started down the hill. He opened his mouth to bellow at them at the same time the strong odor of manure enveloped him—

Roan awoke with a grunt.

He blinked against the dark light, his gaze finding the embers of what was left of the fire. He wrinkled his nose at the offensive smell, courtesy of the nag, who stood only a few feet away. Roan grimaced at the stiffness in his body; the shooting pain in his side. That damn Goliath might have broken his rib. But Roan’s heart and his lungs appeared to be working. Nothing more than a few painful bruises.

He’d live, then, which was more than he could say for that tree of a man. He wasn’t sure where the bullet had struck him, but there had been enough blood for Roan to know he wouldn’t come back for more.

He glanced to his left, and his gaze landed on Prudence curled onto her side, her back to him, the gun still in her hand. Her golden hair spilled around her. He leaned closer, squinting—she had leaves in her hair. He wondered idly what had become of the bonnet with the bothersome feather.

Roan watched her sleeping, the slow rise of her chest, the gentle fall.

Now he felt something else, too. Desire—pure, hot and urgent. He put his hand on her hip.

Prudence came up with a gasp, rolling onto her back, waving the gun about. Roan caught it. “It’s all right,” he said.

When she saw that it was he who had disturbed her sleep, she let go, sighed sleepily and pushed herself up to sit beside him. “You’re alive.”

“I can’t tell from the tone of your voice if you are pleased or not.”

“I’m relieved. I keep hearing noises, and I think it’s them, come back to rob us.”

Roan winced again, but this time at his inability to have provided her with the slightest bit of security. “We’re safe,” he said. “Our bags are the only thing of value. They won’t be back.” Even if they did return, Roan had no doubt he could and would squeeze the life from them with his bare hands in spite of his battered body. He gave Prudence a sympathetic smile. “I know you will defend me most ardently,” he said. “I like that about you, Prudence Cabot.”

She clucked her tongue at him. “I was terrified,” she said. “I thought they were going to kill you.”