A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

“What do you mean daft?”

“Th-They told us she wasn’t right in the head. That she’s daft . . . sickly and—”

“Where is she?” He punctuated his words with two fierce shakes. “Where did she go?”

The innkeeper’s mouth worked like a fish before he managed to say, “She ran away. The gentleman went after her.”

Sudden steps sounded on the floor above. Melisande appeared at the top of the stairs, knotting the belt of her cloak as though she were on her way out.

When she spotted Dec, her hand flew to her throat. “Declan!”

He released the innkeeper and turned for the stairs, his hand gripping the railing. “Where are they, Melisande?”

Cold resignation crept over her face. “You really want her. You love her.” She shook her head, her expression twisting into something ugly in its bitterness. “What is so special about her? Peter wants her, too.” She snorted. “Oh, he made it seem like marrying her was our only option, for the money . . . but he’s salivated around her ever since she arrived.”

In the blink of an eye Dec ascended the stairs two at a time at her words and took hold of her face, his fingers pressing into her cheeks. “If anything happens to her, I shall hold you accountable.”

Her eyes widened.

“Where are they?” he demanded.

“Rosalie fled into the woods. Stupid girl. Peter went after her. Wolves or brigands will probably find her first—”

He didn’t wait to hear the rest of her words. He flung her from him and in two stretches of his legs, jumped back down the steps. Grabbing a lantern from one of the tables, he shoved past the innkeeper. He charged out the door, barely registering Will and Max following.

In the yard, he stopped at the tree line that marked the boundary into the forest and called out for her, unsure which way to begin searching.

Max appeared beside him, lantern in hand as well. “We’ll fan out.” He motioned Dec to the far left. He and Will moved farther to his right.

Nodding, Dec tore into the brush, bellowing her name. He raced several feet before forcing himself to stop and listen, turning with the lantern, letting it cast its light. His eyes strained through the long shadows, his heart beating like a wild drum against his chest. To his right he could hear his friends, tromping through the woods and calling for Rosalie. If she or Horley were near, it was difficult to distinguish them with the noise his friends made.

He threw back his head and shouted her name, silently begging . . . to God, himself, anyone who would listen, that she would answer him. He stilled, forcing himself to wait for a moment. Then he called her name again.

And then he heard his name. The pitch shrill. “Dec! Declan!” There was no mistake. It was Rosalie. He tore off in the direction of her voice. His name grew louder.

“Rosalie!”

“Dec!” She sounded close. So close. Like he was right on top of him. “Here! Here!”

He looked around—and finally looked up.

There, up in the trees, moonlight filtered through branches and he detected the faint yellow fabric of a dress.

He edged closer. “Rosalie?”

Max came up beside him, panting. “Is that her? What is she doing up there?”

“Declan!”

His heart seized in his chest at the tremble in her voice.

“Look!” Max pointed below her at the tree, and Dec made out another, darker figure. A man. Horley, working his way toward her.

“Bastard,” he growled, setting down his lantern and starting for the tree. Max pulled him back, clamping a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” he cautioned. “It looks like he’s coming back down.”

Dec could barely contain himself, but he waited. Once Horley’s feet hit the ground, he was on him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and whirling him around and slamming him on the ground.

Horley held up his hands on either side of his head. “Stop! I didn’t touch her!”

The words relieved him. For her more than himself. He knew the wounds such a thing would inflict. The years she would spend pretending she was recovered from such a violation . . . the lie she would live. He knew because he had lived with it, too.

He dragged in a deep breath, filling his lungs. He would spare her anything if he could. Take any pain from her. He knew that with intensity, with an awareness so total and complete. He had never felt so certain about anything before.

“But you wanted to,” he snarled, and slammed his fist into Horley’s face. Once, twice. The sound of his knuckles connecting with bone filled him with satisfaction. Horley’s neck snapped back from the force of each blow. He gave him a small shake, forcing his gaze back up. “Should I ever see your face again, should Rosalie suffer even a glimpse of you, I will break you. Understand?”

Horley nodded, blood flowing a steady stream from his nose. Dec flung him away as though he couldn’t bear to contaminate his hands with him. “Go nowhere. I’m not finished with you.”

He launched back to his feet, his gaze fixing on Rosalie in the tree. “Everything is fine, Carrots. You can come down now.” He held up his hands and waved her down, gratified that his voice rang out calm and clear, reflecting none of his alarm. Such fear wouldn’t be alleviated until she stood on solid ground again. Until he felt her in his arms.

“I can’t. I’m stuck.” She paused as if the words she’d spoken might have somehow jeopardized her precarious position. “I—I’m afraid the branches are going to break under me. I’ve climbed too high and—”

She didn’t finish her sentence.

He was up the tree, climbing, hand over hand, moving like he used to when he was a boy climbing trees. A flash of memory seized him of when he climbed up after Rosalie when she had gotten herself stuck.

“Dec!” she cried. “Stop! The branches aren’t strong enough!” Her voice choked. “I went too high. They’re brittle.”

As if to prove her words, he grabbed a branch and it broke in his hand. He flailed, wobbling where he hovered, very nearly losing his balance. Rosalie screamed, the sound reverberating through the night.

He straightened, resettling his weight, and took hold of another, steadier branch.

He was just below her now. So close. It killed him, but he forced himself to hold still and assess when everything in him wanted to keep going and reach her.

“Don’t come any higher. You can’t,” she ordered, her voice no less firm for all that it trembled. “I—I broke the branch directly under me. I don’t have a safe way back d— Dec, no! What are you doing? Stop!”

He shook his head as he inched a little higher, finding her gaze through the branches. Her eyes were wide and terrified, glowing with moisture. “I’ll inch back down when you start down.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know, Carrots,” he said in a soothing voice. “But you can’t stay up in a tree forever. Remember? I think I told you that once before. The last time I helped you get down.”

She laughed weakly.

He continued, “And we’ve got things to do. Like get married so I don’t have to sneak into your bedchamber again. Will’s servants will talk.”

She made a strangled sound. “You’re making jests. At a time like this.”

“No jests. It’s been bloody hard as hell keeping my hands off you . . . it’s the simple truth.”

“Is that why you’ve been staying away from me?”