The Scoundrel and the Debutante by Julia London Page B

her bonnet! Prudence gasped and quickly yanked the feather from her bonnet and dropped it. She stepped closer to his back, practically melding herself onto him. She could smell the scent of horseflesh, of leather and brawn, and she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to the warmth of his back. The superfine felt soft against her skin, and she closed her eyes, feeling entirely safe in that sliver of a moment.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” he demanded softly.
    â€œHiding,” she whispered. “I told
you.”
    â€œI understand you are hiding, but you’re
touching
me.”
    â€œYes, I am,” she said with exasperation. Was he unfamiliar with the concept of hiding? “I would crawl under your coat if I could. That’s what hiding
is.
”
    â€œGood afternoon!” she heard Dr. Linford call out to all. “May we help?”
    Prudence was doomed. She would be humiliated before Mr. Matheson and exposed to scandal—all of which seemed far worse than Mr. Matheson’s displeasure that she was touching him.
    â€œTurn about,” Mr. Matheson said.
    â€œNo,” Prudence squeaked, her voice sounding desperately close to a whimper. “Please don’t—”
    â€œTurn about and walk to the stand of trees just beyond the rocks. No one will see you there, and if they do, you’ll be at too great a distance for anyone to determine who, exactly, you are.”
    â€œI
can’t
—”
    â€œYou can’t stand here hiding behind me, Miss Cabot. It’s entirely suspicious. Go, and I’ll walk behind you and block any view.”
    Prudence lifted her cheek from the warmth and safety of his back. He was right, of course; she couldn’t hide like a dumb cow in the middle of a meadow. She glanced at the trees Mr. Matheson had suggested.
    â€œMiss Cabot?”
    â€œYes,” she said quickly, earnestly.
    â€œLet go of my coat and turn about.”
    â€œOh. Yes.” She reluctantly released his coat and tried to smooth out the wrinkle she’d put in the fabric with her grip.
    Mr. Matheson hitched his shoulders as if she’d tugged him backward, and straightened his cuffs. “Have you turned about?”
    â€œAh...” She turned around. “Yes.”
    â€œThen for God’s sake walk on before the passengers begin to wonder why I stand like a damn tree in this field.”
    Prudence did as he instructed her, her hands clasping and unclasping, her step light and very quick, trying not to run. She didn’t dare look back for fear of Dr. Linford seeing her. When she reached the safety of the trees, she whirled about and collided with Mr. Matheson’s chest.
    He caught her elbow, his grip firm, and dipped down to see her beneath the brim of her bonnet. His gaze was intent. Piercing. It felt almost as if he could see through her. “I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to be completely honest with me. Are you in trouble?”
    â€œNo!” she said, aghast. Not as
yet
, that was. “No, no, nothing like that.”
    â€œDo you swear it?”
    Good Lord, he acted as if he knew what she’d done. Prudence looked away, but he quickly put his hand on her cheek and forced her head around to look at him. She opened her mouth to respond, then thought the better of it and closed it. She nodded adamantly.
    He unabashedly continued to study her face a moment, looking, Prudence presumed, for any sign of dishonesty, which made her feel oddly vulnerable. She looked down from his soft golden-brown eyes and dark lashes, from the shadow of his beard, and his lips. His
lips.
She was certain she’d never seen lips like that on a man and, even now, as terrified as she was of being discovered, they made her feel a little fluttery inside.
    â€œStay here,” he said. He strode away from her, toward the carriage.
    When he reached the small crowd, there was a lively discussion, the center at which seemed to be Mrs.