A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin by Sophie Jordan

scandalously tight bodice. “And let us not forget these.” She waved two wigs in the air.
    â€œWha—­”
    â€œMrs. 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?
    â€œOh, 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.
    â€œThere. 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
    T he 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 from 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?”
    â€œYes. 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.
    â€œLadies?” 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