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

But Prudence sat. She practically fell onto the settee as if collapsing under the weight of the week. “I don’t know where to begin.”


“You had best begin with the moment you left Blackwood Hall, for that’s the last anyone has seen you,” Easton said sternly.

That was where Prudence began, relating the sequence of events that had occurred since her disappearance, beginning with Roan being confused about Weslay.

“And I helped him buy passage on the next coach. And...and then? Then I followed him,” she said with a sheepish shrug as she finished her tale.

“Followed him,” Easton repeated carefully, as if he’d misunderstood.

“But why?” her sister cried. “Why would you do such a thing without a companion or a maid? That’s so unlike you, Prudence. You’re always very careful about such things. I can’t imagine why—”

“Because I fancied him, Honor,” Prudence said flatly. “Isn’t it obvious? I fancied him! I was quite smitten, actually—” Roan couldn’t help smiling at that “—and I thought that as I would live my life behind the walls of Blackwood Hall, without society, without an offer, why not take one opportunity to do something for me? I meant to get off the coach in Himple and carry on as planned and no one would be the wiser, but the wheel broke and Linford came, and I should have worn my boots!”

“Pardon?” Easton asked, then looked at his wife. “What is she talking about?”

Prudence took a breath and continued on to describe how the wheel of the stagecoach had broken and how fear of encountering Linford had compelled her to abandon the stagecoach once it was repaired. She told them how Roan had come after her, concerned for her safety, and about the purchase of the old nag, and how they’d slowly made their way, arriving at a public house that evening. But they’d found the company too rough, and they were right—they’d been followed and robbed, and Roan beaten.

“Oh my God,” Mrs. Easton moaned.

“He saved me, Honor,” Prudence said.

“I saved you? She shot him,” Roan said to her sister.

“Oh,” Mrs. Easton said, as if she were in pain, and sank into the cushions of the settee. “Did you...did you kill him?”

“No,” Prudence said. “At least, I don’t think I did.”

“You should have,” Easton said. “Shoot to kill, Pru.”

“I agree,” Roan said, and noticed that Easton was looking at him a little differently.

“Oh, Pru!” her sister said, taking Prudence’s hand in hers, holding it tightly between her two hands. “What an ordeal you’ve suffered. You poor thing. Then what did you do?”

Prudence looked at Roan. “He’d made a fire, and I...I sat with him, holding the gun in case they came back.”

“All night?” her sister whimpered.

“Yes. All night.”

Easton turned then and leveled a dark look on Roan. Roan returned one just as dark.

“Shall I kill him now?” Easton asked. “Or is there more?”

“George!” Prudence and Honor said at the very same time.

“It’s not his fault,” Prudence said. “It’s mine.”

“It’s not entirely yours, Pru,” Roan said, his gaze on Easton. “But I won’t apologize for any of it.”

“Oh no?” Easton said, turning around to face Roan.

“George, darling,” Mrs. Easton said, coming off the settee and hurrying to her husband. “Remember that you were not always very caring of propriety—”

“This is different!”

“It’s not,” she said, and touched his face. That seemed to calm him; he clenched his jaw and turned back to the fire.

“Wait, George, please. Hear all I have to say,” Prudence begged him. “We reached Himple the next day,” she continued, quickly resuming the story before Easton could react. She told them how she’d intended to carry on to Mrs. Bulworth, but had had a change of heart, and had gone after Roan’s post coach. She offered no explanation for it, and at that point, Roan supposed none was needed.

But when Prudence told them about Howston Hall, Mrs. Easton gaped at her. “You went as what? His other sister? His daughter?”

“Daughter!” Roan said, taken aback. “I’m thirty years old, madam.”

“What do you think, Honor?” Prudence said softly. “Not his sister or his ward. Not his mistress.”

For the second time, Mrs. Easton came off the couch. “Oh no. No.” She pressed her hands against her abdomen. “Oh, Pru, you didn’t, did you?”

“You see?” Easton said, gesturing at Roan. “I should have killed him the moment he walked into this room!”

Roan turned to face him. “If you would like to step outside, Mr. Easton, I’d be more than happy to respond to any questions you might have.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Easton said. “Both of you, stop it at once!”

“It’s even worse,” Prudence admitted.

“Worse?” Easton bellowed, casting his arms wide. “How could it possibly be worse?”

“Lord Stanhope was there. Actually, he was on the post coach from Himple. And...and he knew who I was.”