Page 45 of The Scoundrel and the Debutante
Her legs slid from his waist. The water around them began to settle. He braced his palms on either side of her head and softly, carefully, kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her mouth.
Prudence was sore. She was breathless. And she was intoxicated. She’d never imagined it like this, and she would be grateful to Roan Matheson for the rest of her life for having shown her this part of life. She would love him for this, and she would never regret the past twenty-four hours. Not for a single moment.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded and smiled at him. She wrapped one arm around his neck and kissed his cheek. “You’ve managed to astound me twice now, Mr. Matheson.”
He smiled, too, but it was an uncertain one. He continued to hold her, bouncing around a bit in the lake, laughing at what the fish must think of them. He teased her, caressed her, his gaze wandering from her ear to her nose, to her neck and her shoulder, his smile tender.
After a while he said, “We should remove ourselves from this lovely lake before we are discovered.”
Prudence nodded, but she would be perfectly happy to remain here. She pictured a cottage on this small lake. Roan would walk out every morning to fish, and she would cook biscuits or some such—Cook had shown her once; maybe she could remember it. At night, he would read to her while she knitted socks for him. And then they would retire to their little bedroom with the windows open to the stars, and he would do this to her, over and over again.
That was the dream she would carry with her for the rest of her days. She would not think of the truth when she indulged in her daydreaming, or the heartache she would feel when it came time for him to go, or the ache she would feel every time she thought of him. She would remember only these moments.
CHAPTER TEN
PRUDENCEMUTTEREDUNDERher breath as she dug through her bag, searching for something that might improve the look of her gown. When at last she did emerge from the trees, she had put a wrap to good use, tying it around her bodice to hide the worst of the dirt. She had also put her hair up rather artfully with the few pins she had, but without benefit of help or a mirror, her coif was askew.
“Well?” she asked, casting her arms out and turning around. “What do you think?”
He thought that with her sparkling hazel eyes and sensual smile, she was beautiful. Perhaps even more beautiful than the day he’d first laid eyes on her. “I’ve never seen anyone lovelier.”
Prudence laughed. She looked down to smooth the folds of her skirts.
Roan wisely omitted any commentary about her ruined gown or mention that her coif was hanging a little strangely. “Shall we carry on?”
He’d become uncharacteristically nervous as he’d waited for her to make herself presentable. He’d looked out over that small lake, realizing how exposed they’d been. What if someone had happened upon them? But he’d been so caught up in the moment, so bewitched by the water nymph swimming around in that thin cotton chemise, inviting him in, that he’d lost himself in the moment. The only trouble was that he had yet to find himself. He was becoming increasingly besotted with that golden-haired imp.
Roan was also keenly aware of how much time he’d wasted in his hunt for his sister. Every moment he wasn’t in pursuit of Aurora was a moment he risked losing her. It was so unlike him—he’d always been a man of integrity and responsibility, the one to whom his family turned to solve problems. That Roan was still in Ashton Down. He didn’t recognize this Roan. And yet, he didn’t know how to go back.
He wasn’t sure he even wanted to go back.
“All right, then, I’m ready,” Prudence said.
She had her bag in one hand. She looked like a vagabond. If Roan didn’t know her, he’d expect her to offer to read his palms. He tried to hide his smile at that thought.
“What?” she demanded.
“I’m just happy that you are, at long last, ready to continue on with our little journey. I have a sister to catch and a trunk to find if you haven’t forgotten.”
“Oh, I’ve not forgotten,” she assured him. “I am as anxious to see my trunk as you are yours.”
Roan settled her on the back of the horse and once again strapped their bags onto the old nag’s rump. He walked alongside the horse, leading it back across the meadow and the wide swath the nag had mowed. The old girl would probably want a nap now.
He liked walking, even at the pace of a turtle. He needed the physical exercise to expel his frustrations with the thievery and his own bad behavior.
Prudence, however, seemed almost jovial, as if she were very much enjoying one disaster after another. He supposed she was too privileged and too young to appreciate just how wretched their lot was, but he was desperately aware of it. If his trunk had gone missing and he was forced to go to London to the central bank—he had no idea how far they were from London—he might never find Aurora.
Prudence was talking, he realized, something to do with a garden party where an illustrious guest had fallen in a fountain and had needed rescue. His thoughts were racing, plotting and planning for what would come next if they reached Himple and found their things missing.
They passed through the trees over which they’d seen the curls of smoke. When they rounded the bend, Roan said, “Look ahead, Pru—we’ve reached Himple.”
Prudence sat up.
Himple was a village, arealvillage, with a proper high street, a central green and houses tucked into narrow lanes that meandered away from the high street. There were people, too, scores of them out on that warm summer afternoon. Carters moving their wares, women carrying buckets of water away from a central well, children playing in the roads. Roan felt immeasurably relieved as they rode down the main road. He brought the horse to a halt before a building with the emblem of the Royal Post emblazoned proudly in the window. He whistled for a stable boy. The boy hurried to him and took the reins as Roan helped Prudence down, then unlashed their bags. “Stable her,” he said to the boy. “Feed her well. She deserves it.”
The boy touched his cap and tugged the horse’s bridle to move her along.
