All The Ways To Ruin A Rogue (The Debutante Files Book 2) (8 page)

“Stay away from me.” Her voice shook a little, and he smiled down at her, enjoying that he was so obviously affecting her.

He closed in, wrapping his arms around her, bringing her flush against his chest. He fought to ignore the sensation of her pressed against his body as his hands slid down the length of her arms. Her eyes gleamed amber fire in her face, widening as his fingers reached her wrists.

She scanned his features as though she had never seen him before. Indeed, he, too, felt as though he was seeing her anew. He could actually count the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes. He noted the freckle beside her right eyebrow that was darker and larger than the rest of her freckles.

The two of them weren’t standing in a ballroom or the drawing room of her brother’s house. No one stood nearby ready to step in and put a stop to their quarreling should it become too much. This wasn’t Sodom with countless eyes on them, watching their every move, staying his hand from doing anything he should not.

They were alone. Anything could happen. Especially things that shouldn’t happen.

Her stare dropped to his mouth before snapping back up to his eyes. A telltale flush stained her cheeks.

His hands folded over hers, clenched so tightly together. Her fingers were long and slim. He tested their shape and length. An artist’s hands. He felt the parchment through the cracks in her fingers.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered.

“No, you don’t,” he growled. “You can ruin people’s lives.”

Her gaze bored into him. “It’s all I have. There’s nothing else. I need this.”

“Find another hobby,” he said, refusing to let her thaw his ire. She risked too much. On this, he wasn’t wrong. Her drawings could wreak havoc. He knew that firsthand. He pried her fingers apart and snatched hold of the drawing, holding it away from her with no care for crinkling the parchment.

But she cared. She cried out and tried to grab it back. He backed away, moving out of range. He glanced to the hearth. She followed his gaze and her eyes widened in horror.

“No! Don’t!” She lunged at him. He placed a hand on her shoulder, holding her at bay. She pushed against him, trying to reclaim the scroll.

He turned and faced the fire, ignoring her hopping and surging against his back, beating him with balled-up fists.

He had a moment’s hesitation as she choked out behind him, “Camden, please! Don’t!”

Pushing aside the stab of doubt, he tossed the scroll into the fire, watching grimly as it went up in an angry nest of red and orange flame.

With a strangled cry, she surged around him as though she would dive for it, heedless of burning herself. He hauled her back by the waist, and she turned in his arms, raining her fists on his chest in a violent fury.

“Enough! Have you lost your mind?” He wrapped her in his arms, but she still struggled and writhed as though he had just tossed a living thing into the fire and not a simple drawing.

“How could you?” Her brown eyes blazed at him and he muttered a curse at the sheen of tears there.

The doubt he had felt earlier came roaring back now.

“Satisfied?” she demanded, her voice flat, dull. Her gaze drifted to the fire where the parchment was naught but blackened ash. “You must have enjoyed that.”

“It was for your own good—”

“Spare me your altruism.” She struggled to break free and he let her go this time. She backed away, her steps hard little jarring drops on her heels. Her gaze seared him, raking him with such burning contempt. “This is about punishing me and nothing else.”

Was it? Perhaps it was. For years that had been his sole function around her. He couldn’t even remember what it was like to be anything else with her. This was just what they were.

She rubbed the heel of a palm against her eyes.
Ah.
Bloody hell
. She was on the verge of tears. He’d never seen her cry before. He didn’t think Aurelia the sort of female to succumb to tears.

“No more.” She shook her head, inching back farther and jabbing a finger at him. “Stay away from me.” She turned and fled the room as if the hounds of hell were after her. He stared after her until she was gone.

He should feel triumphant. He had done nothing wrong. Her almost-tears should not matter. Whether he had crossed a line and hurt her feelings should not matter. And yet it did.

Chapter 9

S
ketch pad balanced on her lap, Aurelia lifted her gaze to study the park, studying the serene scene. She had just finished sketching a nanny being dragged by a set of raucous twin boys. Aurelia had given the boys the bodies of monkeys—tails and all—but kept their features virtually the same.

She was giggling by the time she finished and flipped the page. It wasn’t her usual material, but it amused her and it felt good to laugh. For days she had mourned the loss of the caricature Max destroyed. Picking up her sketch pad again felt like a return to herself even if she wasn’t creating anything of satirical meaning. It also served as good practice until she decided on her next subject.

Because she wasn’t quitting. Max might have destroyed her drawing and crushed her in that moment, but she was not beaten.

She scanned the landscape. People dotted the picturesque view. Nannies pushing prams and guiding their young charges. Couples sharing curricles. A few people cast their lines off the small bridge stretched out over the pond. It was just the kind of scene to take her mind off Max.

She scowled. Only apparently not. There she went again, thinking of him and his cruel manner.

Squaring her shoulders, she renewed her search for a new subject to draw, determined to push him from her thoughts. A feat that was destined for failure. Her stomach dipped and twisted when she spotted him.

He sat in a boat in the middle of the pond with none other than the Widow Knotgrass. He leaned across the small space of the boat and brushed something off her face. Apparently the rumors were true and they were lovers—or soon to be. Max would not be in her company otherwise. He did not waste his time on proper courtships. This rankled her. Who was he to criticize Mr. Mackenzie? At least Mr. Mackenzie’s intentions were honorable.

