Hell's Belle

by Annabelle Anders

  “Carlisle is not as slippery as Blakely has been when it comes to eluding compromising situations. Trapping him ought to be easy enough. We’ll go for a hike tomorrow, a short one so that my mother and the girls can come. You’ll need to separate yourself off alone with him. Manipulate a situation so that you appear compromised. I’ll follow closely with Mother and try to ensure that Mother and I interrupt. She, of course, will insist upon an announcement, and the earl being, well, Lord Carlisle, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

  How on earth did one manipulate a situation so that she’d appear compromised? Rhoda made it sound so easy. Did she expect Emily to unfasten her clothing and tug down her bodice, pull the pins from her hair and then let out a scream? And what did the gentleman do while she performed these various tasks?

  “Of course, Lord Carlisle will do the right thing,” Rhoda stated.

  “Of course.” She supposed Rhoda was correct. Emily would simply have to figure the details out on her own. But for now… “And you promise? Once I’m betrothed, you’ll go away with Blakely?”

  Rhoda sighed. “Very well.” Her lack of conviction echoed Emily’s own enthusiasm.

  When Emily finally closed the door behind Rhoda, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  She could finally analyze the startling memory of what had happened while everyone else had been blindfolded.

  Marcus Roberts, the Earl of Blakely, had kissed her, Emily Goodnight.

  He’d not kissed her on the cheek or on the forehead. He’d pressed his lips against hers and then he’d… She could hardly bring herself to think the word in her head. He’d put his tongue inside of her mouth.

  And she’d not been appalled. No.

  She’d been enthralled!

  As he’d run it along her teeth and then the roof of her mouth, she’d wanted nothing more than for it to go on forever.

  Not at all what she’d expected a kiss to be like. She’d expected it to be dry, cold, and awkward. And it had been the opposite! Moist, warm, and absolutely divine!

  Why would he do such a thing? Did rakes simply kiss whomever they pleased? When removed from the numerous women in London, who bent over for them, quite literally, did they simply move on to other less-available types of ladies?

  Because while in London, he’d never shown even the slightest inclination toward her.

  And then she remembered that he’d also kissed Rhoda. Likely, if given the opportunity, he would have kissed Sophia and… and… Coleus!

  Dratted louse.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Good Morning, Miss Goodnight

  Emily awoke to the distant sounds of a lone rider approaching the estate. The sun still sat low on the horizon. She buried her head in her pillow but all the events of the previous day, all the frustrations of her situation, pricked her fully awake despite the early hour. What a mess! Why couldn’t her mother simply allow her to continue to live with her and her father at home? Why didn’t her father care enough to stand up for her?

  Why did Lord Blakely have to be such a rake?

  She reached to the side table for her spectacles and remembered her other problem. Vision, or lack thereof.

  What had she done to deserve this? Groaning, she again buried her face in the downy softness. Perhaps she would lay abed all day. She could send word to Sophia that she had some sort of… megrim. Although she never suffered megrims.

  Rhoda and Sophia would pounce on her without fail.

  She needed tea. And something to eat. She hadn’t eaten much at dinner and now felt the emptiness of her stomach.

  If she could locate Sophia’s kitchen, convince the cook to take pity upon her… Emily slipped out of the bed and located her slippers. Where had she left her dressing gown? Feeling around like a blind person, she experienced some small satisfaction when her hands fell on the thicker cotton wrap.

  Now, to locate the kitchen.

  Er, first the door.

  Feeling around the room again, she identified some paintings, some impressive wood molding, and grew quite familiar with the texture of the wallpaper. Where in tarnation was the door?

  As though answering her question, a quiet tap pulled her a few feet to the right. Ah, yes. Emily bent over and, oh, indeed. A latch!

  She swung it open, expecting either a maid or perhaps Rhoda and was instead met by… Blakely?

