A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

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 the 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.