The Scoundrel and the Debutante (22 page)

“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

P
RUDENCE
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 brighter? 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.”

Augustine looked very earnest as he squeezed her hands. “I thought we might put this all to bed before word gets round, but I think it too late! Lord Stanhope caught me at White's—”

“What?” Prudence gasped. “When? How?”

“When? Last night. He said he'd borrowed a horse from Howston Hall and had accompanied the estate's agent to London. He said he'd been pleasantly surprised to make your acquaintance there.”

Tendrils of trepidation began to snake in around Prudence's gut. “What did he say?” she asked weakly. She could imagine it all, the ever-present, knowing smile on Stanhope's face.
I met Mrs. Matheson, my lord. I hadn't heard your sister had married!
Poor Augustine. He was a simple man and liked a simple life. She could imagine his shock, the way he'd bluster and fidget through such an encounter.

“He said he should like to come round this evening and speak to me privately, that's what,” he said nervously. “And when I mentioned it to Honor, she confided in me that you had been there with
a gentleman
,” he whispered, as if Prudence had been in the company of Satan himself.

“Oh God,” Prudence moaned.

“Pru, darling, I won't ask about the gentleman, for I think I can't bear to
hear
it,” Augustine said as Honor walked back into the dining room. “But I think it best if you hurry back to Blackwood Hall straightaway. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.”

“And what good will that do?” Prudence asked him, and walked away, to the windows. “It won't stop anyone from talking. Does it even matter if people talk? Haven't they said all there is to say about the Cabot sisters?”

“What? Of course
it matters!” Augustine said, his voice rising. “Do you mean to dishonor us all?”

“Fine. Send me into hiding like a criminal,” she snapped irritably.

“I don't think that's what Augustine means,” Honor said evenly.

“Not at all,” Augustine insisted. “I mean only that it is best for you to remain out of society for a time until this blows over,” he said sternly. Having delivered his brotherly warning, he rose up on the tips of his toes and down again, then yanked at the bottom of his waistcoat, pulling it over his belly. “You must never give us a fright like that again, Pru,” he said, wagging a chubby finger at her.

“No, of course not,” Prudence said bitterly. “I shouldn't do anything but stay out of sight and speak when I am spoken to—don't worry, Augustine. You won't have me to fret over. Perhaps I will marry the mysterious gentleman and solve the problem for you.”

She had never seen her stepbrother look as shocked as he did in that moment. His jaw dropped open. His eyes widened with alarm. His lips moved as if he wanted to speak but was incapable. And then he found his tongue. “I beg your pardon, you mean to do
what
? Who is this bounder?”

“He's not a bounder! He's an American.”

Augustine looked as if he couldn't draw his breath. “He's a
what
?”
he shouted, the force of his voice very nearly lifting him off his feet.

“Prudence! Stop this!” Honor cried.

“I'm only telling him the truth, Honor.”

“And with very little regard for his feelings,” Honor said hotly. “Augustine, darling, let me sort it all out, will you?”

“I can't believe what she's saying,” Augustine said helplessly as Honor took him by the elbow and began to guide him toward the door.

“I'll sort it all out, dearest. You should go home to Monica now,” Honor said, referring to Augustine's wife. “She'll be terribly anxious to hear what's become of Prudence.”

Augustine looked with great bemusement at Prudence as if he were looking at an apparition. Prudence felt another painful twist inside of her. She loved Augustine. She hadn't meant to hurt him. “Augustine—”

“Yes, she will be most anxious,” he said, nodding to himself as Honor showed him out.

Moments later, Honor returned with a dark glare for her sister. “Are you happy now?” she asked irritably as she fell into a chair. “Augustine is beside himself.”

“What would you have me say, Honor? Would you have me deny it? Would you have me pretend I have no feelings about it, that I don't know what I want?”

“No,”
she said as if speaking to a child. “But you might have shown a bit of tact.”

Honor was right. Prudence sat on a chair across from her sister. “I apologize,” she said. “You're right, that was badly done.”

Honor sniffed. She looked away from Prudence a moment. “Do you really want to
marry
him?” she asked, and turned a shrewd gaze to Prudence.

“I don't know,” Prudence said with honest misery. “I feel things for him that I've never felt in my life,” she said, pressing her palm to her heart. “I can't imagine I shall ever feel this way again. And then it feels a bit like an ague, and I think it will pass. But it doesn't pass, Honor. It only seems to grow.”

“Oh dear,” Honor said. She suddenly sat up. “Listen to me, Prudence. Grace and Mercy are coming this afternoon. Can't we at least discuss it as rational, clearheaded sisters before you do something foolish and swan off to America? Will you not at least show us the courtesy of discussing something that would affect us all?”

“My life, my choices, will affect us all?” Prudence asked, bristling.

