All The Ways To Ruin A Rogue (The Debutante Files Book 2) Read online

  The widow looked back and forth between the two of them. “And how is it the two of you know each other?” she asked. When her gaze settled on Aurelia her top lip curled faintly. Aurelia knew she found it hard to believe a female like her could be within Max’s sphere of acquaintances. If not for Will and Dec, she certainly would not be.

  “My brother and Lord Camden—”

  “Ah, of course. Lord Merlton is your brother.” She glanced at Max. “He’s your dear friend, yes?”

  Max nodded.

  Still smiling that smile that did not reach her eyes, she returned her attention to Aurelia. “It’s been a good many years. Still unwed, are you?”

  Aurelia inhaled at the not so subtle slight. “Yes, I’m still unwed.”

  “Well, take heart. Not everyone can have success their first Season out. Or second . . . or, well who’s counting?” She shrugged and smiled brightly, readjusting her grip around Max’s arm. They really did make a handsome couple. He with his chestnut hair and she with her golden beauty.

  Aurelia’s pride nosed to the surface. Perhaps it was because Max stood there and she was always in a combative mood around him, but she didn’t feel like enduring the abuses in mute indignation as she had years before. “Yes, well, some of us have high standards.”

  Twin flags of color stained Mrs. Knotgrass’s cheeks. “Oh, is that your excuse?” She nodded her head slowly. “Well, one must believe what they will to get through their days.” She leaned forward slightly, offering, “You know what they call women with ‘high’ standards, don’t you?”

  “I’m certain you’re going to tell me,” Aurelia said wryly, bracing herself, waiting for the inevitable spinster to ring out. It wouldn’t be a new designation. It wouldn’t even hurt.

  “Pathetic.”

  Aurelia started. The word dripped from the woman’s mouth with cruel relish. That one was new.

  And it hurt.

  Silence stretched between the three of them. Mrs. Knotgrass preened, all smug satisfaction.

  “Marriage,” Max inserted, “is not for everyone.”

  Aurelia’s gaze flipped to him, grateful for the break in the awkward silence and heartened that she had some support against Mrs. Knotgrass’s barbs. She waited for Max to remind the little viper that he had never been married either. Certainly that was what he meant by his remark.

  Instead, he added, “Have compassion, Mrs. Knotgrass. Not everyone can be so charming as you.” His eyes warmed over the widow before sliding back to Aurelia. “Lady Aurelia is a lost cause, I’m afraid.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs constricted inside her aching chest. Her treacherous eyes stung. Vanity she didn’t know she possessed just took a crying leap off a cliff. He’d insulted her before. God knew she had done the same to him. This shouldn’t be any different. It shouldn’t hurt so much.

  But it did.

  She gazed up at him standing there, his eyes full of mockery. Beside him, the widow’s feral little eyes gleamed with deep satisfaction. Perhaps it hurt so much because he said it in front of Knotgrass. The devil’s own mercenary. And to think a moment ago she thought he might defend her.

  She supposed she should not have been so caught off guard. And yet she felt betrayed. Flayed and exposed. His words rooted deep, bruising her to the bone.

  “You . . .” A thousand fractured thoughts flashed through her mind as she gazed at his smug face. None proper. All ugly. But the one she landed on, the one she seized with greedy hands and launched at him, was perhaps the worst of all. “You . . . Cockless Camden.”

  Shock rippled across his features. His mouth pulled tight, the corners edging white. Mrs. Knotgrass gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a burst of laughter.

  Belatedly, Aurelia realized this moment must echo the first time that moniker was uttered. There was laughter then, too.

  “Aurelia,” Camden growled.

  “What?” Aurelia blinked. “Did I say something amiss?”

  The widow recovered enough to mutter, “With that ill-mannered tongue, it’s no wonder she can’t catch a man.”

  Max looked very capable of inflicting bodily harm. Rationally, she knew he wouldn’t, of course, but when he took a step toward her she simply reacted.

  Her palms came up and shoved. Hard.

