Page 70 of The Scoundrel and the Debutante
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 thatyouwere 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 aswhat? 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.”
