A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin (8 page)

Careful to speak low, fearful that he might recognize the sound of her voice, she tentatively spoke in hushed tones, “Yes. Mrs. Bancroft sent you?”

Although it seemed evident that Mrs. Bancroft sent him, she wanted to be certain.

A slow smile curved his mouth that made her stomach flip. He'd never smiled quite like that at her before. It was somehow . . . free. Charming. There was nothing guarded about him as he stood before her. “Yes. She did. A fact I will most heartily thank her for later.”

He was flirting with her. Her pulse trembled at her neck at the strange sensation. Dec smiling at her, his eyes bright with invitation. It was a definite first.

His hot gaze skimmed her, bringing back to mind the scandalous gown draping her body like a second skin, clinging to curves she had not known she possessed. A fresh onslaught of embarrassment washed over her to know that Dec was seeing her like this. Her stepbrother and not a stranger that Mrs. Bancroft picked out for her. A stranger would have been preferable. It would have been simpler to forget herself with a stranger.

With Dec? She didn't know if she could. She'd always felt something for him. He'd been so handsome even years ago. He had radiated . . . something. The maids, even the housekeeper, had been helpless to his appeal, tittering whenever he entered a room. Even her mother had been fond of him. Always smiling and laughing at him. Rosalie remembered because it had made her jealous. She thought her mother liked him more than her own daughter. Not that she blamed Dec. She'd been under his spell like everyone else.

Granted, she had just been a child then. But now . . . face-­to-­face with him all these years later, nothing had changed. He smiled less, but he was still heart-­stopping attractive. He still drew her. The only difference? She was no little girl anymore.

And he was here now. With her. She could act out her every fantasy with him.

And yet she couldn't.

How could she forget herself like that? He was her stepbrother. She was living under his roof. How could she accept a kiss from him and then face him on the morrow?

“I'm sorry,” she murmured softly, striding forward, her dress sliding languorously along her body as she moved. “I c-­can't do this.”

She gave him as wide a berth as possible, but it didn't matter. His hand reached out and seized her wrist. “What?” His eyes were dark and fathomless in the muted light of the chamber. His fingers brushed against her wrist, five electric points of contact that sent sparks up her arm. “Am I so displeasing that you've changed your mind?”

Her breath escaped in a choked gasp. Was he serious? “No. Of course not. You're . . .” She waved at his person as if that gesture said it all.

“I'm what?” His mouth curved, seductive and new once again. Totally unlike any smile he had ever given her before. This smile . . .

This smile was devastating. It was clearly the type he reserved for women he liked in a certain way. Women he met here. At Sodom. His previous smiles had all been mocking and cruel, conveying his dislike of her. Well, save for the smiles he had bestowed on her in the garden. And yet that had been fleeting.
This
smile, the hot look, his over-familiar touch. It was all new and made her feel a little breathless. Like how she felt as a child slicing very high through the air on a swing. Euphoric. Her stomach twisting and dipping.

“You're perfectly . . . pleasing.” She could have choked on that understatement.

“Perfectly pleasing?” he echoed, still smiling. His gaze roamed over her again, missing nothing, not one inch of her outrageous gown—­or rather the body of which the gown hid so very little. She felt naked before him. “I could say the same of you. Or how about simply perfect? That might better apply to you.”

Heat scored her cheeks at the compliment. “No one's perfect,” she quickly countered, speaking in low, deep tones she hoped did not sound too unnatural.

“True.” His eyes flickered with something akin to surprise. “But there are ­people perfect for each other. Perfect for kissing? Don't you agree?”

Her chest squeezed. Oh, he was deadly charming. How did women resist him?

What made her think they did?

What made her think she could?

“You require a kiss. Why are you fleeing?” His thumb started moving in tiny circles against the inside of her wrist, the gentle friction tantalizing and distracting at the same time. He addled her thoughts.

She shook her head. It was truly mortifying. He might not know who she was behind the mask, but
she
had not forgotten. She recalled with painful clarity who she was. And what he thought of her. She could not forget. She wished she could. She wished she could sink into a kiss from him and forget. Except this morning he had agreed for her to marry another man with no more consideration than one might give in selecting blackberry or blueberry jam. That's how little he thought of her. That's how badly he wished to be rid of her.

A dim room and mask were the only things that protected her from discovery. It was risky and dangerous—­
too
dangerous—­and utterly beyond what she was willing to do.

She gave a tug on her wrist, but he didn't let go. Somehow the effort invited him closer. He stepped in until the breadth of his chest almost brushed her body. A mere hair separated them.

“I confess to a little confusion.” His heated gaze slid over her again, skimming the sleek fall of dark hair past her shoulders. He angled his head thoughtfully. “Are you certain you've never been kissed? You don't appear the type of female to lack opportunity.” His stare fixed on her bodice, on the expanse of bare skin between her breasts—­and she knew precisely what
type
of female she appeared.