Max was wrong about him. Struan Mackenzie had called on her this morning and behaved only as a gentleman should. It was clear the Scotsman’s intention was to court her honorably. Max merely wanted to aggravate her. Impede her quest to find a husband out of pure contrariness. Because that’s what he did. He thwarted her attempt to dance with suitors and he burned her caricatures.

Fury burned in her blood as she started feverishly sketching Max, giving him a pair of horns, drooling fangs, and a large salivating tongue as he sat beside the Widow Knotgrass. The widow was not to be spared either. Indeed not. In her sketch, the angelic lady sat upon a pile of squirming debutantes. Aurelia did not stop there. She gave the widow several spiders’ legs. The wiry black limbs crept out beneath her fashionable striped muslin gown, assisting in pinning down the struggling debutantes.

To say she possessed fond memories of the lady would be a lie. Before she became a widow, the young woman had taken her first curtsy with Aurelia. Whenever Aurelia spoke to her, she had stared at her as though she were repugnant before whisking past, her retinue fast on her heels, leaving Aurelia among the titters of onlookers.

Despite all that, when her betrothal to old Knotgrass was announced, Aurelia had felt only pity for her. True, the man was wealthy beyond reason, but he was ancient and bound to a wheelchair. No one seemed to acknowledge the wrongness of a girl of eighteen marrying a man in his nineties.

Ever since his death a year ago, the Widow Knotgrass had been seen about Town with all manner of handsome, unattached gentlemen. It stood to reason she would eventually turn her eye to Max.

Aurelia finished her sketch with a few angry flourishes and then sat back—still fuming. She sat there for some moments, waiting. The anticipated euphoria never came. As good as it felt in those moments to create her image of Max and the widow, she had not totally exorcised her demons. Deciding her day at the park had been ruined, she stuffed her sketch pad into her satchel and rose to her feet, ready to return home.

She took the most direct path, the route that edged the pond. She couldn’t, however, stop her gaze from straying to where Camden rowed the boat serenely back toward shore. She bit her lip and paused, realizing that if she kept her course she would come abreast of them as they came ashore. Unless she broke into a run. She winced, considering her options. Or she could turn around and lurk somewhere, waiting until they disembarked and left the park. Her chin shot up as she considered that undignified image of herself.

Rubbish. This was a public park. She had every right to be here. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She certainly wasn’t afraid of them. She would not hide or skulk away.

Moments later her brave thoughts didn’t seem so wise. Max spotted her as the nose of the boat bumped shore. Holding her spine straight, Aurelia readjusted her satchel and continued a steady pace, watching as he hopped into the water, submerging his fine Hessian boots ankle deep as he worked to pull the boat fully ashore so his lady could disembark without wetting her slippers. Aurelia snorted, trying not to notice the way his back flexed and moved beneath his jacket. Such a gentleman. When the purpose served him.

There was no saving her, however. As she suspected, they would come face-to-face. Max assisted the widow onto solid ground almost the precise moment Aurelia came abreast of them.

“Hello, there,” she greeted with a nod. “Mrs. Knotgrass. Lord Camden.”

Max executed a quick bow, keeping his eyes fixed on her face. They had not seen each other since the Chatham ball. Since he sent her fleeing from the room, very close to tears. Thankfully, she had kept those tears at bay until she was alone.

He watched her face closely now. She stiffened her spine. What? Did he think she would break down at the sight of him? Did he think her that fragile? “My lady. Fine day for a stroll.”

She hugged her satchel closer to her side. “Indeed.” She fanned her fingers over the supple leather. “A lovely day to sketch by the water.”

His eyes narrowed. Her message had been received. Now he knew he had not broken her. She would not stop drawing her caricatures no matter how much he tried to bully her.

The widow looked her over, a pouty frown tugging at her mouth. “Do I know you?”

Aurelia sighed, suddenly feeling like it was her first Season all over again. Invisible. “We made our first curtsies together,” she reminded. Only she didn’t know why she bothered. Either the widow didn’t recall her or was feigning lack of memory. Either possibility rendered her dreadful.

“Ah, yes. Arielle, isn’t it?”

“Aurelia,” she corrected.

“That’s right.” She released a tinkling laugh as she sidled closer to Max, curling her hand around his elbow. “I should have recognized you.” She looked down at Aurelia’s muddied hem. “Still a mess, I see.”

Aurelia stood there, trying not to feel so small. She could sense Max staring at her. She couldn’t look at him. Not while his soon-to-be paramour was treating her to such thinly veiled insults. Or perhaps they already were lovers. She inhaled a stinging breath. She didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. Or worse, that he approved of Mrs. Knotgrass’s remarks.

The widow looked back and forth between the two of them. “And how is it the two of you know each other?” she asked. When her gaze settled on Aurelia her top lip curled faintly. Aurelia knew she found it hard to believe a female like her could be within Max’s sphere of acquaintances. If not for Will and Dec, she certainly would not be.

