A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin (9 page)

He backed her into the wall and she clung to him, relishing the sensation of his strong body sinking against hers. She wrapped both her arms around his shoulders, her fingers delving into his hair.

His kiss deepened, grew harder, his tongue bolder, lapping at hers. She kissed him back, moving her tongue, mimicking his movements and tasting him as he tasted her. She marveled that a kiss could be so consuming. How it could set all of her ablaze.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he instructed. The command made her shake. She hesitated, unsure how to go about that, but before she could speak or move, he grasped one thigh and guided it around his waist. When he reached for her other thigh, she understood and hopped up to meet him.

The thin fabric of her gown fell like a waterfall around her legs, offering no real barrier. She felt him between her legs, his lean hips wedged between her thighs. And that part of him. The bulge of his manhood rubbed at the core of her, where all sensation seemed to begin and end.

She moaned as he thrust himself against her. Her belly clenched.

How did one begin a kiss and not want more? Not
do
more? Or was it simply that this kiss was better than most?

Yes. That was it. It had to be. It had to be because it was him.
Dec
.

She grabbed his face with both hands, reveling in the bristly stubble of his cheeks against her palms. She slanted her mouth and licked her way inside his mouth, her thighs tightening around him, instinctively angling so that she felt him even better, harder, right over the throbbing core of her.

“That's it,” he growled. “Take what you want.”

His guttural voice was like a dose of cold water.

She'd had what she wanted. She'd had her kiss. A kiss with Dec, no less. This needed to stop. Before it became impossible to stop. She knew that point couldn't be far from now. She ached and quivered so badly. She was certainly already close to that point.

She tore her mouth away, panting, both heartened and alarmed to see that he was panting, too. He wanted her. He ached and quivered for her, too.

They stared at each other in the murky corridor. His features were cast in gloom, but it didn't matter. She had them memorized, and she could see what was lost to shadow. Every line. Every hollow. She could see him so clearly, so perfectly. And now she had the taste of him to forever go with his image.

She brought her gloved fingers to her lips, brushing the tender flesh. “Oh. My.”

“For first kisses, I'd say you have received a thorough education.”

She nodded once, speech impossible.

“Did it meet your expectations? Your hopes?”

“I . . . yes.” Beyond that.

He brushed her cheek with his hand and his head inched closer again, coming back for more. Her gaze fixed on his mouth, hungry, wanting him, and she realized she might not have the power to resist, to stop this from happening.

“Ah, there you are.”

They jerked apart. Rosalie snapped her attention to the figure approaching them up the stairs. Mrs. Bancroft held her skirts as she ascended. “I was just returning to check on you, my dear.” Her gaze, shadowed and unreadable within the bright plumage of her domino, fixed on each of them in slow turn.

Rosalie moved down one step to meet her. Dec stopped her, stalling her with one hand on her shoulder.

She looked from him to Mrs. Bancroft uncertainly.

The proprietress nodded as though understanding that they needed a moment. “I shall await you at the base of the stairs.”

The desire to call out to her and ask Mrs. Bancroft to return and accompany her warred within Rosalie's chest. It was cowardly perhaps, but what was left for them now? More kisses? That would only lead to ruin. It was one thing to toe the line, another to dive headlong over the side.

And there was the fact that every moment in his company put her at risk.

But Rosalie said nothing. She let the proprietor of Sodom drift away, leaving her alone with the man whose kiss still burned on her lips . . . on her very soul.

“I must go,” she whispered in her carefully modulated voice.

“You won't return.” It was not a question but a statement—­which he only confirmed by adding, “This place is not for you.”

But you are. You are for me.

The wretched thought snuck into her heart, unbidden.

She nodded in agreement, panicked at the foolish direction of her thoughts. “I won't be back.”

Slowly, he lifted his hand from her shoulder. Everything about him seemed resigned, and perhaps that was regret in his eyes.

Satisfaction curled through her. It was a dangerous thing . . . this feeling that he had enjoyed their kiss, that he regretted its end. That he enjoyed
her
. That she was somehow different than the multitude of women to pass in and out of his life. In and out of his bed. Dangerous indeed.