  It all happened in an instant, though for her time slowed to a crawl. Max’s eyes flared wide as he fell back, his arms flailing in wide circles, seeking balance, but he only succeeded in colliding into Mrs. Knotgrass as he went down. She yelped, her own arms flapping as she followed him into the pond.

  Oh. Dear, God. Aurelia’s hand flew to her mouth as Mrs. Knotgrass screamed loud enough to gain the attention of every bystander within miles. She stood, frozen, rooted to the spot, watching the scene unfold with macabre fascination. Several others crowded along the shore, gawking at the spectacle as well.

  The woman continued to shriek as though she was injured, her arms flailing wildly while Max attempted to help her from the pond to the shore. Her lovely white and lavender striped gown was a muddied beige color now, with bits of sludge and indescribable matter sticking to it in various spots. When she looked down at herself, another long wail escaped her. She hopped several times, flapping her hands, which made her lose her footing again. Her hand shot out and snatched hold of Max, bringing them both back down into the water. Again.

  As horrified as Aurelia was, a small trickle of satisfaction ribboned through her. She told herself it would be no less than Max deserved.

  She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sound that was part giggle and part groan. Max’s frustration was clearly writ upon his face as he struggled to his feet, hefting the widow back up with him.

  The gathered crowd watched the ongoing spectacle in fascination.

  Even though it was an accident, Aurelia swallowed back a twinge of guilt as the widow started sobbing, plucking at the soaking wet snarls of her hair. A chorus of gasps rippled through the crowd as one large snarl came loose in her hand.

  The widow’s sobs became ear-shattering then.

  “Egads! Her hair is falling out!” a man to the right of Aurelia exclaimed.

  “No, no . . . it’s not her real hair,” the woman beside him explained. “Some women do that, you know. To make their own hair appear thicker.”

  So much for all her gold tresses.

  Everyone, including Aurelia, backed away as the two of them slogged to shore. By then Mrs. Knotgrass’s maid had arrived—no doubt hearing the commotion—and Max turned the thoroughly wrecked woman over to her waiting servant. He then turned to face Aurelia, his gaze finding her in the crowd.

  Her stomach knotted. He looked severe—frightening—as he pointed a finger at her and curled it, beckoning her closer.

  She shook her head, her stomach coiling sickly. It was an accident, she mouthed at him, pleading with her eyes.

  His eyes narrowed on her. She felt the chill of them across the short distance. She had never seen him look like this before. Not even when they quarreled and she irked him. He took a step toward her and then stopped when the widow started wailing for him, motioning for him to return to her. With one last look at Aurelia that promised retribution, he turned his back on her.

  A relieved breath shuddered from her. She never thought she would feel gratitude toward Mrs. Knotgrass for anything, but in that moment she could have hugged her. It would be short-lived, she knew. She had seen Max’s face. He wasn’t finished with her.

  Swinging her satchel across her shoulder, she started for home with no thought to dignity.

  She ran.

  Chapter 10

  He would throttle her.

  It was Max’s sole thought as he trudged up the hill, his feet squishing in his soaked boots as he escorted the widow across the park to her waiting curricle.

  She wept the entire way. And no small, delicate feminine weeping either. She wailed like a lowing cow, exclaiming over the state of her appearance, drawing all eyes their way.
He resisted the impulse to shush her. She was embarrassed over what had transpired, to be certain, but her howling only attracted more attention.

  He told himself he should not be so surprised. He knew Aurelia was capable of outrageous behavior. It was clear that she wanted him to think it was an accident. Ha! She wanted to punish him for burning her drawing. Even without that discord between them, she would go to any lengths to annoy and pester him. He could almost excuse her for this—he was accustomed to their skirmishes, after all—but the Widow Knotgrass had been innocent in their little war.

  Innocent? She had not exactly kept her claws in check with Aurelia. He winced as he cast her a glance. She was murdering his ears with all her caterwauling. His perception of her as an enticing, soft-spoken lady was now shattered.

