A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin (20 page)

“Very well. Here I come.”

She watched in shock as he started to climb. Then her shock turned to dread as she realized he was actually making progress. If she remained frozen where she was, he'd be on her in moments. So she climbed as well, telling herself that this wouldn't end as badly as she was beginning to fear.

 

Chapter 25

W
hen Dec described Rosalie to a serving maid at the fourth inn they reached, an odd expression came across her face. They'd ridden hard, stopping at every inn along the north road until reaching this one.

“She might sound like someone I've seen.” Her gaze shifted cagily, looking around the room.

He slid a glance at Will and Max and then stepped closer to the girl. Rosalie wasn't exactly inconspicuous with her hair. “You have no idea how determined I am to find her. You really don't want to play games with me. If you've seen her, you need to tell me. I'll tear this place apart, beam by beam.”

She paled and called out, “Papa!”

Dec winced as she bellowed three more times for her father. A heavyset man lumbered down the stairs, clutching the railing. “Shut that caterwauling, Frannie.”

When his gaze landed on Dec, Will, and Max, he hesitated, assessing and scanning them before descending the final steps.

“Gentlemen, in need of a room? Food?” He smoothed his hands over his ill-­used and soiled jacket.

“Papa . . . they're looking for her! That redheaded girl who ran away!”

The innkeeper's gaze shot to his daughter before returning to them, his eyes wide with alarm. “You're after the daft girl who—­” His voice ended with a yelp as Dec stepped forward and grabbed fistfuls of his jacket in his hands.

“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?”

“No. I've been a bloody jackass. Too scared with how much I crave you every second of the day,” he admitted, adjusting his position closer to the trunk. If the branch gave out beneath him, he could hopefully grab it for purchase. He eyed the distance between Rosalie and himself, debating grabbing for her while he had her distracted. With a shake of his head, he decided he needed to be just a bit closer.

“Dec,” she admonished. “We're not alone.”

“They can be trusted, Carrots. They're our friends. Besides.” He rotated a foot, readying himself as he eyed his targeted branch. “They know I'm mad in love with you.”

She gasped. He chose that moment to lunge for another limb, hauling himself higher.

“Dec! What are you doing?”

“Coming to get you, Carrots.” He grunted, hefting himself up.

The branch under him dipped with a loud crack but held. For how much longer, he wasn't certain.

“Stop!”

“Calm yourself,” he chided. Staying as close to the tree trunk as possible, one hand gripping it with clenched fingers. He was close enough to graze her boots with her fingertips. “I'm right here.”

She made a sound that was half sob, half laugh. “I . . . you came for me—­” The words so soft, he wasn't certain she meant for him to hear them.

“You think I wouldn't?” he asked in a low voice. “We're getting married, remember?”

She nodded. Her vibrant red hair spilled down her shoulders, limned in moonlight, dangling toward him like ribbons. “And you love me?” she whispered.

“Heard that, did you?”

She nodded again. “Anyone within a stone's throw heard you.”

“You saved me, Rosalie. Being with you has made me a better man. I'm ready to wake up next to you every morning.” His chest expanded. “I want those mornings. I want
you
.”

He heard her faint sob. “Yes. I want that, too.”

He deliberately hardened his voice, hoping that would spur her to action. “So start climbing down, Carrots. Trust me. I won't let you fall.”

“What if I make us both fall?”

“Trust me, Carrots. Just start inching down. Remember you used to do this all the time.”

She laughed nervously as she unwrapped her arm from the branch she clung to. “And the last time, you saved me, too.”

“See. You're an expert—­”

“At getting stuck,” she cut in wryly.

“And I'm an expert at getting you down. We have this well in hand.” Even as he said the words, his heart pounded almost violently as he watched her begin to sink down. They were higher up in the tree than the last one she got stuck in.

He tried to predict her movements before she made them . . . a branch that might not hold. He held out a hand, ready to grab her.

“That's it,” he murmured, his fingers stretched, ready to grab for her.

