A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin (10 page)

D
ec lingered another half hour at Sodom's. He moved from room to room, looking for something to divert himself, hoping even though he knew it was fruitless that he might spot his mystery lady. He joined Max at the tables just as his friend was shrugging back into his clothing.

“You lost your clothes, man?” he asked on a chuckle. “Never knew anyone to out-­wager you.”

“A cheating, barbed-­tongue hoyden got the best of me.” He yanked his jacket angrily back into place. “Not to worry. I'll have satisfaction.”

Whoever the chit was, Dec felt sorry for her in that moment. Max was rarely given to anger or ill temper. He was all smiles and jests, which gave those rare moments when he was in a temper all the more weight. He was no one to trifle with when he was in a mood.

“Are you heading upstairs?” Dec asked.

Max hesitated, a scowl still etched on his features. “No, to home. You?”

Dec nodded, understanding as he thought of what awaited him at home. He'd had his fill of Sodom for the night, too. He rubbed his mouth. His lips still felt warm.

Strange. He'd come here looking to erase all thoughts of Rosalie, and had succeeded for a short time. Too short. Now he was back to thinking of her again. And a lady whose name he did not even know. Damned vexing night. He was still returning home with an aching cock. Precisely the state he had been in when he arrived at Sodom.

“Should have stayed home,” he muttered.

Immediately he knew he didn't mean it. If he had stayed home, he wouldn't have claimed her first kiss. He would not have been the one. Some other bastard would have taken that from her. His hands curled reflexively at his sides.

He wouldn't have the memory of her taste. He wouldn't have experienced the way she came alive in his arms, waking to passion, to his touch, his mouth—­to him. His only regret was that he would have nothing more of her.

He couldn't stop himself from scanning the room yet again as he took his departure, hoping for one last sight of her. But no. She was gone.

The two men walked out into the night.

Max looked at him. “Will you be at the Waverley ball?”

He frowned. “Should I know about it?”

Max gave his cuff a tug, as if he could not quite get the fit right after undressing in Mrs. Bancroft's parlor. “Only the biggest event of the Season. Thought with your stepsister on the market, your aunt would insist that you make an appearance. Lend your support and all that.”

He shrugged, marveling at the slight tension running through him at the mention of Rosalie. The chit had the temerity to dress him down outside his bedchamber. After everything he had done for her. After he had taken her in even though her mother was responsible for ruining his childhood, taking away everything good and innocent he once had.

And then she had gone and bewildered him with her concern for his injuries. He couldn't recall a woman ever attempting to play nursemaid to him, but she had been quite ready to the task.

“I don't see why that's necessary,” he said. “My aunt is doing a fair enough task of ushering her about. What of you?” he inquired.

Max barked a laugh. “That's amusing. Might have dinner at the club. Who knows from there?”

A lone hack clattered noisily down the street. The hour was late, and he felt decidedly reluctant to return to his bed. “I'll meet you for dinner.”

“Brilliant.” Max clapped him on the back, the force of which made him wince. Max caught sight of his expression. “Sorry, there. You spar today?”

Dec nodded.

“You know there are other ways to exert yourself. Some far more pleasant than fisticuffs. Perhaps you need to spend more time at Sodom.”

The suggestion only made him scowl. He hadn't found release tonight as he had hoped.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. Perhaps tomorrow he'd find a chit to shake him from his odd mood. A pleasing female with eager lips and yielding flesh. Or one that wasn't his stepsister. One that was agreeable to more than a single kiss. How difficult could it be? It had always been easy enough before.

 

Chapter 12

R
osalie did not have long to worry about coming face-­to-­face with Dec and suffering his presence. There would be none of his overwhelming nearness with the memory of that blistering kiss between them.

Because her mother came for her the next day.

Melisande stood before her in the drawing room with her hands on her hips, putting a swift end to Rosalie's concerns regarding Dec. There was no warm greeting. No hugs. No kisses or happy words at their long overdue reunion. Rosalie could dredge up very little happiness at seeing her mother. Likely because her mother made no effort to disguise her annoyance with her.

“Are you satisfied, Rosalie? You've made me a laughingstock about Town!”

“I thought you were in Italy.”

“Not that it matters, but I was visiting a friend in Bath before leaving for Italy. That's where I received word of your machinations here in Town!”

“And how have I made you a laughingstock, Mama?”

Melisande winced. She had always winced at being called Mama. As though being a mother pained her.

“Everyone assumed my daughter was still in plaits, and you show up on the marriage mart, clearly a schoolgirl no longer!”

Ah. Of course. It was an affront to her vanity. Now Rosalie understood the problem.

Melisande continued her rant, barely pausing for breath. “How dare you leave school without my permission?” She paced the drawing room in a swish of muslin skirts. Rosalie watched her in rapt fascination. She hadn't seen her mother in years. She couldn't take her eyes off her, noting all the changes . . . all the little things she had forgotten over the years. Her hair was several shades darker than she recalled, and she could only suspect her mother tampered with the color of her hair through artificial means. Perhaps the dark strands had started to gray. She was still beautiful. With high cheekbones and slashing dark eyebrows. Stunning in a way that she knew she would never be. Her mother's face was one sculptors would wish to mold in clay. Almost severe in its perfection.

