The Scoundrel and the Debutante Page 13

  Unfortunately, Roan was very much awake now, his body aching in more ways than one. What have I done? He’d been lost in a moment—he could have impregnated her, for God’s sake. He was the man he’d warned Aurora against. Susannah...

  Ah, hell.

  The sooner he saw Prudence to Himple, the better. Roan felt even more protective of her now, and much more desirous of her, too, feelings that were more fraught with danger for him personally than anything this country might show him. Thieves and highwaymen were lambs compared to the fear he held for his own desire. He was anxious to put Prudence on a coach, to get his hands on the little hoyden Aurora, and be gone from England before he did something he truly regretted.

  Roan fumbled for his purse to see how much cash he had. He patted down his pockets.

  There was no purse.

  He eased Prudence onto her back and sat up, patting himself down with both hands. No. He moved on all fours, feeling around the ground where he’d fought those men, knowing it was a futile search. Those wretched men had taken it from him along with their bags.

  He muttered a vile curse against Englishmen under his breath. He had to think. But what he thought of was his auburn-haired, brown-eyed hellion sister. No, it wasn’t fair to blame her for the events of this day, and yet that was precisely with whom Roan was angry. Had Aurora come home when she was supposed to, none of this would ever have happened.

  But that was the way it was with Aurora and it had always been so. Aurora enjoyed the attentions of young men. Like the woman lying beside him now, she was uncommonly pleasing to the eye. She had a spirit and look that turned men into idiots, promising her whatever Aurora wanted to hear. Who had she met here? What had he promised her?

  But Roan had believed that Aurora truly cared for Mr. Gunderson. Gunderson was a quiet and studious man, and may have seemed an odd choice for Aurora at first glance. But he adored her as men were wont to do and had all the other requisites required for a husband: he came from wealth, resided on a large Connecticut estate, he adored her and the marriage was advantageous.

  He was only beginning to wonder if Aurora chafed under the idea of an “advantageous” marriage, too.

  Roan glanced down at his charge. She wanted the same thing apparently that Aurora sought. It was the women of the day, he thought. Walking about New York and London in their little herds, wanting things like adventure and fun. He sighed, caressed Prudence’s arm.

  She stirred, made a sound of contentment.

  Damn it, when she sighed like that, he wanted to give her as much adventure as she could abide. What was happening to him? What was he thinking?

  Roan refused to figure that out, afraid of what he might discover. What he would force himself to think from this moment forward was that he had best get Miss Prudence Cabot to her friends as soon as possible. Before he did something as rash and imprudent as Aurora.

  He refused to listen to the small voice telling him that was impossible, he’d already done it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A CARESS ON Prudence’s cheek felt distant, as if it had come from another world. It annoyed her, and she shrugged away from whatever it was. The jiggle of her shoulder made her think that perhaps she was still on the coach, still dreaming.

  “Prudence.”

  Her name, whispered in that low, silky voice, and followed by the brush of whiskers across her chin, forced her to swim to awareness. She opened her eyes, blinking at the darkness. She was unable to grasp exactly where she was...until the sound of running water penetrated her thoughts. The brook.

  Roan.

  She opened her eyes, saw his face.

  “You sleep like the dead,” he said.

  His eyes and lip were not as swollen and bruised as they’d seemed last night. Prudence smiled at the memory of them, on his coat, under the stars. How delicious, how very shocking—

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said softly. “I found our bags.”

  “Oh!” Prudence sat up. “Where?”

  “On the road. They’ve been ransacked but there are still some things within.”

  Prudence pushed her hair from her face and knelt next to her valise to look inside. The contents were topsy-turvy; she pulled out the few items that remained. A clean chemise, her stockings. But a lovely green silk gown was gone, and so were the silk embroidered shoes she’d refused to allow herself to don yesterday, as they were too fine to be ruined. Her lovely shoes! She dug deeper and discovered the hairbrush and comb with the ivory handles—a gift from Grace—was likewise missing, as well as her reticule.

  Roan had tossed out a shirt, a waistcoat, some shaving implements. He scraped his hand along the bottom, as if searching for something. He suddenly kicked the bag with all his might.

  “What is missing?”

  “My banknotes,” he said, and raked his fingers through his hair. “They stole all my money.”

  “All of it?” Prudence asked.

  “They may as well have done. I am without a single coin until I reach the trunk I sent on to Himple.”

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  Roan reached for her hand and pulled her into his arms. “We persevere, Prudence Cabot. We go and find our trunks.” He let her go and began to collect his things. “And if we discover that the entire countryside is filled with thieves and ne’er-do-wells, I will personally carry you on my back into London and fill a wardrobe with gowns and shoes.”

  Prudence smiled dubiously. “Would you really, Mr. Matheson, just for me?”

  He grinned, put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around to button her up. “I would do it only for you. But if my trunk has also been stolen, I will have nothing but my indomitable spirit and a desperate need to reach the Bank of England to guide us.” He kissed her.

