How to Steal a Scoundrel's Heart (The Mating Habits of Scoundrels #4)(5)
As if on cue, sunlight stole through the clouds to shine a perfect ray of light on Phoebe’s pout. “He has no heart.”
“Then he is all the better for it, I should think,” Miss Thorogood said quietly, the flesh over the bridge of her nose furrowing slightly as she glanced at him.
The instant their gazes connected, however, she looked away. It was a pity because he wanted to discern what she was thinking. Not only that, but he liked the sound of her voice. It was pleasantly textured, layers blending richly together, revealing themselves by degree upon listening. Like silk, he thought, cool to the touch at first, then warming as it lingered against the skin.
“My dear, such a sentiment makes you positively perfect as Savage’s next in line,” Phoebe offered excitedly. “Not only are you beautiful—and he adores beautiful things—but you would bring a bit of class to the demimonde, I think. No, actually, I’m sure of it.” She lifted her arm through the open doorway and held out her hand. “Come with us. We’ll talk more in the carriage. Savage will drive me to Bath first, then you and he will journey to town.”
The dog woofed as if in agreement. And even though this was no plan of his own, Leo found himself waiting for Miss Thorogood’s response. The noises of the wayward sheep and shepherd’s bell faded, and his entire focus centered on her.
But as one second ticked by—two, three—he thought he glimpsed something lurking beneath the surface. It was in the lowering of her lashes, the delicate movement of her throat above the tarnished clasp of her cloak as she swallowed. Something vulnerable and innocent.
In his experience, innocence usually paired with fragility. And he’d learned to keep far afield from fragile women.
He preferred a certain type—jaded, cynical and self-absorbed. After all, the last thing he ever wanted was to be embroiled in another complicated affair.
So he was glad when she withdrew a step and said, “I have no intention of taking London by storm or otherwise.”
“I do not understand, then,” Phoebe groused. “What other reason could you have for returning after such a ruinous scandal?”
Miss Thorogood’s spine went ramrod straight. She gripped the broken strap of her valise, knuckles white through the gray layer of drying mud, and Leo presumed she was too offended to answer.
All the better for her, he thought. And yet . . . he was unaccountably curious, too. What could this proud creature hope to gain by enduring the trial that awaited the disgraced daughter of a peer amidst the ton?
When Miss Thorogood turned on her heel, he thought he would never know the answer.
But then she hesitated. Chin set, she issued a single-word response.
“Larceny.” Then she walked away like a queen preparing for battle.
Leo stared after her, an intrigued grin on his lips. At his side, he gave his woolly friend a scratch and murmured, good boy.
Chapter 2
Prudence Thorogood knew there was no going back. Not for her. And there was no way to change what had already occurred.
She could only move forward and think about her future.
Therefore, the following morning, she marched along the muddy road with her head held high. She’d walk to London if she had to. After all, it was a better option than traveling with the vile wastrel who’d thought an unprotected female on the mail coach would welcome his hand upon her thigh and his gaze fixed upon her bosom.
Well, she’d showed him. Her hand still throbbed from the slap she’d delivered.
Now she was just east of the beatific Berkshire Downs. Although, in her opinion, it should have been named the Berkshire Ups, since she found herself trudging up steady inclines far more often than down any declines.
At the top of one rise, she paused to catch her breath and take in the view of the vast countryside . . . just before the heavy-bottomed clouds decided to give her one more obstacle on her journey. Rain.
Splendid.
But it didn’t matter that she would soon be soaked to her chemise. She wasn’t going to let a little water stop her. And she wasn’t going to let another man interfere with her dreams—a lesson learned the hard way a year ago.
She’d been fooled once, believing a scoundrel’s lies. But never again.
This ruined debutante was taking back her life . . . or what was left of it. And she would do it alone.
She was in control. Not her disapproving father and stepmother. Not her pious aunt and uncle. And certainly not the deceitful cad who’d ruined her.
“Besides, I’m better off on my own,” she declared aloud, gripping the knotted strap of her valise tighter, and pretending she wasn’t exhausted after having already walked for hours. “I don’t need any— Ow!”
She stopped suddenly, pain pricking the ball of her foot. Lifting it from the ground, she hopped one-legged past a large puddle to the side of the road, careful to keep the hems of her cloak and skirts out of the way. Then she sat down on the grassy embankment.
A rock, of course, she thought scornfully. And not just a little pebble either. No, indeed. It was a goliath, splitting open a crevasse in the sole of her nankeen half boot.
“Blast it all!” she muttered, angrily tugging on her mud-coated laces. She wished she knew more colorful epithets. Now that would have been a worthwhile class in finishing school, instead of learning how to be the perfect debutante and the perfect hostess for one’s future husband. Ha!