Her slim fingers grasped air, stretching for his hand. Their fingertips brushed, and it was all the contact he needed. He lunged, seizing her entire hand in his, his fingers locking on her wrist. “I have you. Let go now, Carrots.”

She released her grip on the limb she clung to and tumbled toward him.

Her warm body met his and he folded her close, cradling her and allowing himself half a moment to bury his nose in her hair and inhale her scent.

He released a shuddery breath and then moved as quickly as he could, eager to get her down the tree. Together they descended, working as a team, taking turns stepping from limb to limb. He didn't make a move until he was certain she was stable.

As they neared the bottom, Max and Will stood there waiting, arms out to assist her down. Horley stood with his arms crossed a few feet beyond them, watching with a sulking expression.

Dec hopped to the ground, and she was there, in his arms. His breath fluttered her hair against his mouth as her hands locked into fists at his back like she would never let go. Which was fine with him.

Because he was never letting her go either.

 

Chapter 26

D
ec practically carried her back to the inn despite her insistence that she could walk. Will and Max followed, Horley between them like a captive. She didn't look back. She didn't want to see Horley ever again. She wanted him and her mother behind her. Other than Dec's confession of love, she wanted today behind her and buried. Forgotten.

After a few words with the innkeeper, Dec took her to the room she had shared with her mother and Horley before she escaped. Her mother was still there. Waiting. She rose from where she sat on the edge of the bed.

“You've found her!”

“Downstairs with you,” Dec commanded as he set Rosalie on the bed. His hand brushed her face. “Are you injured? Do I need—­”

“I don't need anything.”
Only you.

She touched his face. Mostly because she couldn't stop herself. She had to touch him. Feel him. She had to assure herself he was here. They were together.
He had said he loved her.

“I'm going to take your mother downstairs to speak with her and Horley alone. For the last time.” Rising, he glanced over at Melisande briefly before looking back at her again. “I realize she's your mother, but this can't . . .” He sucked in a breath and she noted the tense brackets edging his mouth. “No more. This can't happen again . . .”

Rosalie nodded, understanding without him having to say the words. Her mother had hurt them both. Too much. Especially him. They couldn't give her another chance to hurt them. She had used up all her chances.

“Mother.” She looked across the room. “Good-­bye,” she uttered with finality.

She felt nothing as these words fell between them. No pang of loss or conscience. Nothing. There was no remorse. Not after everything. The years. What she had done to Dec. And not after tonight. It was the only thing left to do. The only thing that made any sense.

Melisande glanced desperately between Rosalie and Dec. “You cannot mean . . . Rosalie, I'm your mother. You need me.”

“No. I don't.”

Dec's hand folded around her, his fingers strong and warm. His gaze fixed on her as he added, “She doesn't need you anymore. We have each other now.”

Her mother left then, although Rosalie scarcely noticed. She covered their joined hands with her free hand, looking at Dec. Only him. He could have said:
Rosalie needs me.
But he didn't. He'd said they needed each other.

With his free hand, he cupped her face, his thumb grazing her mouth. As though he read her mind, he whispered, “I need you. I never thought I needed anyone before but I do. I need you.”

“I need you, too,” Rosalie returned.

He smiled slowly, his white teeth blinding in his handsome face. “So we're stuck with each other.”

“I suppose so,” she murmured.

He kissed her then, and it was the kiss of forever. The promise of all their tomorrows. When she looked up and glanced across the room, her mother was gone.

“I'll be back soon,” he said.

“I'll stay awake for you.”

“You don't need to. Rest.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth.

When he left her, she removed her boots and climbed into the bed. Curling on her side, she fixed her gaze at a spot on the wall, smiling as she thought of Declan. He needed her. He loved her.

They were her last thoughts as she drifted to sleep.