  Prudence sighed with contentment. The world Roan had introduced her to last night was one she had heretofore inadequately imagined. She thought again about the ecstasy in his hands and smiled at the cool blue sky and the tiny sliver of pink on the horizon. This adventure, as troublesome and disastrous as it would be for her personally in the end, had nonetheless made her feel reborn. She’d been unshackled from the rules and expectations of proper society. She was living, truly living, for the first time in her life. “I’m ravenous,” she murmured.

  He bent his head, nuzzled her neck, his arm going around her waist. “So am I.”

  Prudence blushed, the meaning behind his words clear to her in a way that would not have been apparent to her yesterday.

  “Come, wash in the brook. We haven’t far to go today.”

  She made her way to the brook and scrubbed her face with her fingers as best she could. She knotted her hair at the nape and let it hang down her back, but looked down at her gown. It was wrinkled and dirty and looked as if she’d slept in it. This would not do—she couldn’t very well appear at the Bulworths’ looking as though she’d been dragged behind a cart all the way from Blackwood Hall. She would have to find some place to bathe and repair herself as best she could.

  They rode on, and brilliant, gold light began to overtake the pink of the morning on the horizon. The mist that had settled onto the fields over night began to lift. The attack of last night seemed almost like a dream. It felt to Prudence as if the world’s curtain was lifting for her. Never had she seen such verdant greens, such buttery yellows or taffy pinks. She wanted to emboss this morning on her soul, to never forget how she felt on the first dawn of her awakening from the ennui that had threatened to drown her.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Prudence asked.

  “What?”

  “The landscape. The countryside.”

  “It’s nice,” he agreed.

  “Nice! It’s lovely, Roan. I can’t imagine America looks like this.”

  “It doesn’t,” he said. “Ame
rican has a different sort of beauty. Rugged, so many parts of it untouched. Not in the city of New York, obviously,” Roan said. “But if you were to ride north as I often do, you might go days without seeing another person.”

  “No villages?” Prudence asked. “No crofters, no sheep?”

  “There are some settlements and fields and livestock on the main roads. But America is so much larger than this island. It would be impossible to inhabit it all. I can’t describe how stunning is a landscape untouched by man.”

  Roan began to talk about America, its forests and valleys, the snowcapped mountains, the wide, sweeping rivers. It sounded enchanting to Prudence. She longed to see it, to ride through that vastness. She could imagine Roan in that setting, on a much younger horse, his bags and bedroll strapped to the horse’s rump. She pictured him gathering wood and building a fire in the middle of a forest, then roasting a rabbit he’d snared. Prudence had no knowledge of how such things were done, but she guessed that a man as lusty and strong as Roan Matheson would handle them with ease.

  He told her about New York City, too, and a more genteel image of Roan began to form in her mind. He mentioned the City Hotel, and the dancing assemblies held there. She pictured a gentleman dressed in flowing tails and a silky white waistcoat who was a fine dancer, surprisingly light on his feet as he circled around the ladies he partnered with. She could see his bright smile, the twinkle in his topaz eyes as he showered them with compliments. She saw the debutantes of New York gathering behind their fans, giggling and whispering about the fine figure he cut, their eyes darting to wherever he was in the assembly room.

  He told her of the small house his family kept in town, on Broadway Street, very near the Park Theatre. His family, he said, were patrons of the arts and the theatre. But he was most animated when he described the family’s country estate in the Hudson Valley. Prudence imagined him walking, perhaps with a dog or two trailing along, down a vast green lawn that led to the edge of the Hudson River. She could see him working to train the horses his family kept and bred, as he did not seem the sort to trust that to anyone else. When she listened to him, she imagined estates more lush than Longmeadow, the Beckington estate where she’d grown up, or Blackwood Hall.

  Prudence began to dreamily imagine herself on the New York estate, walking across the landscape he described, fingers idly skimming across rhododendron blooms, or her skirts dragging against a dewy green lawn.

  Roan spoke about his family’s business again, the plans they had, the work he did for them. It occurred to Prudence that what was missing from his speech was the mention of a society, a wife, plans for marriage. “You speak of your family’s legacy, and yet you haven’t mentioned marriage,” she said.

  Roan said nothing. His silence was enough to make her turn her head to look at him. “You will marry, won’t you? Have your own sons?”

  “Of course,” he said tightly. But his demeanor was so strange that Prudence had a sudden and horrifying thought—he was married. “Oh dear God,” she said, and turned around.

  “What?”

  “Are you...are you married?” she made herself ask, dazzled by her own stupidity.

  “What? No! Of course I’m not. Do you think I would— Pru, for God’s sake.” He put his hand around her waist. “I hesitate not because I am married. But...in honesty, I have an understanding with someone. Not an understanding as much as an expectation. The truth is I hardly know her, and God knows I’ve not actually proposed anything to her. But a marriage to her is one that will benefit the Mathesons and her family.”

  Prudence felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. She found it difficult to catch her breath for a moment. “I see,” she managed to say. Lord, she was naive!

  “No, you don’t see,” he said. “It’s an arrangement—”

  “I had no right to ask,” she said quickly, and closed her eyes, wishing she had never opened her mouth, wishing she could live on with her fantasy of what might have been. But she had opened her mouth, and now she felt sick. “What’s her name?”

