Julia London - The Scoundrel and the Debutante

Roan could feel Miss Cabot shift about, uncomfortable with the busybody’s scrutiny of her. “Actually, I am on my way to see a dear friend. She’s just been delivered of her first child.”

“Oh, a baby !” Mrs. Tricklebank said.

“Yes, a baby!” Miss Cabot agreed enthusiastically. “Poor thing sent a messenger and begged me to come straightaway. It’s her first child and she’s feeling a bit at sixes and sevens.”

“She didn’t send someone for you?” Mrs. Scales asked. “One would think you might have had some escort,” she added curiously.

Miss Cabot’s elegant neck began to turn pink. “There was no time. My friend hasn’t any help with the baby, and I think she can’t do without her husband.”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Scales said gravely.

She rankled Roan. Who was she to pass judgment on Miss Cabot? He didn’t believe her, either, and thought she was up to mischief because he was well versed in the way young women dissembled. But he wouldn’t prosecute her for it as Mrs. Scales seemed determined to do. “An interesting custom,” he said, fixing a cold gaze on Mrs. Scales. “Is it common to interrogate fellow passengers on every stagecoach, or just this one?”

Mrs. Scales blinked. She drew her mouth into a bitter pucker. Miss Cabot graciously looked away from the old crone and pretended to gaze out the window. But he could see her smile.

The coach swayed down the road at a fine clip, and the eyelids of the coach inhabitants eventually began to grow heavy. Before long, Miss Cabot began to sag. Roan tried to ease her toward Mrs. Scales for the sake of propriety, but Mrs. Scales had also nodded off and Roan couldn’t manage it. Miss Cabot’s head—or more accurately, her bonnet—settled adamantly onto his shoulder, and the ghastly feather that protruded from the crown bounced in his eye. Roan tried to turn his head to avoid it, but it was impossible, especially given his desire not to jostle and wake her. Or more important, his desire not to wake Mrs. Roly or Mrs. Poly.

He himself felt his lids sliding shut when a sudden bump in the road startled Miss Cabot, and her elbow protruded so deeply into his side that he feared she might have punctured his liver. But the coach was quickly swaying again, and the passengers settled once more. Save the old man, whose gaze was still fixed on Roan.

But then the coach suddenly dipped sharply to the right, tossing them all about, and over an expletive loudly shouted from the driver, it shuddered to a definite halt.

CHAPTER THREE Contents Cover Back Cover Text “Julia London strikes gold again. Warm, witty and decidedly wicked—great entertainment.” —New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens on The Devil Takes a Bride The dust of the Cabot sisters’ shocking plans to rescue their family from certain ruin may have settled, but Prudence Cabot is left standing in the rubble of scandal. Now regarded as an unsuitable bride, she’s tainted among the ton. Yet this unwilling wallflower is ripe for her own adventure. And when an irresistibly sexy American stranger on a desperate mission enlists her help, she simply can’t deny the temptation. The fate of Roan Matheson’s family depends on how quickly he can find his runaway sister and persuade her to return to her betrothed. Scouring the rustic English countryside with the sensually wicked Prudence at his side—and in his bed—he’s out of his element. But once Roan has a taste of the sizzling passion that can lead to forever, he must choose between his heart’s obligations and its forbidden desires. Praise Title Page The Scoundrel and the Debutante Julia London www.millsandboon.co.uk Dedication This book is about Prudence, the third Cabot Sister. I am also a third sister and I sort of want to dedicate the book to me, because, like Prudence, I have been heavily influenced, unfairly put upon, greatly appreciated and dearly loved by my older sisters, one gone too soon, one still here and my best friend. So I think I will dedicate this book to them instead. To my two much adored sisters, Karen and Nancy. CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY EPILOGUE Extract Copyright

PRUDENCE’S CHIN BOUNCED off something very hard, and her hand sank into something soft. Her first groggy thought was that it was a lumpy pillow. But when her eyes flew open, she saw that her chin had connected with Mr. Matheson’s shoulder...and her hand with his lap.

He stared wryly at her as awareness dawned on her. She gasped; he very deliberately reached up to remove the tip of her bonnet’s feather that was poking him in the eye.

Prudence could feel the heat flood her cheeks and quickly sat up. She straightened her bonnet, which had somehow been pushed to one side. “What has happened?” she exclaimed, shuffling out from the wedge between Mrs. Scales and Mr. Matheson to the edge of the bench, desperate that no part of her was touching any part of that very virile man. But her hip was still pressed so tightly against his thigh that she could feel the slightest shift of muscle beneath his buckskins.

It was alarmingly provocative. Prudence didn’t move an inch for several seconds, allowing that feeling to imprint itself in her skin.

“I assume we’ve broken a wheel,” Mr. Matheson said. The coach dipped to the right and swayed unsteadily. The driver cursed again, loudly enough that the round cheeks of the two sisters turned florid.

Mr. Matheson reached for the door and launched himself from the interior like a phoenix, startling them all. Prudence leaned forward and looked through the open door. The coach was leaning precariously to that side. She looked back at her fellow travelers and had the thought that if the two ladies tried to exit the coach at the same time, it might topple over. She fairly leaped from the coach, too, landing awkwardly against a coachman who had just appeared to help them down.

“What has happened?” Prudence asked.

“The wheel has broken, miss.”

Mr. Matheson, she noticed, was among the men who had gathered around the offending wheel. He’d squatted to study it, and Prudence wondered if he was acquainted with wheels in general, or merely curious.

There ensued quite a lot of discussion among the men as Mr. Matheson dipped down and reached deep under the coach with one arm, bracing himself against the vehicle with his other hand. Was it natural to be a bit titillated by a man’s immodest address of a mechanical issue? Certainly she had never seen a gentleman involve himself in that way.

When Mr. Matheson rose again, he wiped his hand on his trousers, leaving a smear of axle grease. That did not repulse Prudence. She found it strangely alluring.

“The axle is fine,” he announced.

There was more discussion among the men, their voices louder this time. It seemed to Prudence that they were all disagreeing with each other. At last the driver instructed the women and the old gentleman away from the coach while the men attempted to repair the wheel. Mr. Matheson was included in the group that was shooed away.

The team was unhitched, and some of the men began to stack whatever they could find beneath the coach to keep it level when the wheel was removed.

“My valise!” Prudence cried, and darted into the men to retrieve it, pulling it away before it could be used as a prop.

Then Mrs. Tricklebank and Mrs. Scales made seats on some rocks beneath the boughs of a tree, taking the old man and the boy under their wings and fussing around them. There was no seat left for Prudence, so she sat on a trunk.