A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin

by Sophie Jordan

Aurelia saw her expression and patted her hand reassuringly. “Max will not utter a word to anyone. Don’t look so sick. Trust me. Now tell me. Did you kiss—­”

  “Yes.”

  The squabs squeaked as Aurelia adjusted her weight on the seat across from her. She fairly bounced in her eagerness. “Ohh, do tell. What was it like? What was he like? I’m sure Mrs. Bancroft wouldn’t have selected anyone for you short of—­”

  “He was like—­” she cut in, pausing before adding, “Declan.”

  Aurelia stopped bouncing where she sat on the squabs, her mouth dropping in a small O of shock.

  “You kissed my cousin?”

  Rosalie nodded. She needed to confide to someone, and as Aurelia was the only who could ever know about tonight, she was it.

  “You and Declan kissed?” she pressed, as though that clarification were necessary in addition to this name.

  Rosalie gave voice to her confirmation this time. “Yes.” Then she winced. “Or rather I kissed him.” She had flung herself at him.

  “You did?”

  “Well, the first time. And then he kissed me.” Properly. Thoroughly.

  “But you initiated it?” If possible, Aurelia’s eyes grew even larger.

  “I know,” Rosalie groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t have let it happen. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Yes, she did, but she wasn’t sharing with Aurelia that she found her cousin irresistible and the perfect candidate to act out all her wishes for something more.

  “Well this is an amusing turn of events.”

  Rosalie looked up from her hands and cut her a glare.

  “Sorry,” Aurelia replied without an ounce of repentance. Clearing her voice, she attempted what she must have deemed to be the suitable amount of seriousness. “Did he know it was you?”

  “Good God, no! No!” The idea made her skin itch. “And he can’t! He can’t ever know it was me.”

  Aurelia nodded. Untying the strings from her mask, she dropped the fabric on the seat beside her. “Of course not.” She fell silent, her gaze speculative across the carriage.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Simply considering.”

  “Considering what?”

  “You and Declan.”

  “There is no me and Dec. He’s trying to get rid of me, as you are well aware.”

  “Yes. Rather desperately. Too desperately perhaps? I wonder why that is?”

  Rosalie shook her head. “You read too much into this. He hates my mother and I am merely an extension of her.”

  “I think that is a rather simplistic view. He might have thought that way in the beginning, but I’m sure he no longer does. Or he no longer will once he comes to know you better.”

  Rosalie shrugged. Her gaze drifted to the small crack in the curtains and the passing buildings. “Really, this is moot. There is nothing more to say about it.”

  “Well,” Aurelia continued. “You’ll be under his roof for the rest of the Season. Anything can happen. Perhaps you need to open yourself to the—­”

  Her gaze snapped back to Aurelia. “Nothing will happen.”

  “But it already did.”

  “And he doesn’t know that,” she reminded tartly.

  Aurelia sniffed like it was a debatable point. “He wanted you tonight . . . I’d wager he wants you, Rosalie. That on some level, he knew it was you tonight. He just needs to realize it.”

  Rosalie stared at her, stunned. “No. He does not need to realize it.” He must not. “Please do not attempt to match-­make me with your cousin.”

  Her friend settled back in her seat, her lips flattening into a mutinous line.

  “Promise me, Aurelia,” Rosalie pressed, drawing out her name in warning.

  “Very well. I promise to do nothing. Only because there’s nothing I need to do. You’re under his roof. I predict proximity and frequency of said proximity shall take care of matters.”

  Rosalie swallowed.

  A cold sweat broke out over her at the idea of Dec realizing she was the girl he’d been with tonight. If it was the eventuality Aurelia predicted, then perhaps she needed to hasten all her efforts toward matrimony. Because, despite what Aurelia suggested, she knew that Dec discovering the truth of this night’s deeds would not end well for her.

