The Scoundrel and the Debutante Read Online Free PDF Page A

wheat.
    Was it disloyal to think that Miss Cabot was what he’d envisioned Susannah Pratt to be before he’d actually met her? Golden-haired and elegant, her countenance and appearance to spark the deepest male desires? But Susannah had turned out to be dark, wide and shapeless. Roan liked to think he was not so shallow as to form his opinion of the woman based on looks alone, but it didn’t help that Miss Pratt had nothing to
say.
When she’d arrived from Philadelphia and had come to his family’s home on the arm of Mr. Pratt, all Roan could think was that he couldn’t believe he’d actually agreed with Mr. Pratt and his own father that a marriage of the two families was something that ought to occur.
    The coach suddenly lurched forward, and Miss Cabot was tossed against him. She turned her head slightly toward him and smiled apologetically. “I do so beg your pardon,” she said. “It’s awfully close, isn’t it?” She resituated herself, her back perfectly straight once more, her hands on her lap.
    But it was hopeless. Every rut in the road, every bounce, pressed her body against his—once, causing her to brace herself with her small hand to his thigh—and Roan was reminded with each passing mile how softly pliant she felt against him, how insubstantial she seemed, and yet strangely sturdy at the same time. He looked out the window and tried not to think of her lying naked on soft white linens, her golden hair spilling around her shoulders, her breasts pert. He managed it by looking at the old man every time his thoughts drifted in that direction.
    They’d been gone only one excruciating hour when one of the women took a deep breath in her endless conversation and announced loudly, “I know who you are! You’re Lady Merryton!”
    All eyes riveted on Miss Cabot, including Roan’s.
    â€œNot at all!” she exclaimed.
    â€œNo?” The woman seemed dubious.
    â€œ
No
! I assure you, if I were Lady Merryton, I’d travel by private coach.” Miss Cabot smiled.
    â€œYes, I suppose,” the woman said, looking disappointed.
    What, did the old crow really believe royalty would be carted about the countryside in a public coach? Even Roan knew better than that. He didn’t keep up with the princes and queens and whatnot of England, but he assumed a “lady” was some sort of royalty. When his aunt and uncle had returned from London this summer—without Aurora, whose person had been placed with all due confidence by Roan’s family in their care—they’d talked quite a lot about an earl here, a viscount there. Aurora dined with Lady This, danced with Lord That. Roan had paid little heed, and because he had not, he was at a disadvantage—he had no idea what the significance of any of it was, only that royalty seemed to abound in England.
    â€œBut I am acquainted with Lady Merryton,” Miss Cabot added casually.
    Roan cocked his head to one side, trying to see her face. She was
acquainted
with Lady Merryton? What was she, a countess or some such thing? Didn’t that make her the daughter of a queen and king? And did that therefore mean that Miss Cabot kept company with kings and queens?
    â€œJust as well you’re not her, I think, what with all the folderol around
that
marriage, eh?” The larger woman snorted and shook her head.
    â€œSimply shocking,” the smaller agreed.
    Roan could see the blush creep into Miss Cabot’s neck. He didn’t know what
folderol
meant, but as both sisters were practically congratulating each other on their opinions, it made him very curious.
    The women looked as if they were poised to ask more questions, but the coach began to slow. Roan leaned forward a bit, could see a row of whitewashed cottages with red and purple flowers spilling out of the window boxes. They’d arrived in a village he’d seen earlier today, and if he were not mistaken,