All The Ways To Ruin A Rogue (The Debutante Files Book 2)

by Sophie Jordan

  “I don’t see any other way to stop you from hurting yourself.”

  Oh, the gall! She blew out an angry breath. “I’m sick unto death of men . . . you being able to live the life you want . . . and if I step even a fraction outside my mandatory box—”

  “Sodom is only a fraction?” he cut in.

  She ignored him. “If I want even a fraction of the freedom you enjoy, I’m bullied and threatened. By you more than anyone else! Go ahead. Do your worst. While you’re at it, tell him about my caricatures, too. Tell him everything!” She pushed the door open and stepped down before he could stop her. Outside at the door, she turned to glare at him. “Do it.” Her chin lifted. “I dare you . . .”

  “Aurelia . . .” he said warningly, moving to climb down after her.

  She didn’t linger. She was too angry. Lifting her skirts, she started down the walk, opening the gate and passing through it, hastening when she heard him behind her. She didn’t make it very far. His tread quickened, hard footfalls that matched the pounding of her heart. His hand clamped on her arm and whirled her around.

  Her head fell back to look up at his shadowed features. She didn’t give him time to say anything before charging ahead. “You think you shall remain unscathed in all this if you tell him? You forget you were there with me both times I went to Sodom. Each of those ruinous times. And you did not even tell him about the first time a year ago. How will he view you after that? You, his supposed closest friend?”

  She was grasping at straws. She knew it. Will would be furious with Max, no doubt, but it would take something far greater to ruin their friendship.

  “That’s a risk I’ll take,” he said.

  “I’ll tell him,” she vowed.

  For a moment he said nothing. She tasted his breath so very close to her own, but she was not certain he heard her or understood her meaning until he said, “About us?”

  She nodded. “Last week . . . behind the house.”

  “He . . .” His voice faded.

  “Would be very upset,” she finished. “A man’s sister is off limits, no?”

  His hand came around the back of her neck, hauling her up on her tiptoes. Nearly covering her mouth with his, he growled, “Are you trying to rope me into marriage, Aurelia? Is that what you want?”

  His words struck a blow to her heart—and shook her to the core. “N-No! I—”

  “Because that is what would happen if you did such a thing. And I promise you, marriage to me . . . you would regret it every day of your life.”

  A small shiver rolled through her at the threat. He meant it. The notion of being married to her was so very repellent to him that he would punish her if it came to pass. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’m certain you would make sure of that.”

  “It would not be so difficult a feat. I’m not made for matrimony, Aurelia. Even if I find you tempting—” He stopped abruptly, as if he had said too much. More than he intended.

  “You find me . . . tempting?”

  A long beat of silence ensued before he ignored her question and said, “You must promise me not to go back to Sodom.”

  She narrowed her gaze, not liking his tone. “I must?”

  “Yes. I forbid it.”

  “You forbid it?” She inhaled sharply, everything inside her tightening with affront. She stepped back, severing the contact of their bodies.

  He clamped one hand on her wrist, stopping her from completely fleeing. “I will have that promise from you or—”

  “Or what?” She thrust her face close to his.

  His gaze flicked over her features. “You think I’m jesting? I will go to your brother.”

  She held his gaze a moment longer before demanding, “Why are you really doing this? It’s not to protect me. You care nothing for me.”

  That seemed to silence him. She took his silence for agreement. He was certainly not denying her claim. She turned to glare out at the darkened garden. For some silly reason her eyes stung.

  “Of course I care for you.”

  “Because of Will,” Aurelia accused.

  “Because I can’t get you of my mind.” He swore and flung his hands in the air before dragging them through his hair. “Your desirability is unquestionable,” he allowed, his voice grudging. “But you know that.”

  She blinked. “Why would I know that?”

  He peered at her through the gloom. “You’ve seen men look at you—”

  She snorted. “Where? At Sodom? That’s because they believed me a soiled dove. It doesn’t count.”

