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

Damn it, when she sighed like that, he wanted to give her as much adventure as she could abide. What was happening to him? What was he thinking?

Roan refused to figure that out, afraid of what he might discover. What he would force himself to think from this moment forward was that he had best get Miss Prudence Cabot to her friends as soon as possible. Before he did something as rash and imprudent as Aurora.

He refused to listen to the small voice telling him that was impossible, he’d already done it.





CHAPTER NINE

A CARESS ON Prudence’s cheek felt distant, as if it had come from another world. It annoyed her, and she shrugged away from whatever it was. The jiggle of her shoulder made her think that perhaps she was still on the coach, still dreaming.

“Prudence.”

Her name, whispered in that low, silky voice, and followed by the brush of whiskers across her chin, forced her to swim to awareness. She opened her eyes, blinking at the darkness. She was unable to grasp exactly where she was...until the sound of running water penetrated her thoughts. The brook.

Roan.

She opened her eyes, saw his face.

“You sleep like the dead,” he said.

His eyes and lip were not as swollen and bruised as they’d seemed last night. Prudence smiled at the memory of them, on his coat, under the stars. How delicious, how very shocking—

“I have a surprise for you,” he said softly. “I found our bags.”

“Oh!” Prudence sat up. “Where?”

“On the road. They’ve been ransacked but there are still some things within.”

Prudence pushed her hair from her face and knelt next to her valise to look inside. The contents were topsy-turvy; she pulled out the few items that remained. A clean chemise, her stockings. But a lovely green silk gown was gone, and so were the silk embroidered shoes she’d refused to allow herself to don yesterday, as they were too fine to be ruined. Her lovely shoes! She dug deeper and discovered the hairbrush and comb with the ivory handles—a gift from Grace—was likewise missing, as well as her reticule.

Roan had tossed out a shirt, a waistcoat, some shaving implements. He scraped his hand along the bottom, as if searching for something. He suddenly kicked the bag with all his might.

“What is missing?”

“My banknotes,” he said, and raked his fingers through his hair. “They stole all my money.”

“All of it?” Prudence asked.

“They may as well have done. I am without a single coin until I reach the trunk I sent on to Himple.”

“What do we do now?” she asked.

Roan reached for her hand and pulled her into his arms. “We persevere, Prudence Cabot. We go and find our trunks.” He let her go and began to collect his things. “And if we discover that the entire countryside is filled with thieves and ne’er-do-wells, I will personally carry you on my back into London and fill a wardrobe with gowns and shoes.”

Prudence smiled dubiously. “Would you really, Mr. Matheson, just for me?”

He grinned, put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around to button her up. “I would do it only for you. But if my trunk has also been stolen, I will have nothing but my indomitable spirit and a desperate need to reach the Bank of England to guide us.” He kissed her.

Prudence sighed with contentment. The world Roan had introduced her to last night was one she had heretofore inadequately imagined. She thought again about the ecstasy in his hands and smiled at the cool blue sky and the tiny sliver of pink on the horizon. This adventure, as troublesome and disastrous as it would be for her personally in the end, had nonetheless made her feel reborn. She’d been unshackled from the rules and expectations of proper society. She was living, truly living, for the first time in her life. “I’m ravenous,” she murmured.

He bent his head, nuzzled her neck, his arm going around her waist. “So am I.”

Prudence blushed, the meaning behind his words clear to her in a way that would not have been apparent to her yesterday.

“Come, wash in the brook. We haven’t far to go today.”

She made her way to the brook and scrubbed her face with her fingers as best she could. She knotted her hair at the nape and let it hang down her back, but looked down at her gown. It was wrinkled and dirty and looked as if she’d slept in it. This would not do—she couldn’t very well appear at the Bulworths’ looking as though she’d been dragged behind a cart all the way from Blackwood Hall. She would have to find some place to bathe and repair herself as best she could.

They rode on, and brilliant, gold light began to overtake the pink of the morning on the horizon. The mist that had settled onto the fields over night began to lift. The attack of last night seemed almost like a dream. It felt to Prudence as if the world’s curtain was lifting for her. Never had she seen such verdant greens, such buttery yellows or taffy pinks. She wanted to emboss this morning on her soul, to never forget how she felt on the first dawn of her awakening from the ennui that had threatened to drown her.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Prudence asked.