“I couldn't remain at Harwich,” she finally cut in. “The tuition—­”

“Don't you be so crass and vulgar as to discuss finances with me, Rosalie. I can see your years there taught you nothing of decorum. I shudder to think how you're faring about Society without me.”

She bit her tongue, mightily tempted to say she had fared through life these many years without her.

Melisande dropped down on the settee with a weary gust of breath. “ 'Tis done. We shall make the best of it. At least Albert's brat has seen fit to do his duty and provide you a dowry. I shall take over from here.”

Rosalie blinked. “Take over?”

Melisande leaned forward to inspect the items on the tea ser­vice, wrinkling her nose. “What are these?” She poked at a biscuit. “Lemon iced?”

“Mama?” Rosalie scooted to the edge of her chair. “What do you mean you're taking over?”

Melisande looked up, blinking her blue eyes. “You'll come home with me and I shall oversee the rest of your Season. Of course, you don't think I'm leaving you here with Declan.” She snorted indelicately.

Rosalie narrowed her eyes on her mother. “Why should you suddenly care?”

“Of course I care. Curb your tongue. I'm your mother, dearest. It is my duty. Everyone would expect me to usher you through the Season and guide your way on the marriage mart, not Declan. What does he know of young debutantes?”

Rosalie nodded slowly, understanding her mother's motives. Expectations. That would weigh on her mother. That would matter. Enough, apparently, for Melisande to take a sudden interest in her.

“And you don't know the first thing about men, either. You will need my help in wading through the waters of the
ton
, trust me. I won myself a duke for a husband, did I not? I can help you snare the perfect husband. We don't want a miser who clings to every farthing and fails to understand our relationship.”

“Our relationship?” Rosalie echoed, shaking her head in some bewilderment.

Melisande finally selected a biscuit, nodding as she nibbled on the corner. “Hm-­mm. You and I are a package, darling. Any man that chooses you gets me, too. That must be understood straight away.”

She blinked, a sick feeling twisting its way inside her as everything came together like pieces of a puzzle. Of course. Melisande wanted a son-­in-­law who would be agreeable to supporting his mother-­in-­law. Someone who wouldn't mind her dipping into his pockets.

The door opened suddenly and Dec strode in, his face hard as stone.

Melisande seemed to freeze, her eyes widening with the biscuit halfway to her mouth.

Dec looked from Melisande to Rosalie and then back again, his eyes chips of ice. “I believe I told you that you were not welcome here that last time you called.”

Melisande recovered herself. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “You have my daughter. That gives me the right—­”

“The daughter you conveniently forgot about for years?”

Rosalie flushed, not appreciating the reminder of how little her mother cared for her. It was one thing for this to be a known fact . . . and another thing to speak of it so boldly directly in front of her.

“I did what any mother would do and sent her to a proper school—­”

“From which she completed her studies two years ago. You made it clear you have no wish to resume responsibility for Rosalie. Why attempt to act the role of doting mother now?”

Melisande flung the biscuit down on the tea ser­vice. “As though you give a bloody hell about her. You've only placed a dowry on her head to get rid of her. Like you got rid of me.”

“And yet here you sit.” His lip curled back like her very presence tainted the room.

“Oh, you act like such the moral prig, but we know the truth about you. All of Town hears of your deviant—­”

“Enough!” Rosalie set her teacup down with a sharp click. She glared at the both of them. They were bickering children and she'd had enough of it. “I'll go pack my things.” She turned for the doors. Really. What else could she do?

Dec stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Rosalie—­”

She looked up at him, the sound of her name on his lips sending a shot of sensation directly down her spine. She waited. He merely stared, saying nothing, his eyes deep and dark, conveying some silent message that she was unable to comprehend.

What could he say? Her mother had come to fetch her. She had no valid reason to remain here.

She inhaled. “Thank you for your hospitality . . . thank you for everything.” Without him, she wouldn't even have a hope for marriage. Now she would go home with her mother and finish out the Season—­likely, hopefully, with a marriage proposal soon in hand.

She glanced at her mother's smug expression. Melisande had won and she knew it. Rosalie did not relish going home with her but it was the thing to do. Perhaps the next time a gentleman made an offer, she would accept. Indeed, reflecting back on Strickland's offer, he was not a poor prospect. He more than likely wouldn't have bowed to her mother's whims . . . and suddenly that became a new goal. She didn't want to find a merely tolerable gentleman, but one who would stand firm against her mother and not let her run roughshod over him.

Dec slid his hand from her arm. He gazed down at her, his bearing stiff and correct as he tucked his hands behind his back. “No thanks necessary.”

