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

Prudence said nothing. She looked at Roan, whose jaw was as firmly set as the fist that rested next to his plate.

“Oh my, look at the time, Penfors!” Lady Penfors said. “Send for the port.”

Thankfully, the supper ended there, and the ladies were instructed by their hostess to retire to the grand salon to oversee the preparations for dancing, while the gentlemen were similarly instructed to enjoy their port.

It was astonishing to see that the musicians had indeed come up from the village while the Penfors guests had dined, a ragtag group of four men who were busy tuning their instruments. By the time the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Lady Penfors was eager to have the dance get underway, opening with standard country figures.

Roan had scarcely entered the room, his gaze seeking Prudence. He’d almost reached her when he was intercepted by Mrs. Barton, who appeared at his elbow, her smile sultry. “You must allow me to teach you a country dance, sir.”

“I think—” Roan tried, but she wouldn’t allow him to speak.

“You must humor me. I’m very keen to dance with a tall American stranger.” She slipped her hand in between his elbow and body, then flagrantly squeezed into his side. “Do Americans dance, Mr. Matheson? Surely not as we do. I think you must like the reels there, don’t you?” she asked, tugging him away.

He glanced helplessly over his shoulder at Prudence.

“Mrs. Matheson?”

Prudence whirled about at the sound of Stanhope’s voice. He smiled charmingly at her, his eyes blue and shining. “It is Mrs., isn’t it?”

Prudence lowered her gaze a moment to steel herself, then slowly lifted it. “What do you want, my lord?”

He laughed, delighted. His face softened with his smile and he looked boyishly handsome. “To dance! What did you think? I’ll confess that I’ve been brought into Mrs. Barton’s scheme. She inquired after your companion almost before she was off her horse, and I must warn you, she may not allow him to return to you. She can be very determined in that way. I’m to keep you in good company.”

“Oh, is that what you are to do?” she asked skeptically.

“Of course,” he said cheerfully. “It would look peculiar to all if you remain in this corner, frowning as darkly as you are. You don’t want to draw undue attention to yourself...do you?”

Prudence understood him, all right.

“Line up, line up!” Lady Penfors shouted as if marshaling forces to attack enemy lines. “The dancing will commence!”

“Come then, cousin, there’s no avoiding it,” Stanhope said low. He smiled and offered his arm to her again.

With a sigh of frustration, Prudence put her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

As the first strains of music lifted, Prudence looked for Roan, and curtsied without thought to her partner. She was surprised to see Roan move effortlessly through the first steps; she’d assumed that the English dances would be too foreign to him. But he seemed well at ease. She herself was startled when Stanhope grabbed her hand and pulled her into the first steps.

“You’ll have to look at me, I’m afraid.”

Prudence looked at him.

“Not even a hint of a smile?” he asked, teasing her. “Perhaps you are still cross with me for the remark I made over supper,” he said as he twirled her about before letting go. “But surely you can appreciate my confusion. At first, you were merely his cousin, desperate to reach an ailing father. And then you magically became his wife. It’s all very curious.”

Stanhope had pale blue eyes, Prudence noticed. A strong chin. He possessed good looks, and under any other circumstance, she would have welcomed his attention. But tonight she found his look and manner unctuous. He arched a brow, waiting for her response as they moved one step to their right and a couple passed down the line.

“You seem out of sorts,” he said, still smiling, his gaze still intent on her.

There were so many lies now that Prudence couldn’t think of what to say. She’d always been unfailingly honest, and these deceptions were taxing her. But there was one more lie she would tell, one more chance to save what remained of her tattered reputation. She said flatly, “You obviously know the truth.”

He arched a brow. “The truth?”

“Don’t pretend. The truth is we eloped,” she announced. “Just as you suspected.” She smiled, pleased at least that there was nothing he could say about that, no holes he could poke in her words.

“Did you?” he said, and took her hand again, twirling her about. “How daring! I’m sure you had a good reason.”

Prudence colored at the insinuation behind that remark. “Of course.”

“Is there a child growing in you?” he asked casually.