“What I mean is,” he said, squeezing her to him, nuzzling her neck, “that this is the most plausible explanation, given that he knows nothing of our circumstances. You said you’ve never met him. He doesn’t know who you are. You must keep in mind that we’ll be gone as soon as I find Aurora, and you won’t see him again.”
“How do you know that I won’t?” Prudence shrugged Roan’s hands from her and stepped away, turning around to face him. “Roan...” She paused, uncertain how to express herself. “This has been the most astonishing and wonderful thing to ever happen to me. I thought I could carry it with me. But when I saw him, I...” She groaned. “I’ve been such a bloody fool!”
“No, I won’t abide that,” Roan said, pointing at her. He slipped his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “You’ve been a vibrant, beautiful woman who has quenched her thirst for life. If you denounce our adventure for that popinjay, you will slay my poor heart.” He cupped her face. “You won’t slay me, will you, Prudence?”
Prudence couldn’t resist a small smile. “No.”
“Good girl,” he said, taking her in his arms. “I’d hate to strangle a man before supper.”
Prudence sighed and rested her head against his chest. “What do we do now?”
“What can we do? We’re here. I must inquire after Aurora. So I suggest we take the bath Lady Penfors has graciously offered. We’ll attend this insufferable supper and hopefully find Aurora there or at least hear some word of her, some idea of where she might have gone. And then, we take our leave of Howston Hall. As you said, in the end, no one will be the wiser.”
“You don’t understand, Roan! He is an earl, he moves in the same society as my family.”
“Listen to me,” Roan said sternly. “If you see Stanhope at some future date and he is rotten enough to question you, or suggest that you were here, you merely deny it. Prudence Cabot wasn’t here tonight. Prudence Matheson was. It is the word of a chaste young debutante against a man, and from what you’ve told me, no one will believe that you, tucked away at Blackwood Hall as you are, will have somehow appeared here without escort or invitation. I can’t believe it when I say it out loud.”
“It does seem very simple when you say it,” she said uncertainly.
“I think it is still as simple as it seemed to you in Ashton Down when you put yourself on that stagecoach, Pru. We’ve come upon a bump in the road, but it’s nothing we can’t overcome. It’s one night. Look at what we’ve done! And you think a man as namby-pamby as Stanhope will ruin us? Impossible. We are a formidable team, Miss Matheson.”
She smiled ruefully. She wanted desperately to agree, and to believe Roan, and when she looked up into his topaz eyes, she could see that he desperately wanted to believe it, too. How she wished she would never return to her life. How she wished that she and Roan could keep looking for his sister, across England, across Europe, across the world, just the two of them surviving by their wits.
“Come here,” he said soothingly, and drew her closer, kissing her softly. When he kissed her like this—so tenderly, so caring—Prudence could believe him. She could believe that this would be all right in the end.
A knock at the door separated them; Roan slipped away from her and allowed the footmen in with the bath, and the maids behind him with the water. “I shall leave you to your bath, Mrs. Matheson,” he said, and picked up his brandy and wandered into the adjoining sitting room.
After a bath, and a bit of brandy herself, and a girl to help her put up her hair, Prudence did feel somewhat better. She was prepared for Stanhope’s questions and was determined to make a game of it, staying a step or two ahead of him.
She dressed in a gold silk with delicate embroidery, and a pale green train embroidered with the gold of her gown. The girl who had come to help her dress threaded a green ribbon through Prudence’s hair and put it up. After the past two days, Prudence felt a bit like a princess. She donned an emerald necklace and matching earrings and her favorite satin shoes.
Roan was in the sitting room, standing at the window, his hands clasped at his back. He’d dressed in a formal coat with tails and dark trousers. “Roan?”
He turned around at the sound of her voice. A snowy-white neckcloth was tied just below his chin and stood out starkly from the black-and-gold-striped waistcoat he wore. He looked magnificent, as robust and handsome as a man had ever looked to Prudence. A prince. An American prince. Her heart swelled with adoration. Or was it love? Whatever she was feeling was deep and flowing.
Roan’s gaze slowly moved over her, taking her in. “Dear God, how beautiful you are.”
She blushed with pleasure and glanced down. “That is kind of you to say.”
“You are as lovely a woman as I have ever seen in my life.” He shook his head. “But you must hear that from many admirers. They must all tell you what a unique beauty you are.”
The Scoundrel and the Debutante (The Cabot Sisters #3)
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