A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

“No. Not since I spoke with her. He just makes her feel . . . anxious, I suppose.”

He well remembered what it felt like to be uncomfortable in your own home. Hunted. “Turn your back,” he snapped.

Aurelia blinked. “What—”

“Unless you wish to see me without my clothes, turn your back.”

“Oh!” She whirled around and he flung the counterpane back from the bed and strode to his armoire on the other side of the chamber. He jerked on clothes with angry movements. “You may turn around,” he said, tucking his shirt into his breeches. “His name? I’ll have it.”

“It’s Horley. He’s a viscount.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“A penniless viscount, apparently. Several years younger than your stepmother.”

His lips curled with distaste. She always did prefer them young. “You should have come to me at once with this.”

Aurelia nodded, looking miserable. “I know. She made me promise. And she sounded so certain that she could handle the situation, but she looked exhausted. She’s not sleeping. He tried to enter her room one night, and now she’s keeping vigil.”

He uttered a profanity that made Aurelia’s eyes widen. It was as much directed at him as anyone else. He’d known. In his gut he had known that he shouldn’t have let her go. He was as much to blame for this as Melisande. Rage filled him at how helpless she must feel. How alone.

Just then the words from last night drifted back to him: What would a man in your position know about being helpless and vulnerable?

He knew, and he’d let that very thing happen to Rosalie when he could have prevented it.

Over a day had passed since she confessed her situation to Aurelia. Anything could have happened since then. “Damn it, Aurelia. You should have told me.”

She nodded, her eyes gleaming with moisture, and he realized she was on the verge of tears. In three strides he was across the room and folding his cousin into his arms. “I’m sorry. This is not your fault. I’m angry and taking it out on you. This is my fault for letting her go. You told me, and I thank you for that.”

She nodded, sniffing back the threat of tears. He moved away and slipped on his vest, not even bothering with the buttons. Grabbing his jacket from where he had discarded it last evening, he shrugged into the rumpled garment. “Go home. Fetch your things and Aunt Peregrine. Inform her that I will need her again.”

“What are you doing?”

He paused only a fraction of a moment at the door. “Bringing Rosalie home.”

He rapped on the door fiercely until an annoyed-looking butler opened it. Dec strode past him and into the foyer. “Miss Hughes,” he bit out. “Where is she?”

The butler shook his head. “Your pardon, sir? You cannot simply walk in here unannounced—”

“I’ll announce myself. I’m the Duke of Banbury.” He waved a little finger. “This house. Your wages. All are due to me.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that, they can be gone.”

The butler’s eyes widened.

“Now where,” he continued, “is Miss Hughes?”

The butler pointed to the stairs. “I believe she is in the dining room with Her Grace.”

He didn’t wait. He took the stairs two at a time, the butler following.

He marched on the large double doors, assuming it was the dining room. He was correct. His stepmother sat at the head of the table, Rosalie to her left and a man to her right. Presumably, Horley.

“Declan?” Melisande stood, dropping her napkin to her plate. “This is a surprise.” She motioned for an empty chair, a glimmer of unease in her eyes. “Would you care to join us?”

He didn’t acknowledge her. His gaze zeroed in on Rosalie. She looked pale. Dark smudges marred the skin beneath her eyes. “Rosalie. Get your things.”

She blinked, angling her head uncertainly. “My things?”

“Or leave them. They can be sent over later.”

“Now just a moment, Declan. You can’t charge in here and demand Rosalie leave with you—”

He avoided looking at Melisande even as her voice continued at a shrill pitch. Instead he focused on Rosalie. “I never should have let you walk out. This place is poison.”

“See here now!” Horley surged to his feet. “You can’t walk in here and say such—”

Dec turned, took the three strides necessary to reach Horley, and struck him with one swift blow to the face. The satisfying smack of his knuckles into Horley’s jaw made him feel slightly better.

“Peter!” Melisande screamed and lurched from her chair to where he dropped to the floor. She lifted Horley by the shoulders, cradled him in her lap as she glared at Dec. “You beast! What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong is that your special friend here has been paying particularly close attention to Rosalie. And then he dared to open his mouth in my presence. He’s lucky he’s still in possession of his teeth.” He waved a hand at Horley where he moaned, clutching his jaw.

Melisande flicked her wild-eyed gaze toward her daughter. “Did she tell you those lies? Peter would never even look twice at Rosalie!”

Rosalie stood now, her hands buried into her skirts. Her unblinking stare fixed on Dec.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her, then shook his head and swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I should have stopped you. I should have told you that you could stay.”

She looked down with a shaky sigh that lifted her shoulders before meeting his gaze again. “I didn’t ask to stay, either. I did not give you much chance to say anything on the matter.”

“Rosalie,” Melisande said sharply. “I’m your mother. You will stay here. Don’t you dare think of leaving with him.”

Dec said nothing. He merely waited, looking at Rosalie. It was her choice. He held out his hand, offering it to her. “Come with me, Rosalie. Come home.”

Come home.

It was crazy, absurd, but the words resonated deep within her. Perhaps because she never really had a home of her own.

Home. Dec’s house. That town house in Mayfair had come to feel like home to her. Or perhaps it was simply that this place felt so much like a prison. Whatever the case, she couldn’t refuse him. She didn’t want to.

He was offering her an escape from Horley and her mother’s miserable machinations. She’d agree to almost anything in order for that to happen. And yet as he stood there holding out his hand to her, she could only think of last night. For one moment she felt confused, thinking he had come for her. That this was a continuation from the previous evening. That somehow he had figured out the truth and had come for her . . . that he wanted her for himself.

Despite the reason she had so readily agreed to go with her mother in the first place—because she was too afraid he might realize she was the girl from Sodom—she couldn’t refuse. Not this time. This time she had to stop herself from racing into his arms.

“Yes.” She nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

“Rosalie!” Melisande cried.

“I’m leaving,” she asserted, staring at him as she uttered these words, not even glancing at Melisande.

“How can you do this? I’m your mother.”

Only when it’s convenient for you.

The thought entered her head, but she didn’t give it voice. Instead, she took her cue from Dec and ignored her mother, circling the table toward him, giving Melisande and Horley wide berth.