A Good Debutante’s Guide to Ruin by Sophie Jordan

Chapter 10

The town house loomed three stories high. It was located in a good neighborhood. Modest. Nothing lavish. A middle-class home of whitewashed brick, well-maintained.

It certainly did not appear to be a place where illicit activities took place night after night.

They stepped down from the hack to a quiet street. Lights blazed from windows and outside front door sconces, but there was no line of people beating a path to the door.

She glanced at Aurelia. “Are you certain this is the place?”

“Yes. I paid a call to Mrs. Bancroft here this very afternoon. Come along.” With an encouraging smile, she clasped Rosalie’s hand and led her up the steps to the front door.

It was promptly answered at their knock.

“Ladies?” A butler greeted them with a very correct nod of his head.

Aurelia offered the card Mrs. Bancroft had given her to present at the door.

He accepted the card and stepped aside, waving them in. A footman stepped forward to take their cloaks. She resisted the impulse to cover herself with her hands. Her skin had never felt so much air before. “This way.”

They followed him down a narrow corridor that opened up onto a larger room. A crowded room. At their arrival, heads turned to assess them. Avid, hungry eyes. She shifted her weight. As uneasy as she felt to find herself under such scrutiny, she was not the only female dressed so scandalously.

In fact, heat crawled up her throat as her gaze arrested on one female sitting on a sofa, squashed between two gentlemen. One kissed her whilst the other suckled at her bare breasts.

She and Aurelia stood frozen, eyeing the decadent scene.

“Ladies.” A well-dressed woman in an elaborate peacock-feathered mask approached. She took Aurelia’s hands warmly in her own. “So glad you could attend this evening. You both look lovely. So glad to see the dresses fit you so charmingly. And the wigs . . . very becoming. And this must be your friend.” She turned a smile on Rosalie. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Bancroft.”

“Delighted to meet you.” Rosalie tried to smile, but her gaze continued to dart about the room at so many couples caught in amorous embraces.

“This is our sitting room, where everyone meets and greets each other,” the proprietress explained. “There are several more specialized rooms throughout the house.” She hesitated, surveying what must have been their astonished expressions. A female from some corner of the room let out a screech.

“What’s that?” Aurelia asked. “Is she unwell?”

Mrs. Bancroft laughed. “Oh, she is quite well.” Still grinning, she turned. “Come, my two wide-eyed little birds. Let us begin with baby steps, shall we? There is a room that might suit you on your first time here.”

Rosalie released a grateful breath and followed Mrs. Bancroft and Aurelia from the room, sidestepping a man’s hand that reached for her as she bypassed him.

In the quiet corridor, Mrs. Bancroft led them up another set of stairs. “We have private rooms upstairs for, as I mentioned, specialized activities as well as private assignations. Whatever penchant, we aim to satisfy here.”

As they cleared the landing, Mrs. Bancroft motioned to the right. “These rooms are for those private assignations I mentioned.” She motioned to the left and bid them to follow. She opened the door to a dim room suffused with deep red light from two red-screened lanterns. A large window opened to another bedroom where two people copulated.

“Oh, my!” Rosalie whirled around, presenting her back.

Mrs. Bancroft chuckled lightly. “This room is for people who like to watch. Don’t worry, this couple enjoys being observed . . . they crave an audience.”

“I—I don’t think I want to see this,” Rosalie hastily murmured.

“Good heavens,” Aurelia breathed, facing the couple, her eyes enormous in her face. “I—I . . . I had no idea . . .”

“I think one of you appreciates the view,” Mrs. Bancroft murmured with a wry twist of her lips beneath her vibrant mask. The mask was elaborate and riveting and almost the sole point of focus in her face. For some reason, in that moment Rosalie suspected that Mrs. Bancroft valued anonymity as much as they did. Very curious indeed for an owner of a house such as Sodom.

The proprietress fully faced Rosalie then as Aurelia continued to watch the scene through the window with her mouth agape. “What is it you hoped to experience tonight? Everyone’s desires vary . . . they come to Sodom for different reasons. What is your desire, my dear?” Her voice was throaty and low, an intoxicating purr that simultaneously enticed and put one at ease. Rosalie could only imagine that served her well in her particular brand of business.

“I . . .” She shook her head, unsure of herself. What did she want?

The lady’s keen eyes studied her for several moments before saying kindly, “Perhaps you wish to leave—”

“No,” she said quickly, certain she did not want that. “For the first time in my life, I’m doing something . . . bold.” Something brave. She came here looking for a taste of adventure. She would not flee now. “I don’t want to leave before I’ve experienced anything for myself.”