  “You’ve seen the way I look at you.”

  “Like you want to strangle me? Yes.” She snorted again and laughed awkwardly. “I’ve noticed that on occasion.”

  “True. Sometimes I look at you like that.” Humor edged his voice as he circled her wrist with hard fingers and reeled her in. She dug in her heels. “But that’s not the only way I look at you.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur that made her skin ripple with heat.

  She opened her mouth, but the words were wedged too deeply in her throat. He pressed her palm flat against his chest. She stared at her pale fingers, slim and long, splayed wide against the dark fabric of his vest. She could feel his heart pounding through the fine fabric.

  His deep voice continued, vibrating against her hand, “Sometimes I look at you like I’m looking at you now.”

  She swallowed and forced the words up to her lips. They escaped in a tremulous whisper, “I can’t see you well enough. It’s too dark.” Not entirely true. She saw the way his eyes gleamed in the night. As though lit from inside.

  “Then perhaps you can feel how it is I’m looking at you.”

  Before she could ask him how it was possible to feel that, he took her hand and dragged it up to his mouth. He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her palm.

  His lips grazed her as he talked, sending sparks through her body. “Can you feel this? It’s how I’m looking at you. Like I want, no—need to kiss you.” She gasped at the feel of his tongue against her sensitive skin. ”Lick you, taste you. Here—” His mouth moved to the inside of her wrist. “And here.” He trailed kisses up the inside of her arm.

  Her chest tightened, aching. And then his lips were at her throat. His mouth closed over her pulse point. A jagged moan spilled from her lips and her knees gave out. His arm snaked around her waist, catching her against him.

  His teeth scraped a trail up to her ear. He gently pulled the lobe between his lips, laving with his tongue and then biting down. A sharp stab of pleasure pounded to life between her legs and she groaned.

  “Everywhere,” he breathed into her ear.

  “Stop. Please,” she begged hoarsely, arching her head to the side. “I don’t require this manner of convincing from you to make myself feel better. We’ve spent years despising each other—”

  “Convincing?” he growled into her ear, one hand finding its way into her hair, spearing through the heavy strands. “As though this isn’t real? When have I ever pretended with you?”

  Then his mouth found hers.

  He swallowed her cry, crouching in one quick motion and lifting her off her slippered feet so that their fused mouths were the same level. It was exhilarating. No standing on tiptoes. Her hands framed his face, holding him as they kissed. No. More than kissed. His mouth ravaged hers in a collision of lips, tongue, and faintly scraping teeth.

  She slid her hands from his face and wrapped both arms around his shoulders, hanging on for the tumultuous ride.

  They were moving. Aurelia was faintly conscious of that. She didn’t open her eyes to look. She was too lost, reveling in his tongue in her mouth, his fingers diving into her hair, scattering pins.

  She gave the scarcest grunt when he backed her against the garden wall, his big hands firmly gripping her bottom. The sound didn’t even give him pause. No. He didn’t ease the pressure of his mouth on hers one tiny bit.

  His kiss was hot and aggressive, punishing on her tingling lips.
She felt him everywhere and this was only a kiss. Good heavens. What would it be like to have him? Fully? To come together as a man and woman?

  “Is this what you wanted?” he growled against her lips. “Have I convinced you I’m not pretending?”

  She whimpered against his mouth and adjusted her arms, practically crawling higher up his body, parting her legs for him to settle between her thighs. He pushed his hips into her and she moaned, shifting slightly so that the core of her met the hard thrust of him. All her womanly parts melted to warm butter.

  She longed to feel him there without the barrier of clothing. He increased the pressure of his mouth on hers, his body rocking and grinding into her until she wanted to tear their garments off. It was that or die from this exquisite torture.

  She kissed him desperately, out of breath and drowning. Coherent words were beyond her. She could only gasp his name as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. “Max.”

