All the Ways to Ruin a Rogue (The Debutante Files #2)(2)

She rose to her feet and moved deeper into the greenhouse, clasping her basket of flowers close as she followed the sound of voices farther back. The sun wasn’t high enough to reach there yet. She could peer only into shadows. At first she thought it was a groom making free with one of the household maids, but then she identified the fine cut of dark blue fabric stretching over a man’s back. It wasn’t Merlton livery. She recognized the maid’s dove gray skirts, however. All the household maids wore the same uniform. Clearly, this was an assignation between a maid and a gentleman not in her father’s employ. Perhaps one of the guests had arrived early.

Leaning closer, she recognized the female’s wild coppery curls as belonging to Ingrid, one of the kitchen maids. Usually her hair was pinned up and tucked under her cap, but it drew the eye regardless. Aurelia had envied it, wishing for it over her own dark brown hair.

Ingrid was propped up on a potting table, her legs dangling over the edge of the table, skirts hiked to expose her shapely, stocking-clad legs. Heat flooded Aurelia’s face. It was a scandalous scene, made even more shocking when she realized the man’s trousers were down past his hips. She couldn’t see his backside. The fall of his jacket covered him, but from his movements between the maid’s splayed thighs she had a fairly good notion what activity these two were about.

Mama had not yet explained the nature of male/female relations, but Aurelia had indulged herself in the numerous medical texts in the library. Mama had no concept as to the content of such books, but they proved illuminating for Aurelia.

Face burning, she turned to leave, feeling uncomfortable spying on the intimate scene, but then the maid’s breathy sigh stopped her. “Oh, my lord . . .”

My lord?

She could go no farther. She had to know. Was that her brother dallying with Ingrid? Or her cousin? Her parents would not approve of that, to be certain, and Aurelia was not certain she approved either. She could think only of poor Ingrid. Did she fancy herself in love with Will or Declan? Nothing could come of it. Even she knew that a romance between a servant and a nobleman was doomed to fail. She did not wish heartache on the girl who always saved the very best sweet buns for her.

Turning, she peered again through the branches as Ingrid slid her hands down the man’s back. The maid moaned and issued encouragement in a choking voice. The man’s sounds were less frequent and quieter. Aurelia narrowed her gaze on him, seeking to identify him.

“Did you miss me, my fine lordling?” Ingrid gasped.

He chuckled, and something inside Aurelia twisted at the sound. “Indeed . . . I could scarcely wait to return here and get beneath your skirts again.” He turned his face then. The motion cast his profile into view, and in that instant Aurelia’s heart broke.

She gazed at the strong lines she had envisioned every night as she dozed off to sleep and every time she sat down to work on his sketch. It was Max. Max ravishing one of the kitchen maids whilst Aurelia had been so stupidly picking flowers for him and envisioning their reunion.

With a swallowed cry, she whirled around and fled on silent slippers through the greenhouse, leaving the sight of him behind—wishing she could leave the memory of him there, too. But that would chase her. Into the early spring day, the sight of him, the memory of him taking his pleasure with Ingrid, hounded her, nipping at her heels.

She tripped on the lawn, sending her basket flying. Roses sprawled all around her. Rising on all fours, she stared at the fallen flowers through eyes that had gone blurry with hot tears. It dawned on her that it had not been the first time. He’d been with Ingrid before. She gathered that much from what she overheard. And how many others had there been for him?

She choked on sobs, her hair falling loose all around her, as wild as the emotions roiling through her. Bile rose in her throat. Stupid. Stupid. How could she have ever thought he might wish to wed her someday?

She pushed herself up. Pain scored her palms. With a cry, she dropped back down. Shaking, she lifted her hands and inspected the deep punctures left by the thorns. Several wounds welled crimson blood against the pale backdrop of her palms. It was fitting that she should bleed. Her heart felt as though it was hemorrhaging inside her chest.

Still shaking, Aurelia finally regained her feet. She grabbed her skirts, smearing blood across the pale fabric of her pinafore. She staggered a few steps, trampling over the roses, leaving her basket behind, not caring that they would wilt there in the dirt. It felt appropriate that the flowers intended for him should wither and die. Just as her heart was.

She ran blindly then, emotion clogging her throat.

Too late, she forgot that the back of the house was a carnival of servants setting up for the afternoon’s garden party. She darted among servants and tables and chairs and circled to the side of the building, ignoring the looks cast her way as she fled, her hair tumbling down her back in a wild banner that would send Mama into a dither.

Dodging free of the melee, she cut a path to the great oak tree where she often sat to sketch. It was a place of solace for her, and today would be no different. Today it was more of a comfort than ever.

Dropping down on the soft earth, Aurelia dug into the wide front pocket of her pinafore and withdrew her drawing pad. She flipped to her sketch of Max. She traced his image with shaking fingers, her heart clenching. She’d relied on her memories of him over the last year. Not too difficult. It was no challenge to recount every line and hollow, even though she had not seen him in a long while. He was probably even more handsome now at eighteen. Ingrid certainly thought so.