A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

He stared at her for a long moment, feeling raw and battered inside. Exposed. Finally, he said, “I made my choice when I came to your bed.”

Her face crumpled. “That’s not a denial.”

Turning, she fled the room. He watched her go.





Chapter 23


Pushing back her hood, Rosalie strode past her mother’s butler with hard, echoing steps. “Is my mother in the drawing room?”

“M-Miss Hughes,” he stammered, hurrying after her. “Yes, she is. Shall I announce you?”

“That’s not necessary, thank you.” The drawing room’s double doors stood ajar and she strode inside.

Her mother and Horley looked up from the tea service. Melisande paused, her cup halfway to her lips. Sunlight poured into the room from the window, bathing her in golden light. Her dark hair gleamed like ebony. She looked poised and beautiful, her porcelain skin ageless.

“Rosalie, what a pleasant surprise.” From the way her lips curled into a smile, Rosalie’s presence was no surprise at all. “Tea?”

Horley popped a biscuit whole into his mouth, watching her as he chewed, crumbs dropping from his lips to rain upon his trousers. She wished she could read the thoughts behind his hawk gaze, and then decided it was probably for the best that she could not. He slouched inelegantly in his chair, legs sprawled wide, one arm stretched along the back of the chair. Her mother. Once again with a younger man. Her stomach churned.

“I know.”

Her mother arched a brow and took a dainty sip.

“But then you wanted me to know, didn’t you?” she added. “Did you think I would blame him? Hate him?”

“I think it only right that you know the truth if you’re going to enter into matrimony with—”

“The truth. That’s quite amusing considering what you told me was more fabrication than fact. What you did to him . . . you’re sick.”

“Is that what he told you?” Horley snorted. “Of course. He wouldn’t want to admit he dipped his wick in his stepmother . . . no matter how tempting a morsel she is. He was above such behavior, is that it? Unlike every other randy lad of his age.”

“Peter,” Melisande chided, although her eyes sparkled. She was enjoying this. Enjoying Rosalie thinking that Dec had been her willing lover.

Rosalie flattened her hands against her sides and strove for composure. “It never happened. Not like that.”

Horley snorted.

Rosalie turned her glare on him. “This doesn’t concern you. Why are you even here?”

“Rosalie.” Melisande frowned. “Don’t speak to Peter in such a manner.”

She inhaled thinly through her nose. It didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t even want to argue the point with her mother. She didn’t even want to be in the same room with her anymore—much less with Horley. It ended here. That’s why she had come. She would have her say and then leave.

And never look back.

“You aren’t part of my life anymore.” She didn’t bother adding that Melisande hadn’t been for several years. All that time at school her mother had no use for her, and suddenly now, because she served a purpose, she wanted a place in her life.

Rosalie wouldn’t let her. She wouldn’t allow her mother’s poison to contaminate her life—or touch Dec again. He deserved that much. She wanted them to have a chance—a chance to be something real to each other—and she had a better chance of that happening without her mother lurking around.

Melisande set her teacup down with a soft click. “You’re pretty satisfied with yourself, aren’t you? Soon to be Duchess of Banbury. You’ll have my title. And Declan. And now you think you can tell me what to do.”

She ignored the jibe, managing a calm tone. “This is farewell. Don’t call on me again. If you see me on the street, keep walking.”

Melisande laughed sharply. “You think he’s yours? Has he already had his way with you? Did he whisper sweet words? He’ll never love you, silly girl. In fact, I think the odds of your marriage happening are very slim indeed.”

As the bilious words dripped from her mother’s tongue, Rosalie ordered herself to turn away. To leave and not rise to the bait. Melisande had no power over her. She couldn’t prevent her from marrying Dec. And yet she paused, her feet planted to the carpet. “What do you mean?”

Melisande’s gaze slid to Horley. With a nod, as though sending him some manner of signal, he moved for the door.

At first Rosalie thought he was leaving, and she was glad. None of this was his concern.

“Well,” Melisande continued. “If you were to marry someone else first, that would certainly impede your marriage.”

The drawing room doors clicked shut, but Horley had not left. Instead he remained, locking his hands in front of him and positioning himself in front of the doors as though blocking her escape.

Her mother was still talking. “I think a marriage to another man would put an end to Dec wanting to marry you. For the obvious reasons. Men can be rather possessive. They don’t want to share. Especially men like Declan.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“No. Indeed not. I’ve given it a great deal of thought. Peter and I both have.”

Her gaze flicked to him. Of course, he was involved in this. It should serve as no surprise that he had been plotting ways to make her life more difficult. Or rather ways to make his life less difficult.

She breathed in and out over the niggle of panic starting in her belly. Her mother was spouting empty threats. She shook her head. “I’m marrying Dec.” Quite finished, she turned for the drawing room doors, stopping hard at the sight of Horley still standing there, blocking her way.

“No,” he pronounced. “You’re not.”

She looked back between her mother and her lover. Her chest felt compressed, like some great weight was pushing down on it. “Mother?”

“I’m sorry, Rosalie.” Melisande lifted her chin. “It’s hardly a situation I wanted.” Her eyes sparked almost angrily, accusingly. “But you’ve forced my hand.”

Rosalie shook her head, utterly bewildered. Horley smiled a slow, slithering grin. He smoothed a hand over his slick, pomaded hair.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m giving Peter to you.” She waved a hand wildly. “He’s unmarried. Titled. It’s a perfectly acceptable arrangement. We’ll leave for Scotland. Peter heard of a preacher on the border that doesn’t ask too many questions . . . he doesn’t even mind whether or not all the right words are uttered.”

Cold washed down her spine. “Such as the bride saying ‘I do’?” she asked through suddenly numb lips.

“Precisely.”

Her stomach dropped. “Are you mad?”

“It’s not the most ideal situation.” Melisande’s lips quivered at the corners. “But Peter has persuaded me that it’s for the best. A perfect solution.”

Peter. How she loathed his very name. “I won’t do it!”

“You don’t have a choice,” Horley replied silkily, suddenly in front of her.

“So you will force me? Hold a pistol to my head and make me marry you?” She jerked back a step, yanking her arm clear of his encroaching fingers.

“Stop being so dramatic, Rosalie. We need your dowry.” Melisande’s lips pursed as though she loathed admitting it. “It’s ridiculous how much Declan granted you. It will last us two lifetimes.”