The Scoundrel and the Debutante. Julia London

her legs splayed at odd angles to keep her balance on the small bag. She folded her arms on top of her knees, pressed her forehead against her arms and squeezed her eyes shut. How could you be so stupid?

      Reality began to seep into her thoughts.

      Whatever made her believe she could be like her sisters? She’d never been like the rest of them, had never taken such daring chances, disregarding all propriety on a whim. What made her believe that she could step out of bounds of propriety now? Yes, she’d been at sixes and sevens of late, unsatisfied with her lot in life, but still! She was alone on a road, perfect prey for highwaymen, thieves or other horrible things she couldn’t even bring herself to think of. Gypsies! Prudence gasped and her heart fluttered, recalling the frightening tales Mercy had insisted on telling.

      “Well.”

      The sound of a man’s voice startled her so badly that Prudence tried to leap up and scream at the same time and managed to knock herself off her imperfect perch and onto her bottom.

      Mr. Matheson instantly reached for her, and Prudence, in a moment of sheer relief, grabbed him with both hands, hauled herself up with such vigor that she launched herself into his person and threw her arms around his neck.

      Perhaps he was as stunned as she—he caught her, but neither of them moved for one long moment. Then Mr. Matheson put his hands firmly on her waist and carefully set her back, staring down at her as if she’d lost her mind.

      “I beg your pardon,” she said apologetically. “I was momentarily overcome with relief! What are you doing on foot?”

      “Isn’t it obvious? Rescuing you.”

      Prudence could feel the color rising in her cheeks, the thump, thump, thump of her shame and delight in her chest. “You gave me such a fright,” she said, pressing her hand to breast. “I thought I would perish with it.”

      “Well, I think we’ve sufficiently delayed your ultimate demise for at least an hour or so,” he said. “What the devil are you doing here? Why did you leave the coach? Where in hell do you think you’re walking?”

      “To the next village or cottage,” she said, gesturing lamely in that direction. “I mean to pay someone to return me to Ashton Down.”

      He squinted down the road in the direction she gestured. “What a perfectly ridiculous thing to do,” he said gruffly. “Why would you? You had a seat on a coach!”

      “Because I feared Mrs. Scales would not be able to restrain herself from reporting all that had happened since leaving Ashton Down, and she...might possibly utter my name.”

      “I think the odds of that are excellent,” he said, nodding, as if it were a foregone conclusion. “And your solution to this was to, what, run away?”

      “No,” she said, as if it were absurd to suggest she’d run, even though she obviously had. “My solution was to go at once and find someone who would return me to Blackwood Hall. I should rather my family learn of this...turn of events...from me.”

      “Mmm.” He folded his arms and stared down at her with such scrutiny that her skin began to tingle. “So you thought you might march up to anyone with a conveyance and ask that they see you to this hall where you might report your folly?”

      When he put it like that, it sounded ridiculous. Prudence sniffed. She scratched her cheek and gazed down the road, then looked at him sidelong. “Well, you needn’t look so smug, Mr. Matheson. You’ve made your point. I’ve been foolish.”

      “I haven’t even begun to make that point, Miss Cabot, but I’ll happily do so as we trek into the next village and find that conveyance. At the moment, however, I’d very much like to turn you over my knee like a child, for God knows how childish you’ve been.”

      “Yes, so it would seem!” she said, miffed. “You’re not my father, Mr. Matheson.”

      “Your father!” he sputtered. “I’m scarcely thirty years old. And yet I have twice as much sense as you.”

      “If you had twice as much sense, you might have made your way to Weslay instead of Wesleigh!”

      He was momentarily disabled by the truth in that statement. “I will allow that,” he said, holding up a finger, “at least until I see you to some means for a safe return home.” He bent down, reaching for her bag.

      But Prudence was faster and snatched it up before he could take it. “I will carry my own bag, thank you.”

      “For the love of— It’s a long way to the next village.”

      “I am aware of how far it is to the next village. It’s five miles. And I am perfectly capable of carrying my own bag!”

      He muttered under his breath and hoisted his own bag onto his shoulder. “Shall we?”

      “Do I have any other choice?” Prudence began to walk, her bag banging uncomfortably against her knee. “Where is your hat?” she demanded, wishing he’d stop looking at her so intently.

      He frowned. “Lost,” he said curtly. “Why is it that you misses are all alike?” he added irritably, as if he was constantly running into unmarried women in the countryside.

      “We misses? Have you some vast experience with misses, Mr. Matheson?”

      “I have enough. Why do you think I am here in this godforsaken—”

      Prudence looked at him sharply.

      “Pardon. In this foreign land,” he amended.

      “I don’t know,” she said insouciantly. “Presumably to instruct all of the young misses in proper behavior.”

      “If only I had the time that would require. But no, I am here to instruct one miss. Imagine, it’s not even you! I am in pursuit of my incorrigible, equally headstrong and impulsive sister.”

      Prudence tossed her head. “I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she was trying to keep her distance from you and your opinions.”

      “She won’t escape them,” he said flatly.

      “I can’t imagine anyone could,” Prudence retorted pertly.

      They walked in silence for a few moments while Prudence wondered what the sister had done, what had caused him to come in “pursuit” of her. “Where is she?” she asked.

      “Yes indeed, where is Miss Aurora Priscilla Matheson?” he asked. “I very much hope she is at West Lee,” he said, gesturing impatiently with his hand at his failure to grasp the subtle differences between the names of the villages. “Shall I tell you the tale of this young woman? My aunt and uncle brought her to London last spring. It was a wedding gift of sorts, an opportunity to see a bit of the world before she marries Mr. Gunderson. But Aurora is quite impetuous, and she made many friends in London, some of whom, apparently, convinced her to stay another month or so more than was intended. When it came time to leave, she refused to return home with my aunt and uncle. She wrote my father and said she’d be along in a month or so.”