“My brother and Lord Camden—”

“Ah, of course. Lord Merlton is your brother.” She glanced at Max. “He’s your dear friend, yes?”

Max nodded.

Still smiling that smile that did not reach her eyes, she returned her attention to Aurelia. “It’s been a good many years. Still unwed, are you?”

Aurelia inhaled at the not so subtle slight. “Yes, I’m still unwed.”

“Well, take heart. Not everyone can have success their first Season out. Or second . . . or, well who’s counting?” She shrugged and smiled brightly, readjusting her grip around Max’s arm. They really did make a handsome couple. He with his chestnut hair and she with her golden beauty.

Aurelia’s pride nosed to the surface. Perhaps it was because Max stood there and she was always in a combative mood around him, but she didn’t feel like enduring the abuses in mute indignation as she had years before. “Yes, well, some of us have high standards.”

Twin flags of color stained Mrs. Knotgrass’s cheeks. “Oh, is that your excuse?” She nodded her head slowly. “Well, one must believe what they will to get through their days.” She leaned forward slightly, offering, “You know what they call women with ‘high’ standards, don’t you?”

“I’m certain you’re going to tell me,” Aurelia said wryly, bracing herself, waiting for the inevitable
spinster
to ring out. It wouldn’t be a new designation. It wouldn’t even hurt.

“Pathetic.”

Aurelia started. The word dripped from the woman’s mouth with cruel relish. That one was new.

And it hurt.

Silence stretched between the three of them. Mrs. Knotgrass preened, all smug satisfaction.

“Marriage,” Max inserted, “is not for everyone.”

Aurelia’s gaze flipped to him, grateful for the break in the awkward silence and heartened that she had some support against Mrs. Knotgrass’s barbs. She waited for Max to remind the little viper that
he
had never been married either. Certainly that was what he meant by his remark.

Instead, he added, “Have compassion, Mrs. Knotgrass. Not everyone can be so charming as you.” His eyes warmed over the widow before sliding back to Aurelia. “Lady Aurelia is a lost cause, I’m afraid.”

She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs constricted inside her aching chest. Her treacherous eyes stung. Vanity she didn’t know she possessed just took a crying leap off a cliff. He’d insulted her before. God knew she had done the same to him. This shouldn’t be any different. It shouldn’t hurt so much.

But it did.

She gazed up at him standing there, his eyes full of mockery. Beside him, the widow’s feral little eyes gleamed with deep satisfaction. Perhaps it hurt so much because he said it in front of Knotgrass. The devil’s own mercenary. And to think a moment ago she thought he might defend her.

She supposed she should not have been so caught off guard. And yet she felt betrayed. Flayed and exposed. His words rooted deep, bruising her to the bone.

“You . . .” A thousand fractured thoughts flashed through her mind as she gazed at his smug face. None proper. All ugly. But the one she landed on, the one she seized with greedy hands and launched at him, was perhaps the worst of all. “You . . . Cockless Camden.”

Shock rippled across his features. His mouth pulled tight, the corners edging white. Mrs. Knotgrass gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a burst of laughter.

Belatedly, Aurelia realized this moment must echo the first time that moniker was uttered. There was laughter then, too.

“Aurelia,” Camden growled.

“What?” Aurelia blinked. “Did I say something amiss?”

The widow recovered enough to mutter, “With that ill-mannered tongue, it’s no wonder she can’t catch a man.”

Max looked very capable of inflicting bodily harm. Rationally, she knew he wouldn’t, of course, but when he took a step toward her she simply reacted.

Her palms came up and shoved. Hard.

It all happened in an instant, though for her time slowed to a crawl. Max’s eyes flared wide as he fell back, his arms flailing in wide circles, seeking balance, but he only succeeded in colliding into Mrs. Knotgrass as he went down. She yelped, her own arms flapping as she followed him into the pond.

Oh. Dear, God.
Aurelia’s hand flew to her mouth as Mrs. Knotgrass screamed loud enough to gain the attention of every bystander within miles. She stood, frozen, rooted to the spot, watching the scene unfold with macabre fascination. Several others crowded along the shore, gawking at the spectacle as well.

The woman continued to shriek as though she was injured, her arms flailing wildly while Max attempted to help her from the pond to the shore. Her lovely white and lavender striped gown was a muddied beige color now, with bits of sludge and indescribable matter sticking to it in various spots. When she looked down at herself, another long wail escaped her. She hopped several times, flapping her hands, which made her lose her footing again. Her hand shot out and snatched hold of Max, bringing them both back down into the water. Again.

As horrified as Aurelia was, a small trickle of satisfaction ribboned through her. She told herself it would be no less than Max deserved.

She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sound that was part giggle and part groan. Max’s frustration was clearly writ upon his face as he struggled to his feet, hefting the widow back up with him.

The gathered crowd watched the ongoing spectacle in fascination.

Even though it was an accident, Aurelia swallowed back a twinge of guilt as the widow started sobbing, plucking at the soaking wet snarls of her hair. A chorus of gasps rippled through the crowd as one large snarl came loose in her hand.

The widow’s sobs became ear-shattering then.

“Egads! Her hair is falling out!” a man to the right of Aurelia exclaimed.