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

“I don’t recall,” she said, and with the back of her hand, stroked his face.

Roan groaned and bent his head, taking her breast in his mouth, then moving down her body once more, pushing her gown up to her waist, his hands sliding under her hips. Prudence’s knees came up on either side of him, and as he sank between them, and touched his mouth to her sex, she gasped, arching her back. She grabbed his hands, wrapping her fingers tightly around them as he plunged his tongue into her body like a starving man, then feathered her with little strokes, circling around, nipping and teasing her.

Prudence groaned with pleasure, the sound of it so primal and raw, that Roan worried he would die of the longing he’d never felt so deeply or intently as this. He was desperate to be inside of her, but just as desperate not to be the heathen who would ruin her on the banks of a brook. No matter how desperately he wanted to. No matter how desperately she wanted him to.

When Prudence cried out at the exquisite agony of his tongue, he closed his mouth around her, lightly nibbling her with his teeth, and then sliding his tongue across her again.

She sobbed with pleasure, lifting her hips to him, arching her back and her neck as she reached the pinnacle of her desire. Roan held her steady, determined that she would wring every last moment from this. Prudence whimpered once more, then came crashing back to earth. She threw her arm over her eyes and panted. “You really are a scoundrel,” she said, and groped for him in the dark.

“You really are beautiful,” he said. He gingerly made his way to her side, settling on his back.

Prudence rolled into him, her arm pillowing her head. “That was...that was astonishing,” she said. Her smile of delight seemed to radiate the night. “I had no idea,” she said, more to herself. She rested her head on his shoulder.

Roan tried to think of what he ought to say at a moment like this, at her awakening to the power of her sex over man. But as he could scarcely grasp how he felt about it, he couldn’t think of any platitude or words of warning that seemed to fit the occasion. As it turned out, it hardly mattered—Prudence was at last asleep, confident in the circle of his arms. So confident, in fact, she snored lightly.

Unfortunately, Roan was very much awake now, his body aching in more ways than one. What have I done? He’d been lost in a moment—he could have impregnated her, for God’s sake. He was the man he’d warned Aurora against. Susannah...

Ah, hell.

The sooner he saw Prudence to Himple, the better. Roan felt even more protective of her now, and much more desirous of her, too, feelings that were more fraught with danger for him personally than anything this country might show him. Thieves and highwaymen were lambs compared to the fear he held for his own desire. He was anxious to put Prudence on a coach, to get his hands on the little hoyden Aurora, and be gone from England before he did something he truly regretted.

Roan fumbled for his purse to see how much cash he had. He patted down his pockets.

There was no purse.

He eased Prudence onto her back and sat up, patting himself down with both hands. No. He moved on all fours, feeling around the ground where he’d fought those men, knowing it was a futile search. Those wretched men had taken it from him along with their bags.

He muttered a vile curse against Englishmen under his breath. He had to think. But what he thought of was his auburn-haired, brown-eyed hellion sister. No, it wasn’t fair to blame her for the events of this day, and yet that was precisely with whom Roan was angry. Had Aurora come home when she was supposed to, none of this would ever have happened.

But that was the way it was with Aurora and it had always been so. Aurora enjoyed the attentions of young men. Like the woman lying beside him now, she was uncommonly pleasing to the eye. She had a spirit and look that turned men into idiots, promising her whatever Aurora wanted to hear. Who had she met here? What had he promised her?

But Roan had believed that Aurora truly cared for Mr. Gunderson. Gunderson was a quiet and studious man, and may have seemed an odd choice for Aurora at first glance. But he adored her as men were wont to do and had all the other requisites required for a husband: he came from wealth, resided on a large Connecticut estate, he adored her and the marriage was advantageous.

He was only beginning to wonder if Aurora chafed under the idea of an “advantageous” marriage, too.

Roan glanced down at his charge. She wanted the same thing apparently that Aurora sought. It was the women of the day, he thought. Walking about New York and London in their little herds, wanting things like adventure and fun. He sighed, caressed Prudence’s arm.

She stirred, made a sound of contentment.