  The maid trotted behind them, holding the widow’s discarded parasol and pieces of her lost hair. Max tried not to look at the mangled chunks of hair that resembled slaughtered rodents, but he couldn’t help his lip from curling. Again his thoughts returned to Aurelia and the ear-blistering he would give her when he caught up to her. It was bad enough she was the reason he had sought out the widow in the first place. He’d thought a good tupping might take his mind off Aurelia and her stupid quest for a husband. He thought it might help him forget the devastated look on her face when he flung that scroll into the fire. At the very least he would exorcise his lusts so he would stop getting so inconveniently aroused in Aurelia’s company. At least that had been his reasoning.

  “My lord, you’re hurting me,” Widow Knotgrass complained, tugging on her arm.

  “My apologies.” He quickly loosened his grip.

  She sniffed, looking mollified. “And you’re walking much too fast. I cannot keep up.”

  He sucked in a breath, reaching deep inside himself for patience as he slowed his pace to a crawl. Aurelia was likely fleeing for home already. From the one glimpse he’d had of her face—her wide eyes and sagging mouth—he knew she was afraid of him. And rightly so. His jaw clenched. He was not finished with her. Not by any means. He merely needed to free himself of the weeping woman at his side so that he could track down his quarry before she locked herself in her bedchamber and hid from him for the remainder of the Season.

  She’d have to come out eventually, he assured himself. She was intent on winning a husband, after all. For some reason, this only made his mood darker. His free hand flexed at his side in anticipation of unleashing his ire on her.

  “She should be horsewhipped,” the widow complained between gulping sobs, stepping high and holding out her soggy skirts. “She deserves no less. You should call on her brother and see that she is punished.”

  He stared straight ahead, struggling to slow his stride for her dragging pace. A prickly feeling swept over his chest as he listened to this woman disparage Aurelia. “It was an accident,” he heard himself say, defending her.

  “She’s a menace. That one should be kept on a tight leash,” the widow complained. “Her family should put her in a sanitarium.”

  He released a long-suffering breath. “Come now. That’s a trifle extreme, don’t you think?”

  She blinked at him. “I am serious. It’s done, you know. For women of her mercurial temperament.”

  He shook his head. The chit was abhorrent. He could not hide from that reality any longer. He’d prefer sharing a bed with a diseased monkey. He wanted nothing more than to deposit her in her curricle and be rid of her for good. She tempted him no more. He supposed he could thank Aurelia for giving him the opportunity to see her true colors . . . but he rather resented the fact that she had provided him with that insight.

  Max enjoyed his bed sport. He didn’t need great insight into the character of the females he enjoyed. He took his pleasure, gave it in return, and then moved on. Aurelia had made that impossible in this instance and he entirely blamed her.

  “Camden,” the widow whined. “You’re still walking much too quickly.”

  He slowed his pace yet again, convinced that if he went any slower he would be standing still.

  His gaze scoured the far edges of the park, searching for a glimpse of Aurelia in the rolling green. He knew she was fleeing for home not a far distance from where they were. She enjoyed her walks. She would not have made use of a carriage or mount on so short a length. He would overtake her on horseback.

  He dragged a bracing breath deep into his lungs. No more of her pranks. This had gone far enough. No more of her sharp tongue. It would end this day. Once and for all.

  Reaching the curricle, he assisted the widow up into it and closed the door after her. He had tied his horse to the back of the conveyance earlier so that they could ride together, but his only goal right now was to reclaim his mount and go after Aurelia. His blood pumped harder at the thought of delivering her a much deserved set-down.

  “Lord Camden! Where are you going?” Mrs. Knotgrass demanded from where she sat, her hair hanging in wet tangles around her. For some reason he had a flash of Aurelia’s hair . . . the dark mahogany flowing freely over her shoulders. He blinked, banishing the mental comparison and focused on the woman before him. There was not a man who would turn from the invitation in the widow’s eyes. And yet he did not want her. Bloody hell.

  He bowed smartly. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  Her face reddened. “We did not even yet have our picnic . . .”

  He motioned to his person. “I am hardly in a fit state.” It would be ungentlemanly to point out that she was not either.