She was an indiscretion. She was his stepsister. Two factors that meant this would never happen again.

“Your name, then. At least leave me with that.”

“No names,” she murmured, trying not to choke on the idea of giving him her true name.

“But you know mine. Banbury. If you . . .” He paused and sliced fingers through his dark, unruly hair. As though he did not know quite what he was doing or saying. “If you ever have need of me, or wish to see me again, you may contact me. Directly . . . or send word through Mrs. Bancroft.”

She blinked. Was he truly inviting her to see him again? That feeling that she was somehow different, special, reasserted itself. It lightened her heart and made her wish. Made her wish she was someone else so that she could be with him.

“Thank you, but that's not necessary.” She inclined her head. “I received what I came for. Thank you for obliging me.”

She turned without lingering for his reply. Mrs. Bancroft waited for her at the bottom of the stairs.

“Well. I trust you are satisfied?” she asked as she looped arms with Rosalie.

“Quite so. Thank you. Have you seen my friend?”

“I believe she's engaged in a game of whist. Let's fetch her before she gets in over her head.”

Rosalie frowned. “Is it a high stake game?”

“Oh. Indeed. The only games to be had at Sodom are high stakes, but not in the manner you are thinking. So let us fetch her while she still has her clothes and hasn't wagered away her virtue. I think that might be more than she bargained for at her first night at Sodom, don't you agree?”

With a gasp, Rosalie quickened her pace, alarmed at the very prospect of Aurelia now naked in a room full of strangers.

Fortunately, when they found her she was still garbed and sitting at a table with none other than Lord Camden. Shirtless. She couldn't see below the table to detect if he still wore his trousers, but he did not look too happy as he sat there—­ostensibly losing at cards.

Rosalie stopped in the threshold. This room was better lit than the upstairs. Even with the wig and domino, there was a slight possibility he might recognize Aurelia.

She couldn't hear what they were saying from across the room, but Aurelia's lips were moving and her head was in that cocky angle of hers. Rosalie knew it meant her ire was up. Aurelia was annoyed, and if she wasn't careful, the viscount would guess her identity, disguise or no disguise. They were quite familiar with each other, after all. Camden was one of her brother's closest friends.

“Mrs. Bancroft,” she said, “would you mind having my friend meet me at the front door?”

“Of course.”

Rosalie watched for a moment as the proprietress made her way across the room, stopping at intervals to exchange pleasantries. She was the consummate hostess. She stopped at Aurelia's table finally, patting the well-­muscled shoulder of the viscount fondly. Of course he was a regular here, too—­just like Dec—­and the lady would know him.

Rosalie glanced over her shoulder, almost like she was expecting to find him there, conjured by the mere thought of him. She really needed to make herself scarce. If he saw her in this lighting, he'd take one look at her and know.

Suddenly, Aurelia was before her, face flushed and eyes bright with merriment. “Rosalie, how did it go?”

She shook her head. “We have to leave. I'll tell you on the way home.”

Nodding, Aurelia followed her, holding her questions until they were in a hack and headed across town.

“Well?” her friend pressed, settling back on the squabs. “Did you have your first kiss then?”

“I saw Lord Camden was at your table,” Rosalie countered, not ready to talk about her kiss. “Did he recognize you?”

Aurelia made a snort and her flush deepened, creeping all the way down her throat into her décolletage. “That boor. Max only sees what he wants to see.”

“Did he recognize you?” she demanded. “Do you know for certain?”

Aurelia shrugged. “Possibly, but he wouldn't have dared say anything. He wouldn't risk ruining me. I'm Will's sister. And Dec's cousin. He wouldn't be that inconsiderate of his friends.” This last bit was said with something of a sneer. As though she didn't think he would refrain from ruining her reputation simply for her sake—­only theirs.

Dread closed in on Rosalie, tightening her throat. If Camden mentioned seeing Aurelia at Sodom that night, Dec might walk down the path to concluding that she had been there, too.