  There was another hesitation at her back. At long last, he said, “Susannah.”

  Susannah. She was beautiful, Prudence thought. She was in America, waiting for him. She was the woman he’d wake up to, and she...

  “Pru, I shouldn’t have—”

  “I asked for it,” she said sharply, cutting him off before he ruined the memory of last night completely. “It’s quite all right, Roan. It’s not as if I thought you’d offer to...”

  God, I am ridiculous.

  Prudence didn’t finish her thought. She didn’t need to—he knew what she meant. She was wrong to feel she had any right to him at all. Last night had been about adventure. It had been about the experience of living. So why, then, did it suddenly feel so painful?

  An uncomfortable silence swallowed them. Prudence stared into the distance and thought of America. Of apple trees and green hills.

  She had no idea how long they rode in silence until Roan leaned down and said softly, “Look there.” He pointed over her shoulder.

  Prudence looked in the direction he indicated and saw the curls of smoke rising above the treetops.

  “A village,” he said. “That’s a happy sight, isn’t it?”

  But a swirl of panic rose up in Prudence, rudely jerking her back to reality. “Oh no. No! I can’t go into a village like this,” she said, glancing down at her dirty gown, the tail of her hair. “I need a fresh gown, to put up my hair.”

  “As much as I would like to oblige you, I don’t think there are any baths that can be drawn out here,” Roan said. “And neither do I have a fresh gown for you.”

  “You must allow me this! My family—”

  “All right, all right,” he said, and tugged her back into his chest. “We’ll take a detour and follow the brook until we find you a suitable place to freshen.” He tugged at the reins of the horse and turned off the road, leading the nag down the trail beside the brook that had followed the road.

  The brook turned west, and in the middle of a copse of trees, they found a small lake. It wasn’t very large—perhaps only three acres in all—and lily pads had choked off half of it. But cool, clear water lapped onto a grassy bank. Prudence could see grass waving just below the surface, and a bit farther out, the grass gave way to sediment. “It’s perfect,” she said, and removed her shoes and stockings, then hiked up the hem of her gown and waded in, ankle deep. “Oh.” She closed her eyes and delighted in the delicious feel of the grass tickling her feet, the cool water lapping around her ankles.

  “Do you swim?”

  Prudence glanced over her shoulder at Roan. He was standing on the bank, one foot propped on a rock, his arms folded, watching her. “Yes,” she said. “Do you?”

  His gaze slid down her body and he reached for his neckcloth with one hand, pulling the ends free of the knot. “Like a fish,” he said. She watched him discard his coat and waistcoat, too, and pull his shirt free of his trousers. His gaze never left hers, the shine in his eyes making Prudence feel a little light-headed. His promise to another woman notwithstanding, her thoughts skirted across the memory of last night. They were almost to Himple. This extraordinary adventure would come to an end, and so would the most wonderfully intoxicating thing she’d ever known in her life. The damage to them both had been done. That’s why Prudence hesitated only a moment before she reached behind her and undid the buttons of her gown. She pulled it over her head and tossed it onto the shore, and stood there in her chemise.

  Roan’s eyes darkened. His gaze traveled her body once more, but slowly, as if he was taking in every detail, committing it to memory.

  She smiled and turned about, wading into the pond until her chemise floated about her waist. Her nipples jutted through the thin fabric, and Prudence spread her arms out to each side, so that her palms skimmed the water. She spread her toe
s, too, and let the mud squish between them.

  This was a familiar feeling—it reminded her of her childhood. What a wonderful childhood it had been, too. She was so young when her father, a bishop in the Church of England, had died so unexpectedly. Her mother had remarried the Earl of Beckington, who was himself a widower, and the four Cabot sisters had trouped off to Longmeadow to be properly schooled in all the things an earl’s daughter was required to know. Music and needlework, painting and archery, geography and history. But when they weren’t at their lessons, they had acres and acres to explore. The sisters set out every summer day with their stepbrother, Augustine, in tow, who always followed them about like a puppy, warning them of all the dangers he imagined they would encounter.

  One of their favorite summer pastimes was to spend the afternoon at the lake with their books. Augustine rarely came along—he was afraid of eels in the water, he said, although Prudence couldn’t recall a time she’d seen an eel. Prudence could picture the four of them now, walking down to the lake in single file, Honor carrying the picnic basket her mother had insisted they take along, and Grace with their books wrapped in a strap and hung over her shoulder, like a schoolboy. At the lake’s edge, they would strip down to their chemises and swim, diving beneath the surface, floating on their backs. When they’d tired of that, the four of them would lie on the grassy banks to dry, eating the cheese and bread from the basket, reading aloud from their books.

  Oh, but she missed those days. Before they were out in society, before they’d entered the restrictive haut ton, before their every move was scrutinized, their words repeated across Mayfair salons. Standing in this lake with its lily pads, Prudence felt as if she were back at Longmeadow. As if she’d somehow stepped back in time, free to be the girl she’d been then.