The Scoundrel and the Debutante Read Free Page A

when he faced her again, his jaw was clenched even more tightly. “If I may,” he asked, his voice strained, “have you a suggestion for how I might
reach
this West Lee that is two days away?”
    â€œIt’s not West—” She shook her head. “You might take the northbound stagecoach. It comes through Ashton Down twice a day. The first one should be along at any moment.”
    â€œI see,” he said, but it was quite apparent he didn’t see at all.
    â€œYou might also buy passage on the Royal Post coach, but it’s a bit more costly than the passenger stages. And it comes through only once a day.”
    He eyed her distrustfully. “Two days either way?”
    She nodded. She smiled sympathetically. She would not like to be sausaged into a stagecoach for two days. “I fear it is so.”
    He shoved his fingers roughly through his dark brown hair and muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t quite make out but sounded as if she ought not to hear.
    â€œWhere might I purchase passage?” he asked briskly.
    She looked around him—that is, she leaned to her right to see around his broad chest—to the stagecoach inn. “I’ll show you if you like.”
    â€œThat,”
he said firmly, “would be most helpful.” He bent down, scooped up his hat, dusted it off by knocking it against his knee, then put it back on his head. His gaze traversed the length of her before he stepped back and swept his arm before him, indicating she should lead him.
    Prudence walked across the street, pausing as the gentleman instructed the coachman to leave his trunk and bag on the sidewalk with the other luggage pieces to be loaded on the northbound coach. He stared wistfully at the coach as it pulled away, headed south, before turning back to Prudence and following her into the inn’s courtyard. She walked through a pair of doors that went past the public room and into a small office. It was close, and she had to dip her head to step inside. The ceiling was uncomfortably low, and the smell of horse manure permeated the air, as the office was situated between the stables and the public rooms.
    The gentleman passenger was well over six feet and had to stoop to enter. Once inside, his head brushed the rafters. He batted at a cobweb and grunted his displeasure.
    â€œAye, sir?” said a clerk, appearing behind the low counter.
    The gentleman stepped forward. “I should like to buy passage to West Lee,” he said.
    â€œWeslay,”
Prudence murmured.
    The gentleman sighed loudly. “What she said.”
    â€œThree quid,” the clerk said.
    The gentleman removed his purse from his pocket and opened it. He fussed through the coins there, examining each one as he withdrew them. Prudence stepped forward, leaned around him, and pointed at three of the coins.
    â€œAh,” he said, and handed them to the clerk, who in turn handed the gentleman a ticket.
    â€œThe driver requires a crown, and the guard a half,” the clerk said.
    â€œWhat?” the gentleman said. “But I just gave you three pounds.”
    The clerk tucked the coins into a pocket on his apron. “That’s for the passage. The driver and the guard, they get their pay from the passengers.”
    â€œSeems like a dodge.”
    The clerk shrugged. “If you want passage to Weslay—”
    â€œAll right, all right,” the gentleman said. He peered at his ticket and sighed again. He gestured for Prudence to go out ahead of him, then fit himself through the door into the inn’s main hall and followed her into the courtyard.
    They paused there. He smiled for the first time since Prudence had seen him, and she felt a little twinkle of desire when he did. He looked remarkably less perturbed, and in all honestly, he looked astoundingly pleasing to the eye when he smiled. It was a rugged, well-earned smiled. There was nothing thin about it. It was an