D
ec watched her sleep, long after the morning light filtered through the curtains. He knew he should rouse her so they could both be on their way. He knew Will and Max must be ready to return to Town. They'd stood at his side as he delivered his ultimatums to Melisande and Horley and then sent them on their way. Horley and Melisande deserved no less than a prison sentence for what they had done, but he didn't want to drag Rosalie through that scandal and place a whiff of disgrace on her. He'd exacted a promise from Horley to return to Cornwall. If Peter Horley ever set foot in Town again, he would ruin him. He had the power to do it, but most important, he had the resolve.

His stepmother would return to Town, gather her belongings, and depart for Spain. He and Rosalie deserved a fresh start without the cloud of Melisande hanging over them. If she ever set foot on English soil again, he would cut her off. She had nodded, uncommonly mute, understanding at once that her best opportunity for happiness lay in a life abroad because he would make her days a misery if she stayed.

Even as dawn lightened the room, he didn't have the heart to stir Rosalie yet. It had been a long night for her. Shadows marred the skin beneath her eyes, resembling faint bruises. He never wanted her to look tired or haggard again. He supposed that was love. Wanting to shield and protect. Caring more for someone else than even yourself.

Rosalie slept with one hand tucked beneath her cheek on the pillow and the other palm down on his chest, and she looked so sweet, so fresh and untouched.

He'd stripped off his clothes upon returning to the room last night and climbed into bed beside her. She had slept so soundly he actually had to move her so he could squeeze his bigger body in beside her. Even now she occupied over half the bed.

Good thing his bed was enormous. However, he rather approved of her sprawled against him, her thigh tucked between his legs. He wanted to be able to feel her every moment like this when they shared a bed together. Every time he closed his eyes. Every time he opened them. He wanted to feel her against him.

He had never thought to have this.
Her
. Had never thought to find another person that made life more . . .

That made life more.

She opened her eyes and smiled, deep and lethargic. She stretched both arms above her head with a groan. “I fell asleep. Why did you not wake me?”

He came over her then, brushing the vibrant hair from her forehead. “You looked too content. So at peace. I didn't want to ruin that.”

She smiled and looped her arms around his neck. “You can't ever ruin that. You're the reason I can even look that way.”

He lowered his head and kissed her. He meant for it to be a simple kiss, sweet and undemanding, but with her body under him . . .

It had been too long.

She was eager for him, too. Her palms ran over his body. She arched and wiggled under him, parting her thighs, welcoming him to her. His fingers sought her, touching her wet folds, easing a finger into her tight channel. She cried out.

She was wet and ready, and he'd never been so glad in his life for the fact that he was undressed and she wore only a nightgown. He yanked it up and over her head and tossed it aside so they were both smooth, warm flesh gliding together. He entered her in one thrust, relishing her tightness.

She clenched around him, milking his cock, demanding more, demanding it harder.

It was fast, raw and fierce. He positioned her hips in just the right cant for his driving hips. His hand slid between them, his thumb finding and pushing on that sensitive spot at the apex of her cove. She cried out, flying apart beneath him. Ripples eddied through her, vibrating through him. She leaned up and pressed an open-­mouth kiss to his chest, her tongue flicking out to lick his nipple. He came apart then, poured himself into her, collapsing over her.

He folded her into his arms and rolled to his side, taking her with him, their bodies slick from the coupling.

“That,” he breathed, “shall be how we begin every day.”

She sighed against his chest. “When we're married, at least.”

“About that.” He looked down at her, his fingers playing in her hair. “We've already begun the trip to Scotland. We could just . . . keep going.” It was an impulsive suggestion, made from the desperate hunger to have her with him every night, every morning from now. He didn't want to wait months. He did not expect her to agree, of course. Every girl wanted her fairy-­tale wedding. He understood that.

“Yes.”

He blinked. “What?”

“If that means starting our life together sooner . . . waking in your arms every morning, having this every day, then yes.”

He smiled slowly. “Carrots, you amaze me.”

She snuggled against him, pressing her lips to his throat. “Now . . . we don't have to leave right away, do we?”

“Did you have something in mind?”

She came up over him, kissing him again, her mouth playing about the corners of his lips. “I might have an idea or two . . .”