“Ah. You wish for an experience. You’ve come to the right place.” Mrs. Bancroft nodded as though she understood, which was bewildering since Rosalie had yet to fully understand what it was she was looking for. Or perhaps she did know. She simply could not put it into words. Embarrassment and modesty and inexperience stopped her.

The woman in the adjoining room cried out suddenly, a great shuddering moan that reverberated on the air and sent a ripple of gooseflesh across her skin. It was like a whole army of butterflies erupted there, set loose from a cage.

“I . . .” Rosalie paused, moistening her lips. “I think I should like to be kissed . . . by someone . . .” Her voice faded beneath Mrs. Bancroft’s knowing regard.

“By someone who knows how?” she finished for her.

She nodded. “No more than that, I think . . . I’ve no wish to be ruined . . .”

“Am I to assume you’ve never been kissed before?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“We shall rectify that, then.”

“I don’t want to go beyond—”

Mrs. Bancroft nodded with alacrity. “Understood. We can find an accommodating gentleman, I’m sure.”

“Someone handsome,” Aurelia chimed in, glancing over at them as if this sudden important thought had just occurred to her. She looked at Rosalie with raised brows. “You don’t want an Archibald Lewis slobbering all over you.” She shuddered before dragging her attention back to the trysting couple, her mouth parting with continued astonishment at the scene.

“Of course.” Mrs. Bancroft nodded. “For your first kiss, we wouldn’t settle for less than a handsome man who knows what he’s about.”

Rosalie nodded as well, her face overly warm.

“And what of you, dear?” Mrs. Bancroft queried of Aurelia.

“I’m content to watch. For now.”

“Very well.” She fluttered her fingers at Rosalie, beckoning her forward. “Come along.”

With one last glance at her friend, Rosalie followed the elegant lady from the room and down the corridor to the private rooms. Mrs. Bancroft opened one door and motioned her inside.

“If you’ll wait in here, I’ll return shortly.”

Rosalie nodded, her shoulders knotting tensely.

Mrs. Bancroft hesitated at the door. “Don’t worry. I guarantee, you will enjoy yourself. That’s the promise of Sodom. Pleasure only.”

With those parting words, she slipped from the room. The door clicked softly behind her. Rosalie rotated where she stood, eyeing her room. Like the last one, dim red lighting suffused the cozy space. A bed overflowing with pillows and an inviting-looking fur blanket sat in the center. Coal glowed in the grate. After a few moments she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, folding her shivering hands in her lap, wondering how long she would have to wait . . . wondering who Mrs. Bancroft would bring with her.

Wondering if she had the courage not to flee through the door before Mrs. Bancroft returned with the man who would be her first kiss.

Dec prowled restlessly through the second floor of Sodom, moving between rooms, searching for something to satisfy the ache, the need . . . to dispel the numbness. He’d been here for a while now and was on the verge of giving up. So far, nothing had enticed him. No one. For once it did not appear he could chase away the numbness in a female’s arms. A matter of some concern, as the only thing left for him was to take another pounding in the ring.

He stepped from a room where three women had just invited him to join him on a bed. He didn’t know what he was in the mood for, but it wasn’t that.

An image of Rosalie as he’d last seen her outside his bedchamber door flashed across his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. She was not an option.

“Ah, Banbury. How good to see you.”

He smiled as Mrs. Bancroft approached. He took her hand and bowed over it, kissing the back. “Mrs. Bancroft, how good to see you and how lovely you look.” A statement both true and untrue as he had never fully seen her face. Several ladies donned masks at Sodom, but the proprietress herself was perhaps the most veiled. Her masks were always elaborate and covered half of her face. A fact that only made her more intriguing. As was the fact that her gowns were stylish but as modest as the most conservative old dames of the ton. She was a contradiction. The proprietress of a house of sin disguised and garbed modestly. Her voice was youthful, as was the trim figure covered from neck to ankle. Every man here wanted a peek under her skirts.

“You flatter, Banbury.” Her hand fluttered elegantly. “Have you not found a diversion to occupy you this eve yet?”

“Still on the hunt.” He grinned. “No worries. I shall find something to amuse myself.” Even if that something meant returning to Jackson’s for another taste of abuse.

“I may have something for you.” She smoothed a hand down the flat front of his jacket. “Someone.”

“Indeed?” His gaze skimmed her consideringly. “Would the infamous Mrs. Bancroft finally be interested in entertaining one of her patrons herself?” As attentive as the lady was to the needs of all her guests, she never once offered herself up as part of the menu. As far as he knew, no patron had sampled her favors.

“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.