Hell's Belle

by Annabelle Anders

  “You stay right here,” Dev growled. “Why not simply send a missive to the mews?”

  Sophia’s breath hitched. She needed to take care of these matters before she got carried away by the ache Dev never failed to awaken. “Because…” She took a reluctant step away from her husband. “Because then…”

  “What are you up to?” Dev pinned her with that black stare of his. Nonetheless, he turned and handed her paper and pencil. “Send a missive to Miss Goodnight then.”

  “I will send one to the mews as well.” She took the paper from him and sat down. “Hear me out, love. I’ve got it all figured out…”

  Rhoda’s changed her mind and does not wish to leave with the earl tonight. Please go to the mews to inform Blakely at the allotted time. – Sophia.

  Emily hastened to tie her boots and then reached for her shawl. She hadn’t fallen asleep, but she had been laying abed for what felt like hours. Why hadn’t Sophia informed her earlier? It was already half past three, and she’d only just received the missive. She’d doused the candles and then slipped into the corridor.

  Drat, blast, and double bollocks! Just when she’d had everything all set. Impatient to speak with Rhoda, but knowing she’d best get to Blakely first, Emily practically ran down the corridor. Barely enough moonlight filtered in through the windows or she would have needed to carry her own light.

  When she stepped outside, the sky glowed a deep indigo blue above her. Ah, the moon was full and the sky clear. It would have been the perfect night for travel. Rhoda could not afford to get cold feet! Did she not realize how untenable her situation in London had become? Oh, this was horrible!

  Increasing her pace, she kept her sights on the large stable block. Already she could hear the sounds of horses. As she turned the corner, she caught sight of a driver sitting atop one of the duke’s coaches and mindfully slowed to a walk.

  She wasn’t a hoyden, after all.

  “He’s waiting for you inside the carriage, ma’am.” The driver tipped his cap.

  A footman stepped forward and opened the door to the carriage for her. “Blakely?” Darkness encompassed the interior of the coach. “Blakely, are you in here?” She could barely make out the shadow of him slouched on the forward-facing bench. As she peered inside, the stench of alcohol hit her like a brick wall. Good heavens! He’s soused!

  “Blakely!” She climbed in, vaguely aware of the door being closed behind her. And oh, drat, the footman was putting up the step. She grabbed the earl by the arm and tried to jostle him awake. “She isn’t coming, Blakely. My lord!” Then the carriage jerked.

  They were moving!

  “Stop!” she hollered, but they kept right on moving. She tried thumping on the ceiling, but they drove on.

  Surely, the driver could hear her? “Blakely.” She shook him by the shoulders. As the carriage took a turn, she lost her balance and fell right on top of the earl. And even this didn’t awaken him!

  “Hrmph… erg… mmm,” Blakely mumbled when she pummeled his chest. Panic swept through her as their speed increased. The driver must have turned onto the main road.

  “Marcus!” she tried again. This time, his arm wound around her, and he turned so they were both lying on the bench. The touch of his hand on her belly sent all sorts of inappropriate sensations through her, causing her to clench her thighs together.

  “Driver, stop!” she tried hollering once again.

  “Shhh…” Marcus pulled her even closer. So much so that she could hardly move.

  She wrinkled her nose. If she were to inhale deeply, likely she could get tipsy from his breath alone.

  This wasn’t happening. Oh, good Lord, this wasn’t happening! First, the horror of trapping Carlisle earlier this evening, and now she was trapped in a carriage with her best friend’s intended! On the way to Gretna Green, no less!

  Hopefully, the driver would simply stop within a few hours. She’d inform him of the mistake, and they could turn around and come back.

  But would it be too late? Prescott had told her Lord Carlisle intended to offer for her first thing in the morning!

  Rhoda’s mother was going to have conniptions!

  Emily groaned but forced herself to relax. There was little she could do at this point. Her dress was imprisoned beneath Blakely’s booted feet and the rest of her pretty well trapped against the man himself.

  A flush spread through her at the thought of him awakening to find her there… with him. “Oh, please wake up!” she tried one last time in vain.

  The earl answered her with a loud snore.

  Taking a calming breath, Emily wiggled to make herself a little more comfortable. This was her punishment. Yes. She was certainly being penalized for what she’d done to Carlisle. And for what she’d been planning to do to Lord Blakely.

  When she’d caught sight of the former vicar’s expression after being dragged from the closet, Emily had seen a man devastated by his circumstances.

  Perhaps this was for the best.

  Surely, if a certain bachelor’s intended disappeared in the night with a second bachelor, then the first bachelor was no longer required to propose to his intended? Of course not! The second bachelor became the lucky one… or in this case, the victim.

  Blakely was going to kill her! Except… this couldn’t be counted as her fault, could it?

  The carriage hit a rut, and she nearly bounced off the bench. Blakely tightened his grip on her.

  This wasn’t happening!

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A Convenient Swap

  Marcus awoke, vaguely aware that his neck had been contorted into some unpleasant position, and somehow the bed he slept in was moving. His eyes weren’t ready to face the sunlight slanting into the coach and his head throbbed.

  Ah, but soft curves pressed into him, so all was not so very tragic.

  He remembered recent events one by one, knowing he’d eventually comprehend his current situation.

  Eden’s Court. Yes, Miss Goodnight’s well-intended plan for him.

  With Miss Mossant.

  Add to that a bottle of Prescott’s finest scotch.

  The horror of it pinged his awareness piece by ridiculous piece.

  And yet soft hair tickled his chest and chin. Odd that Miss Mossant would choose to lie beside him while they traveled. One hand rested on her abdomen and his other along one of her arms.

