All the Ways to Ruin a Rogue (The Debutante Files #2)(12)

“I don’t know your meaning.”

“Leaving artwork all over Town that pokes fun at the echelons of Society?”

“Oh. That.” Her lashes fluttered over her eyes.

“Yes.” He nodded. “That inappropriate pursuit. You’ve become quite notorious. Did you think I would not know it was you?”

She shrugged in an attempt to look unaffected, but the color still rode high in her cheeks. “Why have you not said anything, then? To anyone? You know it’s me. You could ruin me. That would give you some satisfaction, would it not?”

“Why have I not outed you? Denounced you?” He snorted and rubbed a finger against his bottom lip, considering her. “For the same reason that I did not reveal your identity at Sodom. I care for my friends. Your brother and cousin. Your mother. They needn’t know what you really are.”

“And what am I?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“You’ve never held back before.”

“You’re a brat, Aurelia. Spoiled, shallow. And what’s worse? You think you’re so very clever.”

She looked away quickly, her throat working as she swallowed. The only outward sign that his words even affected her. Such a cold one. “Of course.”

He nodded. “But you will be discovered.”

“I haven’t been yet.” That chin of hers went up a notch.

“But you will be. You must stop.”

“You don’t understand.” She shook her head.

“You’re correct. I don’t understand. I don’t understand risking your reputation . . . your family’s good name, all because you can’t stop drawing your silly pictures and spreading them all about Town. Have you no care for your family?”

His words clearly struck a nerve. Fresh color splashed her apple-round cheeks, and she looked as though she wanted to strike him with one of her balled-up hands, but a quick glance across the room at her mother stayed her.

Aurelia inhaled a deep breath and forced a smile back in place. It looked downright menacing on her face as she snapped her gaze back and addressed him with a good amount of chill in her voice. “I understand you’re courting the Widow Knotgrass.”

And just like that she seized the advantage. Changing the topic and flinging the fact that he was—once again—the subject of gossip.

“Reading the scandal rags, Lady Aurelia?” he sneered.

He didn’t like her nosing about his personal affairs. She meddled. If the opportunity presented itself to thwart him, she took it. Just like that night at Sodom. It had started before then, really. It had commenced when she drew him with a minuscule cock. And countless little injuries since then. Mud in his boots. Salt to his soup. And his porridge. And his pudding.

“It passes the time.” She shrugged. “And news of Lord Camden courting is not mere gossip.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Oh, no, no. That’s information of countrywide import,” she mocked. “Tell me, do you have journalists camped out on your stoop?”

“Oh, is this when I should laugh at your shrewd wit? Hilarious. Again, it’s no wonder you have not snared some fine, upstanding gentleman with an appreciation for being flayed alive. I’ve heard there are those sorts. Men who enjoy suffering at the hands of a woman. I can investigate the matter and make some recommendations.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here you stand . . . riveted.”

“I hear they are placing bets as to whether you will finally settle down with the Widow Knotgrass.”

“Indeed?” He revealed nothing. Not a hint of reaction. He’d shared an opera box with the widow a week ago and already there was speculation that he would wed her? Ridiculous. He would marry no one. Ever.

Not that his intentions toward the Widow Knotgrass were platonic. He was certain their relationship would follow the natural course of things and end with him in her bed. The widow’s hand fondling his crotch during the second act signified how amenable she was to that prospect.

“Mama is ever hopeful.”

He snorted.

“I know. Laughable, is it not?” She sighed. “Mama fails to understand you as I do.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “You think you understand me?”

She leveled her brown eyes on him so steadily it unnerved him. He drained his glass and then looked about, in dire need of a refill. “For the record, the widow and I are not courting—”

“Bedding, then?” She gazed up at him in all seriousness, this dark-haired virago uttering things no gently bred lady should ever say. It was troubling. It played tricks with his mind. Made him momentarily forget she was a lady. It filled his head with dirty images of skirts hiked up around her thighs. Bloody hell. Such thoughts had to end. This was Aurelia.

“If your brother had any notion of the things you say—”

“But you’re not going to tell him,” she pertly reminded.

He scowled and glanced over at Will. A part of Max longed to inform him of her unseemly behavior. And yet he would refrain. A true friend did not alert one to the fact that his sister was less than innocent. And for whatever else he was, he liked to think he was a good friend to Will.

“I should,” he grumbled. “Before you get yourself into trouble.”