  He pulled back, and she chased his lips for a moment, gradually focusing on his eyes flashing with enough heat to incinerate her. “Well. There. Can you say you despise me now? A woman doesn’t kiss a man like that if she hates him.”

  She giggled nervously and squeezed out between him and the gate wall, trying not to reveal how shaken she was. “Your arrogance knows no bounds.”

  “It’s not arrogance. You kissed me—”

  “I beg your pardon? You kissed me just now,” she corrected him, shaking her head.

  He shrugged. “Whoever moved in first—”

  “You moved first.” The distinction was important. She stabbed him in the chest with the tip of her finger. “You won’t twist what happened to suit you . . . to cover your shame. You came after me. You kissed me.”

  A muscle feathered across his jaw. “Very well. I moved first.”

  She sniffed, mollified. And yet he didn’t back away. She sucked in a breath. His proximity made her dizzy. It was tempting to grab him and continue where they had left off. His gaze dipped again, brushing over the low-cut bodice of her gown.

  “And,” he added, “there was no shame in that kiss.” His voice deepened to a rumble. “I liked it.” His gaze crawled over her face in the moonlit garden, missing nothing, inching over her eyebrows, down the slope of her nose, and stopping at her lips. “You liked it, too.”

  She moistened her lips, her heart stuttering as his eyes followed the movement of her tongue.

  “We were once friends.” He angled his head, his gaze drifting back up to her eyes. “Sometimes I forget that.”

  “Me, too,” she whispered. A long moment passed as they stared at each other. Perhaps truly seeing one another for the first time.

  “What happened, Aurelia?”

  She shook her head. “Who can say? It just became so natural, you know?”

  “What did?”

  “Being enemies.”

  Nodding grimly, he exhaled as though her words had served as some sort of reminder. He took several steps back, holding himself stiffly. She breathed a little easier with the added space between them.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” he finally asked. “We can’t . . . perhaps it’s for the best.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “We need to remember who we are.”

  If possible, her frown deepened. “And who are we?”

  “You’re Will’s sister. And I’m a man not looking to get married.”

  Pain knifed inside her. “That works out exceedingly well.” She lifted her chin, digging deep for her pride. “Because I’m not looking to marry you.”

  He opened his mouth as though he was going to say something more, but then he shook his head and instead said, “I need your word that you will never step foot in Sodom. I care for you. And I worry. As Will’s sister—”

  “Oh, rot!” He worried for her? A moment ago he couldn’t stop kissing her, but now she was back to being Will’s sister again.

  She shoved at his chest, catching him off guard and finally getting around him. She held her skirt up with one fist, her slippered feet racing down the damp path. There was a certain degree of déjà vu. She running. Max in pursuit. At the door, she stopped and glanced back at the empty path. She gulped a breath. He wasn’t coming this time. Of course. That would be foolhardy. The hour was late. The last thing he would want was to be discovered in her company. Especially with her attired in a gown like this. That would complicate matters.

  As they had agreed, Cecily had left the door unlocked. Aurelia hurried through the kitchen, still warm and smelling of the bread that Cook had baked for the following day.

  She made her way up the back stairs and emerged onto the second floor, pausing when she thought she heard a sound. A creaking step on the servants’ stairs.

  Fearful that a servant had returned, she rushed down the corridor and plunged into her bedchamber.

  Once inside her room, she locked her door. Her heart beat like a drum inside her too tight chest. She gulped for breaths, admitting to herself that she was half afraid he would follow her. And half hopeful.

  Stupid. She knew better. He had wrecked her evening, told her he would never marry her, kissed her to an inch of her life and then told her she worried him. The man infuriated her.

  She pushed off the door. He wouldn’t come after her. He wouldn’t dare do something so inappropriate. He would keep her firmly at arm’s length from now on.

  Moving to the foot of the bed, she started to struggle out of her gown. A difficult task without Cecily’s help. It was wretchedly tight, and the buttons so tiny at her back, impossible to grasp. With a groan, she fell back on the bed, staring up at her canopy.