  She sucked in a deep breath and resolved that it wouldn’t happen. As though sheer will alone could prevent it from occurring. Her mind worked, shoring up her defenses against the possibility. It was clear there was only one thing to do, and she was already doing it. Perhaps halfheartedly. But no more. Now she would seek a husband in earnest.

  Dec lingered another half hour at Sodom’s. He moved from room to room, looking for something to divert himself, hoping even though he knew it was fruitless that he might spot his mystery lady. He joined Max at the tables just as his friend was shrugging back into his clothing.

  “You lost your clothes, man?” he asked on a chuckle. “Never knew anyone to out-­wager you.”

  “A cheating, barbed-­tongue hoyden got the best of me.” He yanked his jacket angrily back into place. “Not to worry. I’ll have satisfaction.”

  Whoever the chit was, Dec felt sorry for her in that moment. Max was rarely given to anger or ill temper. He was all smiles and jests, which gave those rare moments when he was in a temper all the more weight. He was no one to trifle with when he was in a mood.

  “Are you heading upstairs?” Dec asked.

  Max hesitated, a scowl still etched on his features. “No, to home. You?”

  Dec nodded, understanding as he thought of what awaited him at home. He’d had his fill of Sodom for the night, too. He rubbed his mouth. His lips still felt warm.

  Strange. He’d come here looking to erase all thoughts of Rosalie, and had succeeded for a short time. Too short. Now he was back to thinking of her again. And a lady whose name he did not even know. Damned vexing night. He was still returning home with an aching cock. Precisely the state he had been in when he arrived at Sodom.

  “Should have stayed home,” he muttered.

  Immediately he knew he didn’t mean it. If he had stayed home, he wouldn’t have claimed her first kiss. He would not have been the one. Some other bastard would have taken that from her. His hands curled reflexively at his sides.

  He wouldn’t have the memory of her taste. He wouldn’t have experienced the way she came alive in his arms, waking to passion, to his touch, his mouth—­to him. His only regret was that he would have nothing more of her.

  He couldn’t stop himself from scanning the room yet again as he took his departure, hoping for one last sight of her. But no. She was gone.

  The two men walked out into the night.

  Max looked at him. “Will you be at the Waverley ball?”

  He frowned. “Should I know about it?”

  Max gave his cuff a tug, as if he could not quite get the fit right after undressing in Mrs. Bancroft’s parlor. “Only the biggest event of the Season. Thought with your stepsister on the market, your aunt would insist that you make an appearance. Lend your support and all that.”

  He shrugged, marveling at the slight tension running through him at the mention of Rosalie. The chit had the temerity to dress him down outside his bedchamber. After everything he had done for her. After he had taken her in even though her mother was responsible for ruining his childhood, taking away everything good and innocent he once had.

  And then she had gone and bewildered him with her concern for his injuries. He couldn’t recall a woman ever attempting to play nursemaid to him, but she had been quite ready to the task.

  “I don’t see why that’s necessary,” he said. “My aunt is doing a fair enough task of ushering her about. What of you?” he inquired.

  Max barked a laugh. “That’s amusing. Might have dinner at th
e club. Who knows from there?”

  A lone hack clattered noisily down the street. The hour was late, and he felt decidedly reluctant to return to his bed. “I’ll meet you for dinner.”

  “Brilliant.” Max clapped him on the back, the force of which made him wince. Max caught sight of his expression. “Sorry, there. You spar today?”

  Dec nodded.

  “You know there are other ways to exert yourself. Some far more pleasant than fisticuffs. Perhaps you need to spend more time at Sodom.”

  The suggestion only made him scowl. He hadn’t found release tonight as he had hoped.

  “Perhaps,” he agreed. Perhaps tomorrow he’d find a chit to shake him from his odd mood. A pleasing female with eager lips and yielding flesh. Or one that wasn’t his stepsister. One that was agreeable to more than a single kiss. How difficult could it be? It had always been easy enough before.

  Chapter 12

  Rosalie did not have long to worry about coming face-­to-­face with Dec and suffering his presence. There would be none of his overwhelming nearness with the memory of that blistering kiss between them.

