A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

He’d let her go with Melisande, telling himself it was for the best. It was right. They were mother and daughter. Rosalie belonged with her.

He’d always viewed Rosalie as an extension of Melisande. Never as her own self. Never her own person. She was part of the woman who had destroyed his youth and robbed him of his father and left him a shell. Melisande had taken so much from him that he could never get back, and he had simply viewed Rosalie as cut from the same cloth.

Until he saw them side by side in his drawing room.

It dawned on him then how entirely different they were. Rosalie was nothing like her mother. She wasn’t Melisande. The evidence had always been there, but not until that moment had he faced it.

As much as he told himself letting her go was right, he felt guilty. He worried. Even though he told himself he needn’t. Rosalie still had the advantage of her dowry. She would not be with her mother for long. She’d have her pick of suitors. Her future was bright. He’d seen to that.

So why did that rationale not make him feel better? Not that it mattered how he felt. It was done. She’d been eager to leave, and he had no cause to keep her. He was nothing more than a stepbrother who had not even been in her life for years.

He looked down at the parchment again, flexing his fingers around the edges. The missive could not have arrived at a better time. The distraction was much welcome. The single sentence, neatly scrawled on a blank sheet of parchment, took his thoughts to a kiss that had affected him more than the seductions of any expertly experienced female. There had been something about her. Her utter lack of guile and artifice. His body responded at the memory, recalling her soft mouth, so warm and responsive to him . . . and the little sound she made when he had lifted her against him.

Meet me at Sodom tonight.

It wasn’t signed, but he knew. The possibility of seeing her again made his skin tighten and mouth dry. He hadn’t returned to Sodom since the night he kissed the masked girl. Nor had he touched another female. He simply wasn’t in the mood. In the past, any willing woman would suffice. A night’s pleasure, a few hours losing himself, and the numbness faded. For a short while. Until the next time. But any woman wasn’t what he wanted anymore, and the realization troubled him more than he wanted to admit. None of them appealed in the slightest.

The only other woman to even tempt him had been Rosalie, and since she was out of the question—and wisely out of reach—this opportunity was one he would not pass.

He changed his jacket quickly and departed.

Sodom was crowded tonight. He spied Max at one of the tables. This time wearing clothes. A woman sat on his lap, her arm draped around him, fingers playing in his hair, but he seemed more interested in his cards. In fact, he looked almost annoyed, stretching away from her delving fingers.

Mrs. Bancroft greeted him with a warm smile. “Your Grace, how good to see you. We’ve missed you.” Dressed modestly in a canary yellow gown with black beads at the hem and cuffs that reached her neck, the proprietress was an anomaly among the rest of the women present, which only added to her allure. Men in the room followed her movement across the room with hungry eyes. She was as unattainable as the queen. She was untouchable and every man wanted to conquer her. Every man but him. He was here for one reason.

“Mrs. Bancroft.” He bowed over her hand. Despite her charm, there was only one woman he wanted to see tonight. He opened his mouth to inquire if she had seen her.

As though she read his mind, she volunteered, “This way. She is waiting for you.”

His blood quickened. She led him to the second floor at a sedate pace that drove him mad. If he knew which room she was taking him to, he might have actually rushed past her in his eagerness.

He inhaled, chiding himself to not behave as a green lad. His hands opened and curled at his sides as he fought for his composure. He wasn’t even certain she wanted more than another kiss from him. That, quite clearly, had been all she was willing to sample the last time. It would be torment, but he would take it. He would take whatever she wanted to give.

Mrs. Bancroft stopped before the door. “I think you can manage this from here.”

Alone, he actually hesitated, his hand on the latch. He took a moment, gathering his composure so that he didn’t come at her like some randy goat.

He opened the door then and she was there. His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the chamber. She popped up from the edge of the bed where she had been sitting, her hands falling to her sides. Her midnight-dark hair slid like a waterfall around her shoulders.

She was wearing a darker gown, but in the shadowed chamber, he couldn’t identify the precise color. The bodice was sleeveless, leaving her shoulders bare save the veil of her hair. It was another form-fitting dress, and he wondered if she had borrowed it again from Mrs. Bancroft. He felt only relief that she wore it for him. That she had come back to Sodom for him and not to experiment with another man.

He shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Even in the murky gloom, even through the eyeholes of her domino, her gaze seared him. The way she looked at him was devouring and intimate.

“You came back,” he murmured.

“I wanted to see you again.” Her low, husky voice was like a physical stroke on his skin. She rubbed her palms against the sides of her gown, and he could only think of that hand rubbing down his chest in that same manner.

He glanced around the room and his lip curled. It was well-appointed but he couldn’t help think about how many people had used this room before them. As glad as he was that she wanted to see him again, he regretted it was here, in this place. The idea rose, surprising him. Sodom had always been good enough for him before, but for some reason he wanted more for her. He wanted her in his bed. At his home.

The idea was novel to him. Perhaps it was time to take a mistress. Random women flitting in and out of his life, his bed, had been good enough before, but if he could find one woman to satisfy him for a spell, that wouldn’t be so bad. There was something appealing to the notion. Except the only one he could imagine in that role stood before him.

Rosalie’s face was there, a flash across his mind before he thrust it away. She could not even be considered.

“What’s your name?” He knew no names were required here. It was understood at Sodom, but he could not continue without knowing what to call her.

Her tentative smile slipped, and he knew he had crossed a line. He pushed off from the door and advanced on her. “Come. I must call you something.”

She shook her head, her mouth pressed shut, and she looked around the chamber as if suddenly reconsidering.

He stopped before her and cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs resting on the stiff brocade of her domino. He loathed it. He wanted to rip it off, but he knew such an action would send her bolting from his arms faster.

“No names,” she whispered in that low, guttural scratch.

“But you know mine.”

“You’ve no need to protect your identity.” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “If who I am is so important to you, then we should put a stop to this—”

His mouth silenced her, muffling the words he refused to even entertain. There was no ending this. No stopping.

He needed it. Her. An ease to the ache that plagued him. That he’d been unable to appease in weeks. He tasted her with lips and tongue. She was ready for him, opening her mouth and meeting his tongue with less hesitancy than the last time. There was no awkwardness. She’d made up her mind before she came here. He felt that at once.