Aurelia saw her expression and patted her hand reassuringly. “Max will not utter a word to anyone. Don't look so sick. Trust me. Now tell me. Did you kiss—­”

“Yes.”

The squabs squeaked as Aurelia adjusted her weight on the seat across from her. She fairly bounced in her eagerness. “Ohh, do tell. What was it like? What was
he
like? I'm sure Mrs. Bancroft wouldn't have selected anyone for you short of—­”

“He was like—­” she cut in, pausing before adding, “Declan.”

Aurelia stopped bouncing where she sat on the squabs, her mouth dropping in a small O of shock.

“You kissed my cousin?”

Rosalie nodded. She needed to confide to someone, and as Aurelia was the only who could ever know about tonight, she was it.

“You and
Declan
kissed?” she pressed, as though that clarification were necessary in addition to this name.

Rosalie gave voice to her confirmation this time. “Yes.” Then she winced. “Or rather
I
kissed him.” She had flung herself at him.

“You did?”

“Well, the first time. And then he kissed me.” Properly. Thoroughly.

“But you initiated it?” If possible, Aurelia's eyes grew even larger.

“I know,” Rosalie groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I shouldn't have let it happen. I don't know what I was thinking.” Yes, she did, but she wasn't sharing with Aurelia that she found her cousin irresistible and the perfect candidate to act out all her wishes for something
more
.

“Well this is an amusing turn of events.”

Rosalie looked up from her hands and cut her a glare.

“Sorry,” Aurelia replied without an ounce of repentance. Clearing her voice, she attempted what she must have deemed to be the suitable amount of seriousness. “Did he know it was you?”

“Good God, no! No!” The idea made her skin itch. “And he can't! He can't ever know it was me.”

Aurelia nodded. Untying the strings from her mask, she dropped the fabric on the seat beside her. “Of course not.” She fell silent, her gaze speculative across the carriage.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Simply considering.”

“Considering what?”

“You and Declan.”

“There is no me and Dec. He's trying to get rid of me, as you are well aware.”

“Yes. Rather desperately. Too desperately perhaps? I wonder why that is?”

Rosalie shook her head. “You read too much into this. He hates my mother and I am merely an extension of her.”

“I think that is a rather simplistic view. He might have thought that way in the beginning, but I'm sure he no longer does. Or he no longer will once he comes to know you better.”

Rosalie shrugged. Her gaze drifted to the small crack in the curtains and the passing buildings. “Really, this is moot. There is nothing more to say about it.”

“Well,” Aurelia continued. “You'll be under his roof for the rest of the Season. Anything can happen. Perhaps you need to open yourself to the—­”

Her gaze snapped back to Aurelia. “Nothing will happen.”

“But it already did.”

“And he doesn't know that,” she reminded tartly.

Aurelia sniffed like it was a debatable point. “He wanted you tonight . . . I'd wager he wants you, Rosalie. That on some level, he knew it was you tonight. He just needs to realize it.”

Rosalie stared at her, stunned. “No. He does not need to realize it.”
He must not
. “Please do not attempt to match-­make me with your cousin.”

Her friend settled back in her seat, her lips flattening into a mutinous line.

“Promise me, Aurelia,” Rosalie pressed, drawing out her name in warning.

“Very well. I promise to do nothing. Only because there's nothing I need to do. You're under his roof. I predict proximity and frequency of said proximity shall take care of matters.”

Rosalie swallowed.

A cold sweat broke out over her at the idea of Dec realizing she was the girl he'd been with tonight. If it was the eventuality Aurelia predicted, then perhaps she needed to hasten all her efforts toward matrimony. Because, despite what Aurelia suggested, she knew that Dec discovering the truth of this night's deeds would not end well for her.

She sucked in a deep breath and resolved that it wouldn't happen. As though sheer will alone could prevent it from occurring. Her mind worked, shoring up her defenses against the possibility. It was clear there was only one thing to do, and she was already doing it. Perhaps halfheartedly. But no more. Now she would seek a husband in earnest.