Page 37 of The Scoundrel and the Debutante
“That’s right,” Mr. Matheson sputtered, wincing with pain, his arm across his abdomen. “Run, cowards.”
She couldn’t make out all of Mr. Matheson’s injuries in the low light of the fire, but one eye was swelling and his nose was bloodied.
He wrapped his fingers around her arm, and she noticed the state of his knuckles. “Help me up. I don’t want to die sprawled here like a drunk,” he said, wincing as if the words caused him pain.
“You can’t die,” she said frantically, and with both hands, grabbed his arm, pulling him up. “I won’t allow it! Please, Mr. Matheson, please!”
He managed to keep himself upright and grinned at her as she helped him stagger to his feet. “See? Right as rain,” he said breathlessly, and threw a heavy arm around her shoulders. “Where’s the gun? We should keep it close, I think. And the knife, if you can find it.”
She dipped down and picked up the gun. Mr. Matheson swayed unsteadily as he made sure it wouldn’t fire. “Well done, Prudence Cabot,” he said. “I think you saved our hides. Speaking of which, where is the nag?”
Prudence looked frantically about. “She’s here, still eating.”
“Smart thieves—they knew better than to take her.” He stumbled; Prudence caught him with an arm around his waist. She managed to drape his arm over her shoulder. She struggled under his weight but was able to direct him to a tree and help him down. He settled with his back against it. His breathing was shallow as he attempted a smile for her. “I didn’t leave an arm or a leg behind, did I?”
She shook her head. “It’s my fault,” she said, swallowing back tears. “It’s my fault we ever came upon that tavern.”
“I won’t argue that,” he said, and stroked her cheek. “But fortunately for you, I don’t hold a grudge.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Matheson,” she said, her voice full of the despair she felt.
He groaned and closed his eyes. He must hate her now for having stolen onto the stagecoach. If she hadn’t, he would be safely on his way to Weslay, and she would be waiting for Mr. Bulworth to send his man for her. Prudence felt awfully stupid—what had seemed like such an amusing and harmless stand against propriety this morning now seemed the most frightening and foolhardy thing she’d ever done. She was very fortunate they’d not killed Mr. Matheson.Stupid, stupid girl!
“Give me some whiskey, will you?” he asked. “I have some in my bag.”
Prudence scrambled up and hurried to the place she’d last seen the man with her bag. But there were no bags. She whirled around, trying to see past the light of the fire. “They’re gone!” she cried. “They took our bags!”
“Goddamn it,” he uttered.
She picked up the knife and returned to his side, knelt beside him and put her hands in the pockets of his coat, which was still lying on the ground. She found a handkerchief and used it to dab at the blood around his nose. “You need a doctor.”
“I’m sure I look much worse than I truly am. Horrible, is it? Terrifying?”
“Terrifying,” she agreed, and tried again to wipe the blood from his nose, but he caught her wrist and pulled her hand away, laced his fingers with hers as he rested his head back against the tree.
“I’m so very sorry, Mr. Matheson,” she whispered again.
“Yes, well,” he said, wincing deeply as he moved to one side, his hand going to his ribs. “I don’t know if I’ll die tonight, but if I do, I would like to leave this earth hearing my given name on your lips.”
“You won’t die.”
“That’s certainly my sincerest hope, but one can never know when hospitality is extended so violently. I once heard of a fellow who dropped dead two days after a fight.”
“Two days!”
“You see? My demise could come at any moment. So give this dying man his wish and say it, Prudence,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Say my name.”
“Roan,” she said. “But you won’t die, Roan. Youwon’t.”
“Ah, at last,” he said, and smiled as he closed his eyes. He rested their hands on her knee. “You astonished me tonight. Very brave and clever on your feet.”
Prudence smiled sheepishly. She hadn’t been brave, she’d been rash. She looked at his hand atop hers, battered and bloodied. “But...but what am I to do now?” she whispered as she tried to clean the blood from his knuckles.
“Do?” He opened one eye, put his hand on her shoulder, gripping it, pulled her forward, then drew her near enough that he could put his arm around her. He tugged her into his body and held her there, his weight sagging against hers. He set the gun and handed it to her. “You fire if they come back, and this time, hit him square between the eyes, will you?” He sighed and closed his eyes. “In the meantime, I’ll think on it.”
“They’ll kill us if they come back.”
He said nothing.
