The Scoundrel and the Debutante by Julia London

skyward. “What is the damn point of all these titles if they aren’t meant to be royal?”
    â€œWould you like me to explain it?” she asked as he let go of her arm.
    â€œNo,” he said. “I never cared much for history and all that looking backward. I much preferred the here and now in my instruction. Arithmetic and science. The science of democracy. But never mind that, you have me curious—why isn’t your brother escorting you? He shouldn’t allow you to roam around the countryside alone.”
    â€œThere you are again with this notion that someone else may
allow
me, a grown woman, to do as I please. Augustine is not my king, sir, and besides, I find it highly ironic that you are asking these questions of me, given that you don’t really even know where your sister is.”
    â€œTouché, Miss Cabot. Had I known she would be left unattended, I would never have
allowed
it,” he said, and winked at her. “What is your earl’s excuse?”
    â€œAugustine has not the slightest notion of where I am and nor should he. He is well occupied by his life in London, and I am well occupied by mine. And
you
are very opinionated, Mr. Matheson.”
    â€œAm I?” he said, sounding surprised, and halted his step as if to contemplate it. He dropped the two bags and nodded. “Perhaps I am. I won’t apologize for it.” He smiled, and brushed a bit of hair from her cheek. “You’re easily riled, Miss Cabot.”
    â€œI am
not
easily riled,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “That’s what men say to women when they’ve been put back on their heels.”
    He laughed. He brushed her cheek again, then pushed the brim of her bonnet back. “Will you remove it?” he asked. “I would very much like to see all of your face.”
    Prudence felt something swirl between them, a palpable energy curling around her, tugging her closer to him. She held his gaze and loosened the tie of her bonnet, then pushed it off and let it fall down her back and hang around her neck.
    His gaze took her in, unhurried, from her hair, which Prudence was certain was a mess, to her face—smiling a little as he did—and down, skimming over her bodice before lifting up again. He met her gaze and smiled. He touched her face with his knuckle. “Thank you. I am always invigorated by the sight of a beautiful woman.”
    Beautiful.
Prudence had been called beautiful all her life, but when Mr. Roan Matheson said it, she believed it. She could feel the warmth of his admiration slipping down her spine and glittering in her groin. She began to walk again with the impression of his finger blistering on her cheek and the look in his eyes burning in her thoughts.
    Silence fell over them again. Prudence was acutely aware of the rooster beside her, his body as big as a mountain and apparently twice as strong. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the weight of the bags he carried, while she tried not to limp in her horrible shoes.
    She really had to think of something else, because she had become rather fixated on the way he gazed at her. His gaze was pleasantly piercing, as if he was trying very hard to see past the facade of her skin. “How is it your sister has become acquainted with Lord Penfors?” she asked curiously.
    â€œI suppose in the way Aurora has of meeting anyone—by inserting herself into situations she has no call to be in. Do you know him?”
    â€œOnly by vague reputation. I know that he remains mostly in the country, has a wife, but no children of whom I am aware. You mean to find her and then what?” she asked.
    â€œEscort her home, obviously. And then I will present her to her fiancé and wish him the best of luck.”
    Prudence couldn’t help but giggle. “But if your sister hasn’t heeded your advice yet, what makes you think she will now?”
    â€œAn excellent question. I may be