  She felt trapped, and the restrictive gown was only partly to blame for the sensation. Her gaze flitted ahead unseeingly into the shadows. Her mind worked, searching, groping for something.

  There would be no more sneaking out to Sodom. She winced. No regret there. No more kisses from Max. She winced again and ignored the stab of regret.

  Finding a husband . . . Struan Mackenzie . . . was her only hope left.

  Chapter 15

  Max returned to Sodom only to learn that the Scotsman had left. A few carefully directed questions and he was able to ferret out the man’s address. Shortly after that he was being escorted into Mackenzie’s well-appointed office by a bleary-eyed butler.

  The man looked up from his desk. Several ledgers were spread before him. Apparently after a night at Sodom, he preferred to work. “Camden. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “We need to talk about Aurelia.”

  Mackenzie leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Oh?”

  “Stay away from her.”

  “Now why would I do that? My intentions are honorable . . . and I happen to know that Lady Aurelia is in the market for a husband.”

  Max stopped before the desk. “That husband won’t be you.”

  “And you intend to marry her, is that it?” At Max’s expression, he chuckled. “Oh, you should see your face.”

  “I’m not interested in marrying her.”

  He scratched his jaw. “Then I fail to understand what you are doing here.”

  “She’s the sister of my best friend . . .”

  “Then why is Lord Merlton not here?”

  “He doesn’t know—”

  “I’d wager there are a good many things Lord Merlton doesn’t know about his sister . . . and you.”

  The words hung in the air, threatening. Max did not mistake the implication.

  “There are other eligible girls,” Max said. “Move on to one of them.”

  Mackenzie sighed and cocked his head like he was contemplating the suggestion. “Ah, I’m going to say . . . no. I like Aurelia.”

  You can’t have her.

  “What do you want?” Max growled, his fists curling and uncurling. He would like nothing more than to feed his fist to the arrogant bastard’s mouth.

  Mackenzie settled his considerable b
ulk more fully into his chair and considered Max at length. “Unless you have a marriageable daughter or sister with appeal equal to Lady Aurelia, you have nothing I need, Lord Camden.” He waved his arms wide, encompassing the opulence of his office. “I’m a wealthy man, as you can see. I need very little of a material nature.”

  “You have a price,” Max proclaimed with certainty, his hands tightening at his sides.

  Some of the mirth faded from Mackenzie’s eyes. “I don’t know if I should be offended, but let me be clear. There is only one thing I would like and that is a blue-blooded wife to secure my position in Society.”

  “And you’ve chosen Aurelia to be that wife?” He wondered what the man would think if he knew his prospective bride was the same person drawing satirical caricatures of the ton and leaving them all over Town. There were wagers in betting books as to the identity of the mystery artist. Aurelia was a breath from ruin at any given moment. Would Mackenzie be quite so certain she was the perfect blue-blooded wife if he knew?

  “I like her well enough. So far.”

  Max’s skin prickled with the conviction that Mackenzie would have a change of heart if he knew of Aurelia’s hobby. “You’d be surprised . . . you don’t know everything there is to know about Lady Aurelia.”

  Mackenzie lifted an arrogant brow. “Oh? Do tell.”

  He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. That would be one way to kill Mackenzie’s pursuit of Aurelia. Except he remembered her devastated expression when he tossed her scroll into the fire, and he knew that, for her, this would be far worse. She’d feel utterly betrayed if he revealed her secret. He couldn’t do it. Bloody hell. When had he started caring so much about her feelings?

  Max didn’t agree with the risk that she was taking, but somewhere amid their arguing he finally understood. It was more than a hobby to her. It was a part of her and a calling, and as long as the world didn’t know she was behind the drawings she was utterly free to express herself with no fear of censure.

  Except from me.

  He had censured her, and suddenly he regretted that. He felt a little ill with the knowledge that he had destroyed something that was important to her.