The Scoundrel and the Debutante (21 page)

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Easton said. “Finnegan, some brandy, please?”

“Whiskey for him,” George said, flicking his wrist at Roan. “Who are you, where did you come from?” he challenged Roan as he gingerly worked his jaw.

“Will the answer rile you?” Roan asked.

Easton sighed. “No doubt it will. Look here, I apologize. I may have struck you prematurely. From where did you come?”

“New York.”

“Oh good
God
,” Easton muttered as if that were the dregs of hell.

“All right,” Mrs. Easton said, eyeing Roan suspiciously. “You'd better tell us what happened, Pru. Augustine is quite beside himself. And Grace? Well, she is hysterical! Dr. Linford sent word immediately that you were not in Ashton Down where you were supposed to be, and they've had a man looking for you ever since. You can't imagine what we've feared. But this morning, the man told us that
you
forced the wagon to turn about and take you back to Himple on the way to the safety of Cassandra's house! Why?”

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 blame 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 can
not
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.

T
HE
ROOM
F
INNEGAN
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.”