  “Lord Blakely? Is that you?” He must have changed his mind. After contemplating marrying Rhoda overnight, he simply couldn’t do it. He’d come to withdraw his promise already.

  Turning his head to the left and then the right, he then pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Hush,” he whispered. Once the door closed behind him, he reached into a pocket and then…

  Her spectacles!

  “How? When?” She stuttered in disbelief as he fit them behind her ears and smoothed her hair out of her eyes.

  “Do they work?” His baritone voice chased her melancholy away. And oh! She could see him again! In the early morning light, wearing riding clothes with his hair in disarray, he looked handsomer than ever.

  Was that a word?

  Handsomer?

  Usually, she wouldn’t contemplate anything, even mentally, using improper grammar. No, handsomer was proper. She cleared this controversy in her mind before shaking her head. What had he asked?

  “Can you see better now?”

  Oh, yes.

  “I can. Lord Blakely, thank you. You can’t imagine.” And then… tears? She turned her face away from him and crossed to her vanity. Peering into the glass, she pretended to consider the new spectacles but actually dabbed at her lashes to remove any traces of moisture. “Thank you.”

  She would not be forced to go through another day in a fog. She would not need to rely on others to guide her from room to room. He’d not only fetched a new pair of spectacles for her, he’d given her back her freedom.

  “I didn’t think you should have to navigate through another day without the benefit of sight. Puts you at something of a disadvantage, I imagine.”

  The rider she’d woken to must have been him. She turned and studied him closely. Dark moons shadowed his eyes and although he’d not shaved today, her attraction to him was as strong as ever. “Did you not sleep at all?”

  He didn’t’ answer her but shrugged one shoulder, allowing her to steer him, without any objections, to a chair and then push him into it. “This business with your father, it bothers you more than you let on, doesn’t it?’

  He’d made it possible for her to see clearly again this morning. This poor tortured reprobate of a man. Half the time she hated him and yet the other half she wanted to save him from himself. At her words, he chuckled ruefully but his eyes belied any humor.

  “I know about Meggie. And her father. And what your father did to them.” She blurted the words without thinking. “And I don’t blame you for hating him. Any man who would do such a thing… Well, he doesn’t deserve the respect of a man such as you. But are you certain you have all the facts?” His father had denied everything. And she knew how stubborn his son could be.

  Blakely lowered his brows and shook his head in confusion. “How could you possibly know about that?” He sounded more perplexed than angry.

  Except his scowl had deepened and now he directed it toward her. “Tell me how you know about Meggie.”

  If only her mouth would consult with her brainbox before taking over. “I… well, I overheard a conversation once.”

  Blakely drew his eyebrows together. “No one knows anything except me and my father, and I suppose the henchmen he hired years ago. And the only time I’ve discussed it out loud—” He caught himself. “The Crabtree library.”

  He burst from the chair and began pacing the room. After crossing it all of three times, he came to a stop directly in front of her. His hands dropped to the armrests, effectively trapping her, and he bent down to peer into her eyes. “My dear Miss Goodnight, were you hiding in the library that night? Did you intentionally
eavesdrop on my personal conversations?” And then outright shock crossed his features. “Did you? Were you…? When I…? With…?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, and yes,” she answered dismissively. “And for the record, I didn’t do so intentionally. I was there first. Before I could bring my presence to your attention, you already had her skirt around her ears and, well, you know the rest.”

  The earl blinked slowly a few times and then shook his head in what Emily guessed was some sort of bewilderment.

  She continued her defense. “Once you were doing that to her, I could hardly pop out and say, ‘Hellooo! By the way, you two, you’re not alone!’ Now could I?”

  He backed up slowly and dropped into the chair he’d vacated. “I. Am. Utterly. Positively. Speechless.”

  “It doesn’t matter, anyhow. What I was trying to tell you is that I admire the position you’ve taken with the duke. A lesser man would have yielded to the pressure by now. But are you certain he did it?”

  “You… saw everything?” He seemed caught up on this particular detail of her narrative. “I don’t suppose you closed your eyes?”

  Upon such a ridiculous notion, she sighed and then rolled her eyes. “Would you have?”

  He glared in her direction.

  “It’s not as though I’m allowed many opportunities to learn of these matters. You must realize. I’m not even certain I’ll marry.” Except she had to. Either that or wither away in Wales.

  “So, you viewed it as something of a…” He scratched his head. “Learning experience?”

  Emily nodded. “I’d always thought the act was performed with the woman lying on her back, though. I suppose you could do it both ways?” She cocked one eyebrow at him questioningly. Perhaps he could shed some light on all of this… for educational purposes, of course.

  Marcus rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He had not slept at all last night. In fact, he’d resorted to running circles around the corridors, and up and down the staircases. After he’d done that, he’d washed up and tried to sleep, but… nothing. And so, he’d saddled his horse and ventured into the nearest village. Once there, he’d awakened the mercantile owner and had him fix Miss Goodnight’s spectacles. Simple as that.

  She’d become rather emotional, it had seemed. Silly female.

  And now.

  Now, if he was correct, she was asking him to explain different positions in which one might undergo sexual congress!

  She’d watched him with Vivienne!

  Dear God!

  What had she thought? Had she enjoyed watching? Reverse the situation and likely he wouldn’t have exposed himself either, to be perfectly honest. But he certainly wasn’t going to admit that to her.

  At the thought of watching Miss Emily Goodnight, skirts over her head, being taken from behind… No, no. He didn’t like it at all. If anyone were to throw her skirts up over her head, it would be him.

  And where, dear God, had that thought come from?

  If, and that was a very big if, he ever swived this impertinent wench, he’d do more than throw her skirts over her head. He’d—

  No.

  She’d asked him a question. He cleared his throat noisily.

  “There are several positions, in fact.” And then he remembered. “Isn’t this covered in that book of yours? That book about womanly pleasures? Do you really require me to explain these things to you?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not at all the same. Those are just drawings.”

  “Why do you say you don’t know if you’ll ever marry? Isn’t that what you’re here for? If I’m to guess correctly, I’d swear the duchess invited you so that you could turn your feminine wiles upon either Langley or Carlisle.” Yes, he’d seen the knowing glances between the duchess and Miss Mossant.

  “Then why, pray tell, did you kiss me?” Even in the muted light of dawn, he could see the flush sweeping up her neck and into that tiny little face of hers.

  A very good question.

  Why had he kissed her? He’d been feeling somewhat irritated at the turn of events his life had taken, and he’d…

  He’d wanted to.

  “I decided it was my responsibility to ensure you had a memorable first kiss.”

  “That wasn’t my first kiss!”

  “Liar.”

  She did not refute his accusation.

  He reclined and lifted his ankle to rest atop his knee. “And was it?” He touched his upper lip thoughtfully with one fingertip. “Memorable, that is?”

  If possible, that blush grew even darker.

  “It was… nothing special. I appreciate you far more for getting my spectacles fixed for me.” Except she dropped her eyes, but only for a moment and then blew out a heavy sigh. “Oh, very well. I liked it. In fact, I thought it quite spectacular! Felt it from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Nearly burst into flames. Are you going to laugh at me now? I imagine my own skills pale in comparison to the numerous women you’ve to compare against me.”

  Even—he glanced at his watch—at quarter to six in the morning, this chit entertained him. “You don’t play coy, do you?”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know how, to be sure.” And then she leaned back in her chair and… A growling sound echoed in the room.

  “It that your stomach making that rabid sound?”

  She crossed her arms over her mid-section and stared at him in defiance. “It might be. I was about to find my way to the kitchen when you showed up at my door. Heaven-sent, might I add.”

  “You don’t have to go that far.” He chuckled, rose, crossed to the corner, and tugged at the bell pull. “A maid will arrive shortly. You needn’t go in search of your food, daft woman.” He chuckled. “I’d best take my leave.”

  As he opened the door, she stopped him with her voice.

  “Are you certain your father isn’t innocent?”

  He held up a hand. “This is not up for discussion. Good morning, Miss Goodnight.”

  Emily stared at the door for a full minute after he departed and then shifted uncomfortably.

  What if the Duke of Waters was innocent? What if their fight was due to a misunderstanding? So often, such matters arose out of poor communication. And stubbornness, which Marcus Roberts possessed in spades.

  They’d been at odds with one another for nearly ten years!

  She remembered catching sight of the lady Waters had betrothed his son to. Lovely girl.

  Guilt niggled her.

  How on earth could she get to the bottom of this? Certainly, a few questions asked of the right people could shed some light on Meggie’s father’s death.

  She snorted. As if she had the means to hire an investigator, pay a professional to travel to the duke’s estate. Times like this, she wished for the benefits that came along with being a duke.

  A duke.

  Prescott was a duke. A very obliging one, in fact…

  Emily pulled out a piece of foolscap and carefully wrote out her request. What was the worst that could happen?

  He could say no.

  But what harm was there in asking?

  When the maid arrived, Emily folded the missive and asked it to be delivered to Prescott as soon as possible. Lord Blakely would never take it upon himself to look into these matters himself. He was far too obstinate for his own well-being.

  He obviously required somebody else to do this for him.

  Likely, he’d thank her for doing so later.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Kisses in the Rain

  Cecily and her husband, Stephen Nottingham, arrived at Eden’s Court later that day along with Cecily’s father and the couple’s small son. Sophia had plans for a walking party but canceled them in favor of indoor activities when the skies turned dark with rain.

  Sophia, Cecily, Rhoda, and Emily locked themselves away to catch up. It had been ages since all four of them had been together like this.

  Except things felt different now.

  When they’d all been debutantes
and wallflowers, their loyalties had only ever been to one another. Now Cecily’s first loyalty was to Mr. Nottingham and their adorable son, little Finn.

  And Sophia would now always put the duke and baby Harriette first.

  And Rhoda, well, she no longer seemed like the same person. She’d recently turned bristly and melancholy and… secretive. She never talked about her feelings or anything personal anymore.

  Everything had changed.

  “So, you see,” Emily explained, Cecily and Sophia’s gazes focused intently upon her while Rhoda stared out the window. “It’s the perfect plan. Solves matters for Blakely, but more importantly, repairs Rhoda’s reputation.”

  Rhoda turned away from whatever she had been staring at and pointed one finger at Emily. “I’ll only do it after you’ve secured an offer though.”

  “I know. I know. I’m working on it.” Emily nodded adamantly and then adjusted her spectacles.

  “I mean it,” Rhoda added.

  Emily turned to Sophia and Cecily and felt some misgivings when they appeared less than enthusiastic.

  “I cannot believe you did not tell me about this earlier,” Sophia pouted. “Or that you’d undertake such a scheme without my knowledge.”

  Cecily frowned. “It seems awfully…”

  “Brilliant?” Emily suggested.

  “Desperate?” Rhoda mumbled.

  “I was rather thinking… manipulative.” Cecily bit her lip. “I don’t want to see either of you in an unhappy marriage. It’s not a pleasant place. And marriage is forever.”

  “It wasn’t for either of you,” Rhoda had the audacity to suggest.

  Cecily rolled her eyes, and Sophia dropped her gaze to her hands. How could Rhoda say something so cruel? Although Sophia was now happily in love with Prescott, that didn’t mean she hadn’t suffered through the death of her first husband.

  Rhoda immediately realized how mean she’d sounded and flew across the room to Sophia’s side. “I’m so sorry, Soph. That was uncalled for. Forgive me?”

  Sophia dabbed at her eyes and then nodded. “No. You are correct.”