A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin Page 9

  “No.” Her lips curled beneath the edge of her feathered mask. “As tempting as you are . . . no, I have another proposition for you. One that I suspect might intrigue a man of your select tastes.”

  “You have my attention. Continue.”

  Turning, she headed down the corridor, past rooms that barely contained the cries and moans of the ­people within. He fell into step beside her.

  “There is a young lady here . . . a novice, quite untried. She seeks nothing more than a kiss.”

  He hesitated. “A kiss. Seems a bit tame for—­”

  “A first kiss,” she qualified. “And nothing more.”

  He fell back in pace with her. He needed more than a kiss to assuage his needs.

  “You would be doing me a great favor. I know your tastes run to the more experienced encounters, but does not the idea titillate? A woman’s first kiss.”

  “It . . . intrigues,” he admitted. At least it would be different. Unpredictable. Little surprised him anymore. The kisses of an experienced lover had become predictable. As common in flavor as honey in his tea.

  “And who knows? She might change her mind. She might want more than a kiss if you sweep her off her feet.” She slanted him a challenging look. “There is some challenge in that, is there not, Your Grace?”

  His skin tightened, thinking about that. He wasn’t one of those men who relished breaking in untried misses. At least he never had been before. But the idea of Rosalie had perhaps altered his perception. Breaking her in? She’d tempted him this night. Fed his hunger in a way he had not felt in a long time. Too long.

  “Why not?” He shrugged. Perhaps this would warm him up and he could sate himself on another female later.

  “Brilliant. She’s waiting in here.” She stopped at the door, one hand on the latch. “I trust you to be a gentleman, Banbury. When she wishes to stop—­”

  “I’ve never forced my attentions on a woman. I won’t begin now.”

  She smiled widely, as if he had just impressed her. “Just as I thought. You are a true gentleman, Your Grace.”

  He stifled a snort. He did not count himself a gentleman, but considering the ilk of gentlemen to run through this house, perhaps in her mind he was.

  She cracked the door, motioned for him to enter, and then backed away with a little flutter of her fingers, her smile somewhat secretive and bemused. As though she knew something he didn’t.

  When he pushed the door open and took his first view of the female he was to kiss—­he at once understood the reason behind Mrs. Bancroft’s smile.

  Rosalie pushed up off the bed, rising to her feet as the door opened and a man stepped inside.

  And then she lost the ability to stand. Her knees gave out and she sank back down bonelessly on the edge of the bed. Her eyes ached from staring so hard. She couldn’t even blink.

  How had he found her?

  Her heart slammed in her chest, panicked at what he would do with her now. Would he denounce her? Cast her out?

  She struggled to speak but her mouth was suddenly as dry as bone, speech impossible.

  He stood for a moment, staring back at her as well, unmoving as he scanned her from her head to her slippered feet.

  “You require a kiss, madame?”

  The deep timbre of his voice sank through her, pooling like lava in her veins, starting a low simmer in her blood. The significance of his words penetrated. He was here. To kiss her. She angled her head, studying him. He was much as he’d appeared just a short time ago, in the corridor outside his bedchamber. Except now he looked at her as a stranger. He did not know her. The tightness in her chest eased. She resisted the urge to run a hand over her hair. She was safe from recognition. Aurelia had secured the wig carefully. Never was she so grateful for a decision in her life. Aside of the wig and domino, the hazy red glow infusing the room distorted everything.

  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

  She 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?