“Of course they do. Just as you so adamantly pointed out last night that my choices have affected
you
, your choices affect us. Do you think any one of us want to lose a beloved sister to
America
?” she said as if she could hardly say the word. “Are we not at least as important to you as this...this stranger? You would say the same, Pru, and you would demand the same consideration as us.”

Prudence gazed at her beautiful older sister. She'd adored Honor all her life, had looked up to her, had idolized her. She could see the faint smudges of worry under her eyes this morning and knew that she'd put them there. Honor was right, of course. Her sisters were her world. They were the corners of her heart. But Roan was there, too. As improbable as it seemed, he had taken up space in the center. “Yes,” she said calmly. “Yes, of course, Honor. I would never intentionally hurt any of you. Never.”

Honor smiled wearily. “I know, darling,” she said, and reached for Prudence's knee, giving it a squeeze.

“Where have they gone?” Prudence asked meekly.

“I suppose you mean Matheson? He and George have gone round to the Villeroys.” Honor stood up and walked to the sideboard, clearly not in a mood to discuss it.

Prudence could picture Roan arriving at the house on Upper George Street, the relief and consolation washing over him when he laid eyes on his sister, now assured that she was well. She could see him gather her up and hold her as tight as he'd held Pru last night, but out of fear she would slip away again. She could see Roan grasp his sister's head in his hands and study her face for any change in her, any glimpse of the girl she'd been before she'd left America.

“What time did they go?”

“Nine o'clock,” Honor said. “George said he expected they'd be back by the noon hour.” Honor turned from the sideboard and put a plate of breakfast food before Prudence. “Here, eat something. Put some color in your face.” She quit the room without another word.

Roan and George did not return by the noon hour.

At two in the afternoon, Prudence was pacing the foyer.

Honor came down with her children, Edith, Tristan and Wills, all of them dressed to go out. “Where are you going?” Prudence asked as Honor separated Tristan and Wills from each other in the course of their overly boisterous play.

“To call on Lady Chatham. If I don't bring them round, she'll come here, and George will be unhappy.”

“But...what of George and Roan?” Prudence asked.

“Who is Roan?” Tristan demanded, wrinkling his nose.

“No one,” Honor said, a bit too quickly for Prudence. To her sister, she said, “They've obviously been delayed. Why don't you read? I've left some needlework upstairs if you want to busy your hands.” She ushered her three young children out before her. “Stop pacing,” she said to Prudence as she went out behind them.

Honor was right; Prudence needed an occupation. She went upstairs and sorted through Honor's basket of needlework, but found nothing to suit her. The heavy, oppressive air of the past two days finally gave way to rain, and she listened to it hitting the windowpanes for a while as she paced the drawing room with her hands behind her back, pausing occasionally at the windows to stare out at the steady fall of rain, thinking. Examining her options from every conceivable angle. Trying to sort through her feelings for a man who had filled her heart and her imagination and taught her what it was to yearn.

Where could they be?

She'd resumed trying to embroider a linen napkin when she heard someone at the door. Her heart lurched—Prudence unthinkingly tossed down the linen and rushed to the front windows to peer out. She could see nothing through the rain but a brown hat. The person wearing the hat hidden from view beneath it.

Still, it had to be Roan—who else could it be? She whirled around, tucked in a bit of hair and clasped her hands together, waiting.

Several moments later, she heard the light footfall of Finnegan and caught her breath. Finnegan entered the room and silently held out a silver tray with a calling card to her. A calling card? Roan wouldn't come in with a calling card. Prudence looked at him hesitantly and picked up the card. The moment she saw the name she threw it back on the tray as if it were a hot coal.
Stanhope.

So this was it, she thought desperately. How much money would he want? Should she send word he should come back when George was home? No, no...she was
not
a coward. She'd brought this on herself and she would answer for it. Prudence squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Is everyone out?”

“Yes, miss,” Finnegan said.

She nodded. “Show him up, please.”

Finnegan turned, prepared to fetch him.

“Finnegan!” she said quickly, before he could leave.

He turned back to her.

“Leave the door open, and please...stay close, will you?”

“Just outside,” he assured her. “Are you certain you want to receive him?”

Prudence laughed nervously. “Not at all. Unfortunately, I must. Bring him up, please.”

Stanhope entered the room and paused just over the threshold. He smiled and inclined his head. “Miss Cabot. Thank you for seeing me.”

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said coolly.

“May I say, it's lovely to see you home and refreshed.” He smiled warmly.

He was wearing a dove-gray coat over black trousers and waistcoat, a pristine white shirt and neckcloth. His hair—gold, like hers—was combed and trimmed since she'd last seen him. Prudence resented the sight of him. “How may I help you?”

Stanhope cocked a brow and smiled with surprise. “You seem uncomfortable, Miss Cabot. Is my presence so hard for you to bear?”