The Scoundrel and the Debutante

by Julia London

  Prudence glanced at Roan. She cleared her throat.

  “Mr. Matheson, please do sit,” Mrs. Easton said to him, and indicated a velvet-covered settee.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, I prefer to stand,” Roan said. He wanted to be on his feet if Easton charged him again.

  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.”

  “How?” Honor asked. “Have you made his acquaintance?”

  “No,” Prudence said. “Or Lord Penfors for that matter. I thought I’d be safe, that no one could possibly know me. But Stanhope guessed who I was because of my resemblance to Grace.”

  “Well, of course he did,” Easton said. “You look like twins.”

  “No, they don’t!” Mrs. Easton protested, and waved her hand at her husband and turned back to Prudence. “What did he say?”

  Prudence looked at Roan. “He said he would keep my secret...for now. But I know he won’t. I think he means to extort money.”

  “I would imagine that’s the least of what he intends to do,” Easton muttered.

  “Oh dear God,” Mrs. Easton said, and sank down onto the settee in shock. “We can’t let Merryton hear of this, do you understand? Can you imagine what he might do?”

  “Maybe we should,” Easton argued. “He’d certainly take care of it, wouldn’t he? Well? Go on, Pru—then what happened?”

  “My sister was not at Howston Hall,” Roan said. “We came at once to London.”

  “She’d left a fortnight ago,” Prudence explained. “In company of Mr. and Mrs. Villeroy, bound for London.”

  “The Villeroys?” Mrs. Easton said, and looked at her husband. “On Upper George Street? What were they doing with Penfors? The Villeroys keep to themselves. I rarely hear of them in society.”

  “They have a son,” Roan said. “It is imperative that I find my sister. She is engaged to be married and must come home.”

  “And you?” Easton asked. “What do you intend to do after dragging our Prudence across the English countryside?”

  “George, please,” Prudence said wearily. “You’re angry, I understand, but we won’t apologize for it. I won’t apologize any more than you and Honor did, or Grace and Merryton.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Mrs. Easton said, clearly appalled.

  “Not once did I hear a word of apology for what you did.” Prudence said.

  “What has that to do with you?” Mrs. Easton demanded angrily.

  “Everything, Honor. You made everything more difficult for me and Mercy. You know you did.”

  “Say no more, Prudence!” Mrs. Easton said, her voice shaking with fury.

  Roan put his hand to Prudence’s shoulder, but she shrugged him off. “But I don’t bl
ame you, Honor. I understand you now. I understand you,” she said again. “Our heart leads us where it leads us and we can’t resist it. I didn’t understand that before.”

  “My situation was vastly different from yours,” Mrs. Easton said angrily. “I had three younger sisters to think of.”

  “Your situation was no different than mine. You fell in love and you married him.”

  Mrs. Easton gasped at the implication of Prudence’s words. She looked wildly at the three of them, her gaze settling on Prudence, “You cannot marry him,” she said, pointing at Roan.

  “I can if that’s what I choose,” Prudence said firmly.

  “What exactly are you implying?” Mrs. Easton said quickly. “Don’t even think of it, Prudence! You are staying here, of course you are.”

  “I don’t know what I intend to do, Honor,” Prudence said hotly. “But I will not be shut away from life because of what you or Merryton or anyone else thinks! It is my life to live as I see fit.”

  Mrs. Easton gasped and whirled around to Roan. “How dare you put such ideas into her head!”

  The force of Mrs. Easton’s disdain and horror clenched like a vise around Roan’s gut. He looked at Prudence. “She doesn’t need me to tell her what to think,” he said. “She has a fine mind of her own.”

  Prudence smiled gratefully, buoying him.

  “What rubbish! You’ve preyed on an innocent woman—”

  “Honor,” Prudence said simply.

  Mrs. Easton looked at her sister for a long moment, then whirled away, her fingertips pressed to her cheeks.

  “Well, then, now we have quite a mess,” Easton said angrily. “What are we to do?”

  “My priority is to find my sister,” Roan said.

  “Yes, just go,” Mrs. Easton said angrily.

  “Darling,” said Mr. Easton, his hand tangling with his wife’s. “It’s too late to call on the Villeroys tonight. We’ll go on the morrow.”

  “We?” Roan asked, eyeing him warily. He didn’t trust this man—he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Easton tried to have him thrown into a jail.

  But Easton snorted. “I don’t know how you do things in New York, but in London, you need an introduction before you go rapping on doors.”

  “Are you suggesting you will make that introduction for me?” Roan asked suspiciously.

  “Yes, yes, I’ll make it, of course I shall,” Easton said impatiently. “That’s the only way to send you on your way.”

  “Thank you,” Roan said. “If you will excuse me, I will take my leave.”

  “What? Where are you going?” Mrs. Easton exclaimed.

  “To find an inn.”

  “You’ll stay here,” she said firmly.

  “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.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  PRUDENCE SLIPPED OUT of Roan’s room sometime before dawn and crawled into her bed, emotionally and physically spent. One week ago, she’d yearned for something to fill her days, something that would make her feel the corners of her soul. But tonight, she was feeling things, so many conflicting things that her emotions were a shambles. Every moment she was with Roan was another breath lost to joy, another flutter of her heart. Every moment away from him was a nervous ache. Was this love? Was it love that burned so hot in her chest? Would one journey across an ocean douse the flame, or would it make the flame burn brighte
r? Those questions tormented her.

  Prudence rose later than usual, and when she arrived at breakfast she found Honor and her oldest daughter, Edith, at the table.

  Augustine was in the breakfast room, standing at the windows and peering out, his familiar, corpulent shape swaying a little from side to side as if he were humming a tune to himself.

  “Good morning,” she said sheepishly.

  Augustine whirled around, his eyes wide. “Prudence Martha Cabot!” he said loudly. “I should lock you away in a tower.”

  “You can’t lock Auntie Pru away!” little Edith cried as Augustine barreled around the table, knocking into a chair in his haste to reach Prudence. He grabbed her up before she could speak and squeezed her tightly to him.

  “Mamma, don’t let him lock Auntie Pru away!” Edith sobbed.

  “Uncle Augustine isn’t locking anyone away, darling,” Honor said. “He was teasing Auntie Pru.”

  “Well, of course I won’t lock her away,” Augustine said, and let go of Prudence. He turned about to the little girl and said, “But you mustn’t ever run away as Auntie Pru has done. Do you promise me?”

  “I promise,” Edith said, and slid out of her seat, running around the table to throw her arms around Prudence’s legs.

  Prudence dipped down and swept her niece up in her arms, holding her tight. “I didn’t run away, darling. I went on an adventure!”

  “That’s an appalling interpretation,” Honor said, appearing next to Prudence. She ran her hand lovingly over her daughter’s head. “Come along, Miss Edith, your nurse is waiting for you.” Prudence reluctantly let Edith go. She watched as Honor led her from the dining room, wondering how she might never see Edith again. The thought twisted unpleasantly in her chest.

  “Prudence, dearest,” Augustine said anxiously when the pair had left the room. “What have you done?” He took Prudence’s hands in his. “How we worried for you! You must have a care for your virtue.”

  She wanted to argue that she must care for her virtue, that it was her virtue to do with what she liked, but she said simply, “I’m sorry, Augustine.”