  She moistened her chattering lips and pouted. “But we had been having such a lovely time.”

  Had they? He recalled their interaction before they happened on Aurelia. He’d been going through the motions . . . flirting, praising her beauty, entertaining her with empty conversation. And he had never been more bored. Not that he was one to share anything of himself with his paramours—but she had not asked a single thing about him.

  She reached out and covered his hand with her own. “No need for it to end so soon. We can retire to my house. My servants can see to your clothes . . . while we make ourselves more comfortable in my rooms . . .”

  There was no mistaking her meaning. It was what he thought he wanted from her. He slipped his hand free and moved to untether his mount from the back of her carriage. She watched him, her eyes narrowing in clear affront.

  “I appreciate the kind offer, but I could not impose on you. Recently widowed . . . you’re too vulnerable. And I must think to your reputation.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

  From her bewildered expression, she did not believe he cared one whit for her reputation. “This opportunity, my lord,” she said tightly, “will never come again.”

  He shrugged lightly, still smiling. “I will suffer the regret.”

  Her lips compressed into a hard line. She leaned back in her carriage and called for her driver to move.

  Max did not linger. As far as he was concerned, he had already dallied too long. He mounted in one smooth motion and turned in the direction of the Merlton town house. Digging his heels in, he set off at a gallop across the park.

  Chapter 11

  Aurelia knew there was a good chance he would come after her.

  She felt hunted. The gate clanged behind her, reverberating on the afternoon air. Her lungs burned with labored breath as she hurried down the path, just short of a run. Dignity held her in check . . . as well as sheer stubbornness. She’d done nothing wrong. It was an accident. Only the guilty ran.

  Heat flushed her face at the half-truth. Very well, she had been somewhat in error. She had, in fact, pushed him. But that was only after he insulted her. And her intention had never been for the Widow Knotgrass to fall into the pond. That part was purely accidental—no matter how satisfying it had been. A snort escaped her that bordered on laughter. She had, admittedly, for one fraction of a moment, enjoyed seeing Widow Knotgrass emerge looking like a drowned cat. She sobered, forcing her amusement down. There would be t
ime enough for laughter when this day’s events were well and fully behind her. Only from the glimpse she’d had of Max’s face, it would not be for another five years.

  She shook her head lightly at the exaggeration. Max’s wrath would cool. In time. Just as it had when she divested him of his garments in that card game at Sodom. His ire had cooled over that. He’d eventually get over this, too.

  She sidestepped a maid walking down the path, nodding a greeting and hoping she didn’t look as frazzled as she felt. She need only escape to the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

  The back entrance of the house appeared and she bypassed it, deciding to ignore it in favor of the servants’ door a little farther around the back. That entrance saw less traffic, and she wouldn’t risk bumping into Mama or Violet. They would only want to chatter and delay any escape into her room.

  She knew she was being silly. It’s not as though he would give chase straightaway. He still had Widow Knotgrass to escort. And yet, the fierce look in his eyes had made her shiver.

  She took comfort in the knowledge that he would arrive via the front door, and then her comfort dissolved. How would he explain his very wet and disheveled person? That would invite questions. Questions like how did he get wet . . .

  Dear God. What if he told Mama? Or Will?

  She shook her head. No. He wouldn’t. If he wouldn’t divulge her night activities at Sodom or that she was the artist responsible for the caricatures popping up all around London, he wouldn’t report on her now. At least, she prayed he wouldn’t.

  Aurelia forced in a calming breath. By the time Max called she would be safe in her bedchamber. Cecily will have been coached by then, armed with excuses as to why she was unavailable. He’d know the excuses were lies, of course, but she didn’t care.

  War called for different rules.

  Spotting the ivy-covered back of the house, tension eased from her shoulders. Her pounding heart slowed. She had made it. Even with all the traffic coming in and out of the servants’ door, the lush ivy threatened to swallow it. She closed her hand over the latch, ready to pull it open, when a hard hand clamped down on her shoulder and whirled her around.