She fled then, leaving them alone together. Hopefully the pair could remain in a room without murdering each other.

A lump rose in her throat that she could not credit as she hastened toward her chamber. She had worried about staying overly long beneath his roof. That he would eventually realize she was the one he kissed at Sodom's. That she would give herself away in some small way.

She had worried that perhaps . . . she
wanted
him to remember.

Now she was leaving and there would be no chance of that.

D
ec watched through the window of the upstairs drawing room as Rosalie's last trunk was loaded onto the coach. Aurelia embraced Rosalie on the stoop as Melisande climbed inside the conveyance, no doubt impatient to be off. She'd gotten precisely what she wanted in coming here.

His jaw clenched.

“Are you mad?”

He turned to find his aunt directly behind him. He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't even heard her approach.

“I've been accused of much, but that particular allegation? Never.”

She waved one thin arm toward the window. “You know why she came for Rosalie. She doesn't give a fig about her daughter. Never has. Never will.” She snorted and adjusted her obscenely fat cat in her arms. The beast looked annoyed to be handled about and let out a low rumbling growl.

“Hush, Lady Snuggles,” his aunt said distractedly, looking beyond him to glare out the window. “All those years she left Rosalie to rot at that school, and suddenly she's here.
Pffft
. It's the dowry. Nothing more.”

“I'm aware of that,” he said evenly. He knew Melisande. He knew her perhaps better than anyone.

His aunt's gaze yanked back to him. “You are? Then why are you allowing her to leave with that wretched woman?”

“Because it's not my place to allow or disallow her to do anything. And because she's Rosalie's mother. Nor does it appear that Rosalie wishes to stay here. She left willingly.”

“Well, did you tell her she could remain here?”

His lips pressed flat at this.

Aunt Peregrine shook her turbaned head. “Of course you didn't. Men never dare do something as foolish and weak as announce their thoughts or feelings.”

He squared his shoulders. “Need I remind you that I never wanted her here? She has a dowry now.
Rosalie
does. Not Melisande. It shall go to her husband upon her marriage—­”

“And you know Melisande shall steer her toward less than ideal candidates that
she
can control with no thought to what is best for Rosalie.”

He shrugged, his hands still tight at his sides, belying the casual air he was struggling to affect. “The final decision rests with Rosalie—­as she explained to me just yesterday when I dared to presume to accept a proposal on her behalf. If she's foolish enough to let her mother choose her husband and rule her life, then so be it.”

“So be it?” Aunt Peregrine looked affronted.

Just then his cousin blasted into the room full force, her cheeks flushed and artfully arranged brown ringlets bouncing over her shoulders. “How could you have let her go?”

He sighed. “Why do the women in my family seem to think I have any right to keep her here? She chose to leave.” He waved at his aunt's fat cat. “She's not some pet to be lugged about without a by your leave!”

“A word from you and she would have stayed.” Aurelia stabbed a finger at him accusingly.

He shrugged. “This is for the best. I am certain of it. She is with her mother. Better that than residing here with me and—­”

Aurelia shook her head. “Oh, you're not certain of one bloody thing.”

“Aurelia,” Aunt Peregrine cried in outrage. “Language!”

She ignored her mother and continued, “You cannot see what's directly before your eyes.”

“What does that mean?”

She looked at him so earnestly. Like she wanted to say something but was fighting it.

“What?” he pressed.

“It means,” she began, “that perhaps you should consider wedding Rosalie. There!” She flung her arms wide. “I said it.”

Dec and his aunt stared at his cousin as though she had sprouted a second head.

“Aunt,” he said after some moments. “I fear it is not I whom you should fret over. Clearly your own daughter is the mad one.”

“Clearly,” she echoed in agreement, and then added gently, “Aurelia, Rosalie is Declan's stepsister. That's highly unseemly.”

“But not illegal. They're no blood kin to each other.”

He sliced a hand through the air. “The point is moot! Even if I wished to marry, which I do not, I could not imagine a more unsuitable match for myself.”

“Suitable? Suitable?” Aurelia looked close to apoplexy. “Do you hear yourself? You're such a dolt!” That said, she stormed from the room without a glance back.

Aunt Peregrine hugged her evil-­eyed cat close, kissing the top of its head as she looked at Dec with blatant disappointment. “Suppose I'll go oversee the packing of my luggage. No need to stay here any longer.”

He nodded absently. “Thank you for coming when I needed you.”

“Of course, Declan-­dearest.” She patted his arm as she passed him, leaving cat hairs on his sleeve.

He beat at his sleeve, scowling and wondering when his life had become such chaos. Weeks ago it had been calm. Peaceful.
Dull
.

He'd have that again. Standing there, he let that sink in. A return to dull existence. To when he no longer felt things. When no one affected him.

His aunt and cousin were leaving.

This paled beside his second realization. He moved toward the window and stared out at the quiet street, only one fact ricocheting around his mind with the speed of cannon fire.

Rosalie was gone.