She swallowed. Dressed thusly and drawing breath within the walls of Sodom, no less. Her appearance was like the rest of the scantily clad near-­naked females populating the house. Of course, he doubted her alleged inexperience.

She plucked at the gossamer-­thin fabric. “I borrowed the dress from Mrs. Bancroft.”

“Ah. She is ever helpful, is she not?”

“Indeed.” Rosalie glanced to the door, anxious to be through it.

“But my confusion is not completely alleviated.”

“No?”

“You chose this place for a first kiss? Rather extreme measures for a mere kiss?” His grip loosened around her wrist, sliding down her hand until his fingers laced with her own, their palms flush. It felt shockingly intimate . . . and nice. Her breath fell a little faster. She'd never held a man's hand before. His palm was big and warm, and he was virile and handsome and young. His hand, this moment,
him
. . . it was the dream she had imagined when she envisioned coming to Town and being courted.

But this was Dec.

She took a step back, severing the heady sensation of his fingers wrapped around hers. This time he let her go. “You're correct, of course. My actions are extreme.” She moved for the door. “I've changed my mind.” Turning her back on him, she grasped the latch.

He stopped her, flattening a palm against the door, killing her escape, his chest a hard wall at her back. “Don't go.”

She inhaled sharply, staring at that broad hand and tapering fingers on the door. “I beg your pardon?” her voice rasped.

If she didn't know him, she might have been alarmed, but she knew him well enough to know that he was not the sort of man to harm a female. Even a female at Sodom. She had once watched him save an injured bird from his father's hounds. He'd nursed it until it could fly again. The years did not change one's soul. He would never be so beastly as to force his attentions where they were not wanted. She knew that.

“Let me kiss you.” The words gusted near her ear in warm breath. His deep voice felt like a physical caress. A tremor rushed through her. She turned. Not because she agreed, but because she had to see his face. She could not withhold that pleasure from herself.

He looked down at her, his face so close to her upturned one. They hardly needed to move for their lips to meet.

Oh God. She wanted . . .

She
wanted
.

“No. I can't.” Anyone else and she could. Anyone but him.

Yet her sudden jarring and disappointing thought was that she wouldn't want anyone else. Not like him. Not like this ever again.

At that bleak thought, her hand found the latch behind her and pushed down. This time when she tried to leave, he let her go.

 

Chapter 11

S
he stumbled out the door and hurried down the hall, determined to find her way back to the room where she had left Aurelia, not daring to look over her shoulder. Her chest hurt from lack of breath and she realized she had forgotten to breathe. She sucked in air, filling her lungs, but still felt breathless. As though she had run a great distance.

She was moving so quickly, she didn't have time to stop when a man stepped suddenly from one of the private rooms.

She collided with him, crying out in surprise from the impact. Arms came out to wrap around her waist, steadying her on her feet.

“Ho there!” he exclaimed, his eyes traveling up and down her. “Have a care there. Where are you off to in such haste?” His hand came up to rest on her chest, fingers splaying wide on the bare skin between her breasts.

She gasped at the intimate touch. It came so suddenly and automatic from him. As if he had every right to touch her. She supposed it was the nature of Sodom. What ­people did to each other here . . . willingly. A stranger's touch was welcome.

She arched away, but he didn't unlock his arm from around her waist. She pushed at the mass of his soft, yielding chest.

“What have we here? An eager little dove looking for her next conquest? I'll gladly offer myself.”

“No, unhand me. I'm not—­”

An arm shot over her shoulder, a fist connecting with the stranger's face.

Immediately the arm dropped from around her and she was free. Her gaze shot to the fallen man. He clutched his nose, glaring over his fingers up at Dec. “Banbury, what in bloody hell—­”

“She asked you to unhand her, Hendricks.” Dec stood with legs braced apart, looking ready to tear the man apart.

Hendricks's glare narrowed on Rosalie. “Since when do you mind sharing?”

Dec took a menacing step forward. Rosalie quickly jumped in his path, pushing a hand against his chest. A brawl in the hall of Sodom was calling more attention to her presence here than she wanted.

Dec stopped, looking down at her with glittering eyes. His hand came up to cover hers on his chest, his fingers warm over her own. Her gaze dropped to her hand against him. It looked small. Fragile. Or perhaps he was simply big.

Hendricks lumbered to his feet and marched past them, muttering under his breath. His tread faded down the corridor and still they stared at one another.

“You should not wander unattended through Sodom.”

Rosalie nodded, soaking in his handsome features as he stared down at her. She released a rattled breath and moistened her lips. His gaze followed the movement. Her belly fluttered.

