The Scoundrel and the Debutante Read Free

landed very close to Prudence. He looked about for his hat and, spotting Prudence at the edge of the green, he suddenly strode forward, the paper held out before him.
    Prudence panicked. She looked about for a place to escape, but he guessed her intention. “No, no, stay right there, I beg you,” he said sternly. “I must have someone speak to that man and explain to him that I am to be delivered to Wesleigh!”
    â€œWesleigh?” Prudence asked. “Or Weslay?”
    That drew the man up, midstride. He stared at her with eyes the rich color of golden topaz, which slowly began to narrow on her, as if he thought she meant to trick him. He hesitantly moved forward, the paper still held out before him. “If you would be so kind?” he asked through clenched teeth, practically shoving the paper at her.
    Prudence took it between forefinger and thumb and gingerly extracted it from his grip. Someone had written—scrawled, really, in long bold strokes—“West Lee, Penfors.”
    â€œHmm,”
she said, squinting at the scrawl. “I suppose you mean Viscount Penfors.” She peeked up at the stranger, who was staring darkly at her. She could feel the potency of his gaze trickling into her veins. “Lord Penfors resides at Howston Hall, just outside of Weslay.”
    â€œYes, exactly as I wrote,” he said, pointing to the paper.
    â€œBut this says ‘West Lee.’”
    â€œJust as you said.”
    â€œNo, sir, I said ‘Weslay.’ I’ve never heard of West Lee,” she said, trying to enunciate the subtle difference in the sound of the names. “And unfortunately, it appears you’ve mistakenly arrived in Wesleigh.”
    The stranger’s face darkened, and Prudence had an image of him exploding, little bits of him raining down on the street. “I beg your pardon, miss, but you are not making any sense,” he said tightly. He reached for the edge of the paper with his forefinger and thumb as she’d done and yanked it free. “You have said West Lee three times now, and I don’t know if you mean to tease me or if there is something else at work here.”
    â€œI am not
teasing
you,” she objected, horrified by the suggestion.
    â€œThen it must be something else!”
    â€œSomething else?” What could he possibly mean? Prudence couldn’t help but smile. “I assure you, I am not privy to any scheme or conspiracy to keep you from Weslay, sir.”
    His frown deepened. “I am happy to amuse you, miss. But if you would kindly point me in the direction of at least
one
of these West Lees, and preferably the one where I may find this Penfors fellow, I would be most grateful.”
    â€œ
Oh.” She winced lightly.
    â€œOh?” he repeated, leaning forward. “What does ‘oh’
mean? Why are you looking at me as if you’ve lost my dog?”
    â€œYou’ve gone the wrong direction.”
    â€œSo I gathered,” he drawled.
    â€œ
Wesleigh
is just down the road here, a small village with perhaps five cottages.
Weslay
is north.” She pointed in the direction the stage had just come.
    He looked in the direction she pointed. His face began to mottle. “How far?” he managed, his voice dangerously low.
    â€œI can’t be entirely certain, but I’d say...two days?”
    The gentleman stranger clenched his jaw. He was big and powerful, and Prudence imagined his fury shaking the ground beneath his feet. “But that is indeed where you will find this Penfors fellow,” she hastened to add, and once again tried not to smile. It was absurd to refer to a viscount as a fellow!
    â€œNorth?”
he bellowed, throwing his arms wide.
    Prudence took one cautious step backward and nodded.
    The man put his hands on his waist, staring at her. And then he turned slowly from her. She thought he meant to walk away, but he kept turning, until he’d gone full circle, and