  Because her mother came for her the next day.

  Melisande stood before her in the drawing room with her hands on her hips, putting a swift end to Rosalie’s concerns regarding Dec. There was no warm greeting. No hugs. No kisses or happy words at their long overdue reunion. Rosalie could dredge up very little happiness at seeing her mother. Likely because her mother made no effort to disguise her annoyance with her.

  “Are you satisfied, Rosalie? You’ve made me a laughingstock about Town!”

  “I thought you were in Italy.”

  “Not that it matters, but I was visiting a friend in Bath before leaving for Italy. That’s where I received word of your machinations here in Town!”

  “And how have I made you a laughingstock, Mama?”

  Melisande winced. She had always winced at being called Mama. As though being a mother pained her.

  “Everyone assumed my daughter was still in plaits, and you show up on the marriage mart, clearly a schoolgirl no longer!”

  Ah. Of course. It was an affront to her vanity. Now Rosalie understood the problem.

  Melisande continued her rant, barely pausing for breath. “How dare you leave school without my permission?” She paced the drawing room in a swish of muslin skirts. Rosalie watched her in rapt fascination. She hadn’t seen her mother in years. She couldn’t take her eyes off her, noting all the changes . . . all the little things she had forgotten over the years. Her hair was several shades darker than she recalled, and she could only suspect her mother tampered with the color of her hair through artificial means. Perhaps the dark strands had started to gray. She was still beautiful. With high cheekbones and slashing dark eyebrows. Stunning in a way that she knew she would never be. Her mother’s face was one sculptors would wish to mold in clay. Almost severe in its perfection.

  “I couldn’t remain at Harwich,” she finally cut in. “The tuition—­”

  “Don’t you be so crass and vulgar as to discuss finances with me, Rosalie. I can see your years there taught you nothing of decorum. I shudder to think how you’re faring about Society without me.”

  She bit her tongue, mightily tempted to say she had fared through life these many years without her.

  Melisande dropped down on the settee with a weary gust of breath. “ ’Tis done. We shall make the best of it. At least Albert’s brat has seen fit to do his duty and provide you a dowry. I shall take over from here.”

  Rosalie blinked. “Take over?”

  Melisande leaned forward to inspect the items on the tea ser­vice, wrinkling her nose. “What are these?” She poked at a biscuit. “Lemon iced?”

  “Mama?” Rosalie scooted to the edge of her chair. “What do you mean you’re taking over?”

  Melisande looked up, blinking her blue eyes. “You’ll come home with me and I shall oversee the rest of your Season. Of course, you don’t think I’m leaving you here with Declan.” She snorted indelicately.

  Rosalie narrowed her eyes on her mother. “Why should you suddenly care?”

  “Of course I care. Curb your tongue. I’m your mother, dearest. It is my duty. Everyone would expect me to usher you through the Season and guide your way on the marriage mart, not Declan. What does he know of young debutantes?”

  Rosalie nodded slowly, understanding her mother’s motives. Expectations. That would weigh on her mother. That would matter. Enough, apparently, for Melisande to take a sudden interest in her.

  “And you don’t know the first thing about men, either. You will need my help in wading through the waters of the ton, trust me. I won myself a duke for a husband, did I not? I can help you snare the perfect husband. We don’t want a miser who clings to every farthing and fails to understand our relationship.”

  “Our relationship?” Rosalie echoed, shaking her head in some bewilderment.

  Melisande finally selected a biscuit, nodding as she nibbled on the corner. “Hm-­mm. You and I are a package, darling. Any man that chooses you gets me, too. That must be understood straight away.”

  She blinked, a sick feeling twisting its way inside her as everything came together like pieces of a puzzle. Of course. Melisande wanted a son-­in-­law who would be agreeable to supporting his mother-­in-­law. Someone who wouldn’t mind her dipping into his pockets.

  The door opened suddenly and Dec strode in, his face hard as stone.

