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

No one came.

Prudence could see her future spreading before her. She didn’t know where or when it would happen, the day Stanhope revealed her scandal. In a museum? At the opera? Would he do it with a whisper, or would he announce it at a ball? She could see it, could see the whispers begin, his smug smile as he watched heads turn, one by one, each person whispering in another’s ear. She could hear the laughter, could see Merryton’s dismay, Easton’s anger. Have you heard of Prudence Cabot? Yes, the quiet one! As it happens, she is the vilest of them all...

“You brought this on yourself,” she whispered. For so long she had resented Honor and Grace for what they’d done. It was because of them, she’d reasoned, that she had done what she had in Ashton Down only a few days ago, seeking any bit of adventure she could find.

But this had nothing to do with Honor and Grace. This was all her doing—the deceptions, the choices, her indifference to propriety, the desires that had propelled her. Her sisters hadn’t created a bit of this for her—Prudence had done it all on her own. She knew when she forced the boy to turn the wagon about what it would mean for her. It went beyond the pale to travel with a man when she was not his wife, to dine at a lord’s home pretending to be his wife, to share a room with him.

Prudence had believed herself superior to her sisters, but she was as human as they were, as propelled by desire as they had been.

She dropped to her knees on the carpet, her hands braced against her legs, dragging the air into her lungs that she could not seem to catch. With a moan of anguish, she fell onto her side and stared up at the papier-maché medallions on the ceiling, the ropes and berries that had been fashioned in the corners. She was the worst.

She stretched her arm along the carpet and closed her eyes, thinking back on her life. She thought of the idyllic childhood at Longmeadow. The years spent in London, four girls, enthralled with society and the soirees and the supper parties. She saw herself at Blackwood Hall, wandering about the corridors for hours, looking for something to occupy her, feeling so empty. That terrible feeling that she was standing still.

The past few days with Roan had been the most exhilarating, the most exciting days of her life. She’d been buoyed by hope and promise. She’d been excited and engaged and she’d laughed and she was breathing—

The door suddenly opened and a rush of air swept across her face.

“Good God.” Roan was suddenly beside her, helping her up, his hands caressing her face and her hair as if searching for an injury. “Tell me. It’s Stanhope, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes narrowing, his expression turning to hot fury. “Did he do something? Did he touch you, did he—”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “He didn’t touch me. He was a perfect gentleman. But he knows who I am,” Prudence said. “He knows.”

The color drained from Roan’s face. He shook his head, refusing to believe it.

“He knows that I’m Prudence Cabot.”

Roan sat back; his hands fell away from her face. “What did he say? What does he want?”

She laughed bitterly. “Nothing,” she said with a shrug. “That’s what he said. He wanted nothing. He’d not reveal my secret.” She laughed again, this time more in awe of her own stupidity. “I may be a fool, but I’m not naive—”

“Damn him,” Roan said. He stood up, his hands on his waist. “Damn him.”

“I have to go home,” Prudence said sadly. “I must be there when word is out.”

Roan looked worried. He took her hand to pull her up, then pressed his palm to her neck as his gaze moved over her face. “Where, to Blackwood Hall? I’ll take you there if that’s what you want, Pru. I’ll explain.”

Prudence shook her head. “To London, to my sister Honor. She’ll know what to do.” She swallowed down the bitter truth of what she must do. “She and Augustine must hear this from me.”

Roan’s gaze was fixed on her. Prudence could sense his struggle, wanting to make this right, but perfectly unable to do it. What could he possibly do? Give up everything in America and marry her? “Yes, of course,” he said, his voice strained. “I’ll go now and arrange for a carriage to take us in the morning.”

“No,” Prudence said, and gripped his hand. “Please don’t go yet—”

“Only to arrange a carriage,” he said, cupping her face tenderly. “I’ll come back to you in moments.”