A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

Rosalie stifled a laugh. Dec must have heard the sound though. He turned his attention from the window to gaze at her with an inscrutable stare. She quickly sobered, feeling guilty. As though she somehow should not feel amusement.

She tried to offer up a smile, but it only felt weak and brittle. He held her gaze a moment longer and then turned his attention back outside.

Sighing, she crossed her hands in her lap, wishing she knew what to say or do to make things right between them again. They had been good. At least for a short while. After he’d fetched her from her mother’s, there was something there between them. Something more than indifference or vague animosity. A friendliness, a truce of some sort, however fleeting. Now that was gone and she didn’t know how to get it back again. If it was even possible.

The carriage pulled up before the glittering mausoleum that belonged to the Earl of Collingsworth. She was soon guided up the steps and into the grand foyer, escorted by Dec. It was all Aunt Peregrine’s plan. For her to be visibly linked to the Banbury dukedom and no longer under her mother’s shadow. For the bachelors of the ton to see her as beyond eminently eligible.

Her fingers barely rested on his arm as though afraid to exert any pressure. As though doing so was a presumption she dared not convey to him. It was already difficult . . . this sense that she was using him for her own gain. What did he gain from his association to her?

Following her introduction to the earl and his family, she soon found herself at the edge of the dance floor. A kaleidoscope of gowns in every possible color whirled past.

“Go on now,” Aunt Peregrine encouraged. “Out there with the both of you. What better way for Rosalie to be seen than for you to lead her in her first dance?” She wagged her fan toward the dance floor.

“Oh, no.” Rosalie shook her head. “That’s not necessary—”

“Come.” Dec took her elbow and guided them into the current of dancers.

She bit her lip and focused on not stepping on his toes. She was rattled. Finding herself in his arms, dancing so close with his hand wrapped around hers, the other at the back of her waist.

“I thought you enjoyed dancing,” he said after some moments.

“I do.”

“Then you have no wish to dance with me.”

“No, that’s not it,” she said quickly, her gaze flying to his rather intense expression. She closed her eyes briefly. She was making a muck of things. As usual. “You’ve done so much for me. I didn’t wish for you to feel further obligation.”

“It’s merely a waltz, Rosalie.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

They danced several more moments. He moved beautifully. With a grace that belonged to some jungle cat.

“You shouldn’t have to stay too long,” she said. “After this, your aunt should be satisfied and you can go.”

“Trying to rid yourself of me? Am I such a poor dancer? Or is it my breath?”

“Not at all. I’m only certain there are other places you would prefer to be.” Places like Sodom. With women that were all they appeared to be. Uncomplicated.

He looked down at her, his green eyes intent and yet unreadable. As though he read her mind, he replied, “I have not been back there since you.”

Heat flooded her face. There was no confusing where there was.

She was tempted to ask why and yet afraid to as well. It was none of her business.

“I only went that one night because you sent me that missive.”

Her face burned at the reminder of the note she had sent him. It was blatantly brazen. She pushed past her mortification to what he was saying. To the implication of his words.

He had returned to Sodom only for her. He had not gone since.

The dance came to an end. She spotted Aunt Peregrine waving her over. Dec followed her gaze.

“It appears my aunt has need of you.”

She nodded, feeling shaky inside. Not a new occurrence, but more so since he’d discovered the truth. That she was the woman he’d been with at Sodom. That he had kissed her. Touched her. She could hardly look at him without that knowledge making butterflies erupt inside her—the awareness that nothing stood between them anymore, no disguises, no hidden truths.

“Thank you for the dance.”

Taking her elbow, he escorted her back to her aunt. Rosalie pasted a smile on her face as Aunt Peregrine introduced her to a young man fresh out of Eton who looked close to her own age. Mr. Fanning bent over her hand even as his gaze fixed on Dec. Clearly, he seemed in awe of the Duke of Banbury.

“A pleasure to meet you.” He spared Rosalie only a glance as he uttered this. “My cousin is the Viscount Wescott. I believe you know him, Your Grace.”

Dec nodded absently, flicking Fanning a glance before sliding his stare back to Rosalie. “I believe we are acquainted,” he responded.

“He speaks very highly of you, Your Grace.”

Dec’s lip curled into a smirk. “Indeed? I can hardly recall his face.” Mirth brimmed in his eyes. She looked away, hoping to hide her grin. This was a bit of the boy she remembered. Mischievous and incorrigible.

Fanning sputtered, no doubt feeling foolish. Aunt Peregrine pushed any awkwardness aside with her chatter. Before Rosalie knew it, Aunt Peregrine had persuaded them into a dance. Another waltz played. Fanning didn’t dance half as well as Dec, but she doubted many gentlemen did. She would have to stop comparing other men to him if she was ever to marry anyone else and find any level of contentment with him.

“You must be very close to your stepbrother,” Fanning offered in way of conversation.

“Yes. I suppose I am.”

No sense denying it. That was the idea they wanted to give, after all. That whoever she married would also have the benefit of an alliance with the Duke of Banbury.

“You’re very fortunate.”

She looked sharply at Fanning’s boyish features. Fortunate? Fortunate that Dec saw fit to bring her under his wing when she was no actual blood relation to him? Fortunate that he bestowed her with such a generous dowry?

“Yes. I suppose I am.” Her gaze moved from the boy who held her hand limply in his moist one. She looked across the room, searching for the man who occupied her thoughts with such single, burning intensity.

She sucked in a breath when she found him. He stood at the edge of the dance floor, watching her. Tall, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped in his black evening attire, he was easily the most attractive man in the room, and every woman knew it from the way they cast their eyes his way. She knew it, too. He was everything she desired, but he was beyond her reach.

Aunt Peregrine and Aurelia had moved off and he stood alone, with a face void of expression, watching her circle the dance floor with Fanning.

Fanning followed her gaze. “He seems a much devoted brother. I confess to hardly speaking to my sister when I visit home. Although she does spend most of her time in the nursery playing with her dolls. Perhaps when she is older that will change and I, too, shall stand protectively at the edge of a ballroom watching as she waltzes with suitors.”

Is that how he viewed Dec? As a protective older brother? If he only knew that her alleged “brother” had kissed her until her knees went weak. Her face warmed at the memory. Until she recalled how he had stopped and pulled away. Then she felt only cold.

She dragged her gaze back to Fanning and smiled weakly, attempting to encourage him. That was the plan, after all.

Fanning smiled back at her, no doubt emboldened. “You’re a fine dancer, Miss Hughes. A fine dancer indeed.”