“I'm trying to find my friend,” she said a bit desperately.
So she could flee this place . . . him
.

“I'll stay with you until you do.”

She nodded. How could she refuse? She just discovered firsthand how unwise it was to stroll unescorted throughout the house. Still, neither one of them moved right away. She was achingly aware of their proximity. Of her hand still on his chest, the press of his hand over hers, his heartbeat thumping beneath her palm.

Voices sounded at the end of the hall, and they both snapped to action. He moved to the side, pulling her with him, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow to allow the individuals to pass.

A trio of ladies, faces as hidden as hers, headed in their direction.

“Banbury,” the woman at the center called. “How good to see you, Your Grace. It's been almost a week. Wait. More than that, I think. Where have you been, you naughty lad?” She glided forward and ran a familiar palm over his chest. She wore a brilliant gold gown and a powdered wig that looked heavy and headache-­inducing. “I was just telling my friends they needed to meet you.”

“Lady X,” he greeted.

An alias, obviously. And she was a regular here and well acquainted with Dec. For some reason, this made her hand tighten around his arm.

Lady X turned her attention on Rosalie. “And who is your companion?” She lifted her hand from Dec's chest and lowered it to Rosalie's bare arm, stroking lightly. “I haven't seen you here before, dear.”

“She's never been here before, so tread easy.” There was humor in his voice, but a warning, too, however softly worded.

Lady X laughed and dropped her hand. “I see. I'll let you introduce her to Sodom, then. Perhaps we will meet again. Once you've broken her in and she is feeling more adventurous.”

Rosalie's face heated. She doubted she could be any more adventurous than this.

The ladies sidled past, their happy chatter fading away. “Friends of yours?” she asked.

“We're all friends here.” His mouth twisted into a smile. “Until we're not.”

“Until it doesn't matter, you mean.”

He waved a hand idly. “Here? It never really matters.”

She couldn't help the stab of disappointment. She knew Dec was a rake. Perhaps she wanted to think that she—­an anonymous female who had come here for a first kiss—­would mean something to him. She wanted it to matter. She wanted to be different for him.

She couldn't imagine ever having a liaison with anyone and it not mattering, but he did it all the time. And yet buried beneath her disappointment was curiosity. The same curiosity that had led her here in the first place. She wanted to know what all the fuss was about. She wanted more. That's what she had told Aunt Peregrine. She might not be able to find it in marriage, but could she not find a taste of adventure? Passion?

She didn't want merely a kiss. She wanted a kiss that she would never forget.

Sliding her hand from his arm, she stepped back. She glanced down the corridor and pointed to a door. “This looks like the one. I believe my friend is in this room.”

He smiled, but there was a grim set to his lips, as if he understood. This was good-­bye. “Don't come back here.”

“I won't.” Turning, she moved toward the door, feeling his gaze on the back of her dress, and she knew he would wait until she was safely in the company of her friend. Her hand dropped to the latch. Turning, she pushed it open and peered inside. The room was empty. A quick glance at the window revealed the same ­couple still preoccupied on the bed in the adjoining room. But no Aurelia.

Frowning, she stepped back out into the corridor.

Dec approached. “Your friend?”

“She's not there.”

“She likely moved on to other diversions. There's much to see and do in the house.”

She nodded, beginning to feel the stirrings of concern. She hoped Aurelia was all right.

“No worry,” he murmured, plucking her hand and dropping it back on his arm, no doubt sensing her concern. “We'll locate her. Or Mrs. Bancroft. Surely she knows where your friend is. She knows the comings and goings of everything in Sodom.”

They didn't move right away. It was as though a string stretched between them, keeping them connected. Keeping them from stepping too far from each other.

“Never been kissed?” he mused, clearly in no hurry to sever the string. “Interesting. You can't be married, then?”

She laughed lightly, nervously, touching her domino, making certain it was still in place. “Of course not. I wouldn't be here if I were married, would I?”

His smile was slow and sensuous. Amusement was etched in the well-­carved line of his bottom lip. “You think that so absurd? That a married lady would frequent this place? You really have strayed from the flock, haven't you? How did you even hear of a place such as this?”

“Rest assured, it was quite by accident.” She thought of Aurelia, imagining his expression if she happened to inform him that his cousin was the one responsible for her presence here.

“A happy accident, then. For me.”

“Is it? Even though I've changed my mind and wasted your time? You could be with a more willing female right now.”

His gaze skimmed her, a physical touch. “None nearly as interesting as you.”

“Are you complimenting me because you think it will win my favor?” A coy smile lifted her lips. “I'm certain a gentleman . . . a nobleman, no less . . . who looks as you do can have anyone he wants.” She waved a hand at him.