  He needed to move, if he was ever to walk again. Already his body rebelled at being forced to remain contorted like this.

  He lifted his head slightly and half opened his eyes.

  Not dark brown and auburn hair, but brown hair with golden flecks sparkling in the sunlight. And good Lord, a piece of smooth silver metal resting behind one ear.

  Sunlight poured in, nearly blinding him as it reflected off a pair of…

  Spectacles!

  “Miss Goodnight?” he croaked.

  He pushed his feet off the bench and the bundle of womanhood in his arms would have tumbled onto the floor if he’d not had such a tight grip on her.

  “Emily! What in God’s name? What on earth is going on? What are you doing here?”

  Long lashes fluttered in confusion behind those absurd spectacles before she finally turned and narrowed her gaze at him.

  “You!” she burst out. “And you have the audacity to ask me what I’m doing here!” She indicated her apparel, which he just now realized consisted of nothing but her night rail and dressing gown. “I came outside, in the middle of the night, mind you, to inform you that Rhoda wasn’t coming. She’s ah… ill… Your elopement is er… postponed! And what do I find? You, Lord Blakely, jug bitten and unconscious. I’ll bet the driver is ape drunk as well. I hollered, I pounded on the ceiling, and did anyone take notice of me? No! Not for a blighted second.”

  “Are you wearing your night clothing, Miss Goodnight?” Marcus couldn’t help but laugh as she set off on her dudgeon. “Are you certain this isn’t some roundabout ruse you’ve undertaken to net me for yourself
?”

  He should have known better than to suggest such a notion.

  Miss Goodnight flushed bright red, and the look in her eyes promised she was about to cork him a good one. Wanting to preserve himself from physical harm, he grasped hold of her wrists and chuckled. “I’m only joking. Settle down, woman.” But he couldn’t help laughing at his own joke.

  “You louse! You you you buffoon! To suggest that I would…” And then she clamped her lips together tightly.

  “Set your cap at me?” Marcus suggested mildly. She squirmed to break free of his grip, and he reluctantly relented. He couldn’t resist teasing her. Even in his diminished state, he rather enjoyed seeing her caught in her own trap. “Exactly why aren’t you dressed properly? Surely, when a woman sets out for Gretna Green with her intended, she ought to at least go to the trouble of dressing herself.”

  She adjusted her spectacles and huffed. “Will you please listen to me? I didn’t plan this! I came to tell you that we must delay your elopement. Ah… Rhoda took ill.”

  He sobered at this news. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  Her eyes shifted to the floor. “No.”

  But then those brown eyes of hers flashed up at him again. “If only you hadn’t been so completely soused, you could have stopped our blasted driver sooner. No help whatsoever. Mumbling and snoring and pinning me to the bench. What was I to do? And then you have the nerve to accuse me of doing this on purpose!” She huffed at the indignity of it.

  “Oh, hell.” His mind finally processed her explanation. Glancing outside, he realized the sun looked to have been risen for some time now. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his timepiece. “It’s nearly noon.”

  Blakely reached up, took hold of a knob, and slid aside a door, allowing cool air and sunshine to spill into the carriage. “Good morning, Michaels.” The blasted cad sounded as though he was old friends with their equally blasted cad of a driver. “Plan on changing out the cattle soon?”

  His manners were the same as if they were on a Sunday afternoon drive. How could he be so nonchalant about all of this? She was supposed to be getting engaged to Lord Carlisle this morning!

  Emily leaned back in resignation. Poor, dear Lord Carlisle would make a lucky escape. And now she’d lied to Lord Blakely about Rhoda. But he might back out completely if he knew Rhoda was reluctant! Such a muddle!

  She couldn’t quite make out what the driver said so she stared out the window feeling sticky and wrinkled and… exhausted.

  Blakely dropped back onto the bench and ran one hand through his hair. How was it that a gentleman who ought to look as battered as she felt managed to appear even more attractive? Whiskers shadowing his jaw, his hair standing on end, and clothing more wrinkled than her own, he still exuded rakish charm. “He’ll be stopping in an hour.”

  “Half the day’s gone,” Emily bemoaned. “We won’t make it back to Eden’s Court until evening!”

  Blakely raised one hand to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully. “Not so sure we ought to do that.”

  She shot her gaze toward him in astonishment.

  He merely shrugged. “I don’t believe Miss Mossant is ill at all. I think she’s changed her mind.”

  Even her lies were falling apart quickly. Oh, drat! And she deserved it. She deserved all of it. She didn’t even try to feign innocence when she met his gaze.

  “That’s exactly what’s happened, isn’t it?” He raised his brows knowingly. “Miss Mossant has jilted me.”

  “Very well. Yes, very well!” Emily threw her arms up in surrender. “I don’t know what she’s thinking. It was the perfect solution! You were the perfect solution! What a blasted mess this has all turned into. I suppose Carlisle’s off the hook as well. And now I’ll be sent to Wales, a slave to Aunt Gertrude, never to be heard from again.” She did not want to think about that right now. Not to mention that her own reputation would be tarnished once Mrs. Mossant returned to London. She groaned and buried her head in her lap.

  “You’re not usually this obtuse, Miss Goodnight.”

  She peered over her arm to see what he was blathering on about.

  Blakely had leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. He was totally unaffected by any of this. Oh, but to be a man!

  “What?” She glared at him.

  A teasing glint entered his gaze. “All right then. Allow me to spell it out for you.” And then he slid off his bench and propped himself on one knee before her.

  Taking her hand, his face twisted into that of a swooning lover. “My dearest darling, my most beloved Miss Goodnight. Please, I beg of you, make me the happiest gentleman in all the kingdom! Free me from my misery, release me from my torment. Marry me, