Invitation to Ruin Read Online Free PDF Page B

mask had already fallen back across his face
and he no more than shrugged before taking the next bag down.
    So here I sit, journal in hand, the spot
between my legs—that delicious area that I can only think of now as
my pussy—still moist, still hungry. And I wonder, would the
coachman notice a little more sway to the trap? Would he hear an
escaped moan over the clatter of the horses’ hooves? And if he did,
what would he do?

    Interpreter’s note: This is the last entry
in Beatrice’s diary. What we know of her fate is revealed only
through the letters and journals of the other young women sheltered
at the Sacred Heart.

    GABRIELLE

    Transmitted May 1, 1787, from Candacis
Vremont to her publisher, and cousin, Philipe.

    Dearest Cousin,
    I received your letter today. How can it be
that so few words can bring such profit?! You did not supplement
it, did you? Promise me you did not!
    I know I should not be thrilled at the sum;
the image of poor Maria’s face haunts me now. My enrichment has
come at the cost of her pain (although she is rather accustomed to
such things, it seems).
    You said the public clamors for another
entry! How I wish I could be standing alongside the vendors as they
distribute them or disguise myself as a man and sell them on the
streets myself. The thrill it would bring to watch their greedy
fingers pull the pages apart in their eagerness to read my words!
There was, so the gossip goes, a copy smuggled into the convent and
now the rumors fly. How many Sacred Hearts, the girls wonder, can
there be in France? Is the convent in Beatrice’s story truthfully
named or merely modeled after that most famous school? Is there
such a girl as fatherless Beatrice here and, if so, where was she
in March? It pains me that I have not seen the copy, although it
is, perhaps, for the best. I am thought so innocent of potential
wrongdoing in this matter that several of the girls here have
pulled me into their confidences that they might mine me—much as
they would a servant—for information as to Beatrice’s identity and
that of the author!
    You will, perhaps, recognize the young woman
in this installment, the end result so widely reported.

    As ever,
    Candacis

    GABRIELLE

    April 10, 1787
    Sebastian! The very name makes my chest swell
with love and a most immodest passion. It seems miraculous that I
may soon be in a position to tell him as much. And the bringer of
this miracle? That is another miracle in and of itself. Long have I
chronicled my attempts to win over Veronique as a friend so that I
might gain some access to her cousin. And, while her family is,
indeed, quite anciently titled, you would think I was a commoner
grabbing at her skirts on the street! But, no more. She has finally
accepted me into her confidences and I her. When she learned of my
unrequited love for her cousin, Sebastian L’Aigle, she, of all
people, agreed that we would make an excellent match. And now, in a
few days, she has promised to present me to him at the
masquerade.
    And I without a costume! No time to write
more. I must prepare!
    April 13, 1787
    Be still my heart! How things move so quickly
when in love. Sebastian, through Veronique, has agreed to a private
audience during the masquerade. I am near faint at the prospect
that we will be able to discuss our mutual feelings. Yes, mutual!
He has confessed as much to Veronique. It seems impossible that I
wondered a mere week ago if I might ever capture more than his
casual notice. Now, it is not a child’s query to wonder whether
marriage is far off.
    His secret gifts this week are enough to
convince me his interest is not some shallow flirtation. The gilded
masks and gold laced gowns and gloves, fine flame red wigs (the
color not so far off from my own) so that Veronique and I may pass
as twins at the masquerade. Their cost is a small fortune.
    And the intrigue—so much more thrilling than
what passes for formal wooing among our class. My heart (and more!)
flutters at the suspense