“Honor—”
“George, he will stay here,” she said firmly. “He has brought Prudence to us. She might have been eaten by wolves or worse, and he brought her home. Of course he will stay here!”
“Do you think that perhaps given their...association,” George said, enunciating the word, “that perhaps that is not a very good idea?”
Mrs. Easton snorted. “After what happened at Howston Hall? I think it is an improvement.”
Easton couldn’t argue with her, but Roan could feel the burn of Mrs. Easton’s eyes on his back as he followed Finnegan to his room.
THE ROOM FINNEGAN showed him to was small but well-appointed with a comfortable bed and a window facing the street, which Finnegan pushed open. The night breeze lifted the drapery panels and the humid air brushed across Roan’s skin.
God, what turmoil they’d created. And still, Roan didn’t regret it, not any of it. He wasn’t put off by the Eastons’ anger. He understood it better than they knew. But Roan also knew from experience that anything worth having was worth fighting for. Prudence had mettle, and that made him love her more.
He stood at the window, closed his eyes and felt the night breeze on his face. He thought of Prudence, saw her smile, the shine of her hair, the glimmer of laughter in her eyes. He recalled that day in the pond, how she’d embraced her sensuality and had driven him to madness with desire.
He had never realized, never suspected, how fulfilling love was. But now that he knew it, he would not let go of it. He would not let go of Prudence, no matter how difficult it was. He had as much mettle as she. More.
Roan hadn’t recognized just how tired he was until he laid his head on a softly scented pillow and on linens smelling of lavender. He put out the light and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When something caught his arm, it took a monumental effort to pull himself to the surface.
“Roan.”
He opened his eyes. Prudence was there like a vision from his dream, in a sleeping gown, her golden hair falling around her shoulders. She put her fingers to his lips to silence him and crawled on top of him.
“Do you think this is wise? I don’t think I can reach my gun,” he whispered.
He could see her smile in the moonlit room. “I think we’re safe—I heard George snoring.”
“Mmm,” he said, unconvinced. But his hands were on her hips and his cock was hardening. “Go back, Pru. They’re angry with us and they will welcome any excuse to hang me.”
“I’ll go back,” she whispered, and kissed his cheek, then his ear. “But not before I have the opportunity to thank you.”
“For what?” he asked dreamily, closing his eyes as she moved to his neck.
“For giving me the adventure of my life. For showing me how to live.”
Roan opened his eyes. He caught her head between his hands and made her look at him. “Don’t thank me,” he said gruffly. “A thank-you sounds final and a bit disparaging.”
“I don’t mean it to,” she whispered. “I adore you, haven’t I said so?”
Yes, she had said she adored him. But Roan was acutely aware that she’d not said she loved him. He was suddenly struck with fear that she didn’t love him, that he’d invented it all, and in the light of morning, back in familiar surroundings, she’d see her emotions as foolishness.
“I want you to love me. I want you to marry me,” he said.
She caressed his face.
“Pru, I—”
She silenced him with a kiss.
Roan gave in and slipped his hands under her gown, slid them up over the warm, smooth skin of her thighs, then in between her legs. Prudence began to kiss him, sinking down onto his body.
This, Roan thought, was what he wanted in his life. This moment with a woman he loved was what made life worth living, wasn’t it? He cursed the heavens for having allowed him to realize it with a woman who lived a world away from him. When he entered Prudence, and slid into the oblivion of sexual pleasure, he could think only that he loved her.
The next morning, Roan awoke to the sound of birds chirping beneath a gray sky. Prudence was gone. Like a wraith, like a fragment of a dream, she had slipped away from him.
He would remember that night in the days to come. He would remember how she looked, how soft her smile, how naked her eyes. He would remember how it had felt to have love reverberating in him.
But mostly, he would remember how he’d wanted her, wanted love, with all his heart.
The Scoundrel and the Debutante (The Cabot Sisters #3)
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