A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

Home. The word rang hollowly. Ever since his father cast him out all those years ago, this place had not felt like a home. His father would roll over in his grave to know that he brought these women here. He would consider them beneath his ilk. Fallen doves fit for a tumble at a bawdy house, but never to cross the threshold of his house. A slow, satisfied smile curled Declan’s lips at the happy thought.

“You like it, poppet?” He dipped a finger inside her bodice and dragged it against the swell of a generous breast.

A breathy gasp escaped her and she pushed deeper into his touch. “Oh, aye, I like it, milord,” she replied, a little too dramatically for his taste, but then she was an actress. She and her companions had performed in the bawdy production of The Education of Miss Annabel Hammersham at the Weymouth Playhouse just this evening. A titillating performance, to be certain.

Dimly, he was aware of his friends moving throughout the room to the assorted furniture, taking their companions with them.

Declan’s partner for the evening was the woman who had portrayed the much lauded Miss Annabel Hammersham. She looped her arms around his neck and lifted on her tiptoes to nibble at his throat. She tugged his cravat loose and tossed it to the floor. “That’s better,” she murmured, her cockney accent fighting its way forward. He closed his eyes, appreciating the play of her mouth on his neck.

“Oh, look what we have here? A present. For us, Dec? How thoughtful.”

Declan opened his eyes to follow his cousin’s gaze——landing on a sleeping female curled up on the settee near the fireplace. He frowned.

Who in the bloody hell was that?

He processed the shock of copper hair spilling over the blue upholstery.

Loosening his arms from Janie/Janet and approaching the settee, he gave voice to his thoughts. “Who is she?”

Will and Max crowded around him. “You don’t know her?”

He shook his head slowly, eyeing the slim length of her. He could discern little of her shape beneath the shapeless cloak, but he didn’t think her very ample. Not in the manner he preferred. He enjoyed sinking into curves . . . filling his hands full of them.

“Well, then.” His cousin sank on the couch beside her. “Shall I wake her with a kiss and find out how precisely she came to be in your drawing room at this hour of the night?” Will brushed a fiery strand of hair back from her forehead. She sighed and rolled onto her back, giving them all a better view of her features. A vague cord of recognition stirred in him. He grasped for the thread but it eluded him.

“I can only imagine what she came here for at this hour,” Max murmured, which only made the woman at his side titter stupidly. “She’s likely a former bedmate interested in a repeat performance from our Dec here.”

Janie/Janet pressed herself close against him, reminding him of her presence. “I thought this was a private tête-à-tête.” Her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. “I’m not as adventurous as you may think, milord. I prefer my men to myself.”

“No surprise there. You’re not the sharing kind,” one of the other females taunted.

“Shut up, Hettie,” she snapped and then turned to face Declan, sliding her hands up the front of his waistcoat in an effort to reclaim his attention. “I thought you and I were going to get acquainted better.” Her voice lowered to a husky whisper. “Just the two of us.”

“Indeed,” he tossed out carelessly as his gaze drifted over her head to the girl on the couch. The female stirred restlessly, no doubt the sound of their voices disturbing her sleep.

He frowned as Will skimmed a hand around her waist in an overly familiar manner, gliding up her rib cage. “She’s a little thing, but fetching, no? Like some woodland nymph.”

Unease skittered down his nape. The situation did not sit well with him, and just as he opened his mouth to command his cousin to remove his hands from her person, her eyes flew wide open and he was treated to the sight of her face in full animation.

Confusion followed by horror crossed the smooth features. She scrambled into a sitting position, shoving Will’s hand off her and treating him to a resounding slap across the face.

The crack reverberated on the air like cannon fire.

No one moved. No one breathed.

They all stared. At her.

She stared back, her cat eyes darting to each face in the room, her chest heaving as though she had just run a great distance.

Then one of the females laughed thinly, shattering the silence. It was a tinny, nervous sound. “You realize you struck an earl? You’ll likely hang for that.”

Dec snorted, swallowing the noise as he watched all color bleed from the strange girl’s face.

Will, still clutching his cheek, found his voice. “What was that for?”

Instead of answering him, her gaze darted around the room, assessing, taking their measure. When her gaze landed on him, she stopped there. “Declan,” she murmured, her lips barely moving.

He cocked his head to the side. “Do I know you?”

Her chin came up. She lowered her legs so that her boots brushed the floor. A scuffed, well-worn pair of boots. His housemaids owned better boots.

“It’s me.” As though remembering herself, she held his gaze with disarming directness and added, “Rosalie. Rosalie Hughes.”

He stared, his throat tightening as memories he did not know he even possessed flooded him. Rosalie following him about the countryside. Rosalie spying on him flirting with the vicar’s daughter. Rosalie stuck in a tree. Now he knew why she was so familiar to him. Bloody hell.

Carrots.

As if her mere name were not enough explanation, she added, “Your stepsister.”

Her hair had deepened. It was not quite the orange-red of her childhood, but it was still as bright as a sunset, especially cast in the fire’s glow. The wide eyes set in the elfin face were familiar, too. They glowed like cat’s eyes, fringed in long lashes and as watchful as ever.

“Rosalie?” he said, his voice hoarse.

She nodded once, tossing that wild hair of hers around her slight shoulders.

All eyes swung to him, awaiting his reaction with rapt fascination.

“Out,” he managed. No one stirred, and it occurred to him that they might not have heard his low utterance. “Leave us!”

Everyone scurried to action at his bark.

A tug on his sleeve drew his attention to the woman pressed up against him. He had forgotten all about her. Clearly his bark had not sent her running.

“Banbury,” she whined in a singsong voice. “I thought we were going to have fun this evening.”

Without a word, he reached inside his waistcoat. He extended several notes to her. “Here you are. For your troubles.”

With a huff, she looked from him to the money. She tossed a baleful look to the woman on the settee and then leveled a glare back on him. “Enjoy the rest of your evening with your ‘sister.’ ” From the way she emphasized sister, she clearly did not believe they were related.

Snatching the notes from his hand, the actress swished past him in a flurry of skirts. Everyone else followed, casting him speculative looks. His cousin and Max no exception.

Will was the last to step from the room. Arching one dark eyebrow at Dec, he closed the door after them with a sharp click.

And then it was just them.

Dec all alone with a girl he had not seen since the night his father cast him out. He could still recall his final glimpse of her. Carroty hair wild around her head and shoulders, clutching an old doll as she spied on them from the top of the stairs. She had witnessed his shame. A boy of fifteen years weeping like an infant.