A Good Debutante’s Guide to Ruin by Sophie Jordan
Chapter 26
Dec 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.
Dec 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 . . .”