  Melisande seemed to freeze, her eyes widening with the biscuit halfway to her mouth.

  Dec looked from Melisande to Rosalie and then back again, his eyes chips of ice. “I believe I told you that you were not welcome here that last time you called.”

  Melisande recovered herself. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “You have my daughter. That gives me the right—­”

  “The daughter you conveniently forgot about for years?”

  Rosalie flushed, not appreciating the reminder of how little her mother cared for her. It was one thing for this to be a known fact . . . and another thing to speak of it so boldly directly in front of her.

  “I did what any mother would do and sent her to a proper school—­”

  “From which she completed her studies two years ago. You made it clear you have no wish to resume responsibility for Rosalie. Why attempt to act the role of doting mother now?”

  Melisande flung the biscuit down on the tea ser­vice. “As though you give a bloody hell about her. You’ve only placed a dowry on her head to get rid of her. Like you got rid of me.”

  “And yet here you sit.” His lip curled back like her very presence tainted the room.

  “Oh, you act like such the moral prig, but we know the truth about you. All of Town hears of your deviant—­”

  “Enough!” Rosalie set her teacup down with a sharp click. She glared at the both of them. They were bickering children and she’d had enough of it. “I’ll go pack my things.” She turned for the doors. Really. What else could she do?

  Dec stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Rosalie—­”

  She looked up at him, the sound of her name on his lips sending a shot of sensation directly down her spine. She waited. He merely stared, saying nothing, his eyes deep and dark, conveying some silent message that she was unable to comprehend.

  What could he say? Her mother had come to fetch her. She had no valid reason to remain here.

  She inhaled. “Thank you for your hospitality . . . thank you for everything.” Without him, she wouldn’t even have a hope for marriage. Now she would go home with her mother and finish out the Season—­likely, hopefully, with a marriage proposal soon in hand.

  She glanced at her mother’s smug expression. Melisande had won and she knew it. Rosalie did not relish going home with her but it was the thing to do. Perhaps the next time a gentleman made an offe
r, she would accept. Indeed, reflecting back on Strickland’s offer, he was not a poor prospect. He more than likely wouldn’t have bowed to her mother’s whims . . . and suddenly that became a new goal. She didn’t want to find a merely tolerable gentleman, but one who would stand firm against her mother and not let her run roughshod over him.

  Dec slid his hand from her arm. He gazed down at her, his bearing stiff and correct as he tucked his hands behind his back. “No thanks necessary.”

  She fled then, leaving them alone together. Hopefully the pair could remain in a room without murdering each other.

  A lump rose in her throat that she could not credit as she hastened toward her chamber. She had worried about staying overly long beneath his roof. That he would eventually realize she was the one he kissed at Sodom’s. That she would give herself away in some small way.

  She had worried that perhaps . . . she wanted him to remember.

  Now she was leaving and there would be no chance of that.

  Dec watched through the window of the upstairs drawing room as Rosalie’s last trunk was loaded onto the coach. Aurelia embraced Rosalie on the stoop as Melisande climbed inside the conveyance, no doubt impatient to be off. She’d gotten precisely what she wanted in coming here.

  His jaw clenched.

  “Are you mad?”

  He turned to find his aunt directly behind him. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even heard her approach.

  “I’ve been accused of much, but that particular allegation? Never.”

  She waved one thin arm toward the window. “You know why she came for Rosalie. She doesn’t give a fig about her daughter. Never has. Never will.” She snorted and adjusted her obscenely fat cat in her arms. The beast looked annoyed to be handled about and let out a low rumbling growl.

  “Hush, Lady Snuggles,” his aunt said distractedly, looking beyond him to glare out the window. “All those years she left Rosalie to rot at that school, and suddenly she’s here. Pffft. It’s the dowry. Nothing more.”

  “I’m aware of that,” he said evenly. He knew Melisande. He knew her perhaps better than anyone.

  His aunt’s gaze yanked back to him. “You are? Then why are you allowing her to leave with that wretched woman?”