He leaned in, propping a hand on the wall above her shoulder. His body pressed close but stopped just short of meeting hers. And yet his warmth radiated, reaching her, touching her in spots that she never even knew could feel sensation. She inhaled. God, he smelled good. Like clean man and something else that was entirely him, imprinted on his skin. Wind and salt and heat. “It's not always ‘anyone' that I want,” he whispered, his warm breath sending a rush of goose bumps across her arms.

“Oh.” The single word escaped her in a breath. He was good. Heat swallowed her face. “Me?” She shook her head. Swallowing, she whispered, “You can't . . . You don't—­”

“I want the one who isn't so easily affected. By my title. By pretty words. Like you, yes.” He considered her for a moment, his gaze roving over her bare shoulders, the swells of her breasts. She sucked in a breath, remembering how very nearly transparent the bodice was. The action forced her breasts higher against the thin bodice and his eyes darkened. “I'm going to hazard a guess that you're surrounded by nobility. Only that explains why you are so unimpressed. Your father perhaps? Is he titled?” At her silence, he shrugged. “Keep your secrets. If it makes you feel comfortable.”

Oh, her secrets didn't make her comfortable . . . they made her a wreck of nerves.

They proceeded back down the hall in the direction of the stairs. She heard them before she rounded the corner, spotting the boisterous group of men and women hovering in the threshold of a room.

Dec gestured. “Perhaps your friend . . .”

Rosalie scanned the gathering. “I don't see her among the spectators.”

They stepped closer and Rosalie peered between the bodies to the scene within the chamber.

“Oh,” she choked as she spied four ­people sprawled in the middle of a massive bed. A man was spread out naked in the center. Three equally unclothed women hovered over him, kissing him . . . everywhere. One even kissed him directly on his—­

With an inarticulate sound, Rosalie whirled past the crowd and ran blindly down the hall. Mortified and feeling decidedly . . .
overheated
, she rounded yet another corner.

She heard his voice behind her, calling her to wait, but she didn't stop. She had to flee from the shocking display she'd witnessed. From how it made her feel. And perhaps, most importantly, from him.

She was almost to the stairs when he caught up with her. His hand came down on her arm and yanked her back around. “Where are you going?”

She shook her head. “I should never have come to this place. I'm sure you think me foolish and irrational—­”

He cut her off with a swift shake of his head. “I think you're a girl far out of her ilk here. Nothing more.”

A
girl
. Indeed. A girl on the brink of marriage whether she liked it or not. She had insisted on choosing, but what would her choices be? She gulped with the bitterness of that realization. Choice was an illusion. She had no choice and little control.

Of course the irony wasn't lost on her that the man standing before her happened to be the one pushing her into marriage. The one controlling her fate.

And yet she didn't want to be that
girl
. A girl led. A girl without choice. She wanted to be in control even if it was fleeting.

Even if only for one kiss.

His dark eyes flicked back and forth over her face as if awaiting her response. She could not fathom what he saw. It could not be much in the dim light of the hall. With over half her face hidden by a domino and framed in the black wig, he could not see much. Just her eyes peered out, drinking in the sight of him.

“What are you thinking?” she whispered.

“That you need to go home and forget about this place.” He lifted a hand, and she held still, resisting the instinct to pull away. He brushed one of the tendrils of hair that fell across her shoulder. “Forget me.”

Impossible. She held herself still for a moment, savoring his hand on her hair, the heat radiating from his body, so close to her own.
This
. It was supposed to be like this between a man and woman.

He smelled good, like soap and male. He was so handsome that it hurt to even look at him. A first kiss should be this. Or rather the moment leading up to the first kiss should be like this. The pull. The heightened awareness. A man whose mere closeness, his face, his eyes, his lips, made her ache.

She would have this. The moment before the kiss.

No.
More
. She would have the kiss.

Standing on her tiptoes, she circled her hand around his neck and pressed her lips to his. They felt warm, firm but soft. Softer than she had expected from such a hard man. A small breath escaped him, and her stomach fluttered at the gust of warm air in her mouth.

She pulled back, hand loosening on his neck.

He stared down at her, his eyes dark and fierce. “I thought you changed your mind.”

“I changed it back.”

“Why?”

“I decided I wanted my first kiss after all.” She dropped her hand from his neck and started to pull away, satisfied that she had come here to do what she set out to do.

His arm came around her waist, hauling her back, pressing her intimately to his chest, holding her up so that her feet came off the ground. She felt her eyes go wide.

“Then let's make it count.” His head dipped, and when his mouth came over hers, there was nothing hesitant about it. No, his lips were commanding and thorough, both soft and hard, slanting over hers. It was nothing like that first press of her lips to his. “Open your mouth,” he rasped against her lips.

She obeyed, and gasped at the thrust of his tongue, gliding across hers. He tasted of heat and scotch and male.