A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin

by Sophie Jordan

  “I think you’ve said all there is to be said,” he declared after an awkward silence.

  She rubbed her wrists as though trying to rid herself of the memory of his touch, and the gesture pricked at his pride. “That’s it. You’re dismissing me, then?”

  “You’ve made your point. I shall never presume to accept a marriage proposal on your behalf again.”

  “Indeed.” Nodding jerkily, she pressed her lips into a defiant line and marched into her room, shutting the door not too gently behind her. If his aunt and cousin were asleep, then they no longer were.

  He began to turn for his room, but then stopped. His cock still felt uncomfortably hard in his breeches. There would be no sleep for him. With a curse, he turned and strode back down the stairs, intent on rectifying the matter.

  Perhaps, then, the next time he found himself alone with his stepsister he wouldn’t fantasize about burying his nose in all that soft-­looking hair as he sank into her body.

  “Rosalie! Are you asleep?”

  The query came loud, for all that it was whispered through her door.

  “If I was, then I am no longer,” she groused, sitting up from where she had flung herself across the bed not so long ago, still troubled over her encounter with Dec.

  What was wrong with the man, that he sought out physical pain? A sensible man would avoid such abuse. There was nothing sensible about him. She did not understand him. Not at all. Nor did she understand the undeniable pull she felt toward him. True, he was offering her a roof over her head . . . a Season, a dowry, but he was not a kind man for all of that. He was hard. Rude and curt and high-­handed. And yet when she was near him, she wanted to stand closer. Those big hands on her wrists . . .

  She wanted to feel them again. There and elsewhere . . .

  The door opened. Aurelia hurried across the room, an abundance of white fabric in her arms.

  “What have you there?” She nodded at the profusion of white.

  “A gown.” Her friend dropped it on the bed, and it was then that Rosalie was given the full impact of Aurelia’s attire.

  She was not garbed in her nightgown . . . although a nightgown might have been more modest than the black ensemble she wore. The dark fabric complimented her olive-­hued skin much better than the pastels she usually wore. It was scandalously low-­cut and lacked the fullness of a skirt, as was current fashion. It was very Grecian in style, and form-­hugging. Which for Aurelia, with her ample bosom and curves, was almost criminal. Typically, her clothes made her look plump, but in this gown, the truth of her narrow waist and lush, womanly curves was on full display.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “A gown. Do you like it?” She smoothed a hand over her rounded hip. “This one is for you. Hopefully it fits.” Aurelia pointed at the lump of white fabric on the bed.

  Rosalie reached for the garment and held it up between her fingertips to see that it, too, was in the same style. The fabric very fine and diaphanous. “Where did you get these? They’re scandalous.”

  “I did it.”

  Rosalie stared at her uncomprehendingly. “What?”

  She continued. “I went to Sodom. This afternoon. I called on the proprietress, Mrs. Bancroft, all by myself.”

  Rosalie lurched up on the bed on her knees. “You did what?”

  Aurelia nodded, her brown curls looking almost as black as her dress. “She met with me in her private office. Oh, Rosalie, she was ever so sophisticated. She promised us discretion.”

  “You are serious?”

  Aurelia frowned. “Were you not? Earlier today. I did not mistake your meaning, did I?”

  Rosalie shook her head. “No . . . I am . . . I am ready for . . .”

  What precisely? Was she ready for Sodom?

  “Oh, excellent! I do not know if I could have gone it alone.” Aurelia exhaled and then snatched Rosalie’s dress back from her. “Come. I’ll help you into your gown. My maid, Cecily, will fetch us a hack around back. And look. Mrs. Bancroft gave us these. To protect our identities on this adventure.”

  Aurelia nodded to the two dominos she had dropped on the bed. Rosalie lifted the masks. One was black and the other red.

  “I think I should wear the red . . . offer some contrast with my black gown. And the same purpose should serve for you with the black. Don’t you think?”

  Rosalie lifted the midnight-­dark mask to her face, fingering the satin that stretched over the stiffer brocade.

  “Oh, that looks splendid.” Aurelia hopped where she stood for a moment, jiggling her breasts so much that they looked dangerously close to spilling free of her scandalously tight bodice. “And let us not forget these.” She waved two wigs in the air.

  “Wha—­”

  “Mrs. Bancroft said it will help protect your identity. And with your very recognizable hair, it’s really a must. I’ll take this lovely golden wig. You wear the black one. It’s very Cleopatra, no? With your white gown . . . perfect!”

  Rosalie fingered the sleek black strands, excitement humming low in her belly. She was really doing this.

  Aurelia clapped her hands. “Let’s get you in the dress first, shall we? No corset, mind you. It won’t look right.”

  Rosalie’s gaze snapped up to her face. “No corset?”

  Aurelia stretched out the scrap of bodice between her hands as though that served as explanation enough. “Come. Let’s simply see, shall we?”

  She permitted Aurelia to help her undress and slip into the gown. Turning, she could scarcely breathe as her friend buttoned the tiny rows of buttons at her back. It had nothing to do with the fit of the dress, either. It was all nerves. The riot of butterflies in her belly.

  What am I doing?

  “Oh, and these stockings! We mustn’t forget these.”

  Rosalie put them on, blanching at the decadent pair of sheer stockings—­nothing like the ser­viceable, modest ones she always wore. These were thin as cobwebs with a thin strip of lace running up the outside of her thighs. She shifted, stunned at the decadent sensation of the material on her bare legs. Aurelia helped her tie them off with lacy garters.

  “There. Now . . . the wig.” She struggled for some moments, knotting Rosalie’s hair close to the base of her scalp before securing the wig in place. The dark strands swished sleekly just past Rosalie’s shoulders.

  Aurelia stood back and waved her arms with a flourish. “Oh! You look like some princess from an ancient era, ready for seduction. See for yourself.”

  On shaking legs, Rosalie moved to stand before the mirror. Her mouth parted on a gasp.

  A stranger stared back at her. The white material clung indecently, appearing soft, beckoning the hand. The bodice dipped so low it revealed not only the top swells of her breasts but the pale, smooth expanse of skin between the small mounds. She even imagined she could make out the dusky outline of her nipples beading against the white fabric. The black mask was startling—­a stark contrast against the creamy canvas of skin and gown.

  The dark wig framing her face altered what was visible of her features, creating the illusion of bigger eyes, coal-­dark and faintly exotic within the domino.

  Denial surged on her lips. She couldn’t go out like this. But then the realization sank in that she enjoyed it . . . the way she looked excited her. Filled her with courage and emboldened her.

  And no one had to know it was her.

  Smiling, she faced Aurelia. “Now let’s finish you off and be gone from here.”

  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 f
rom 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.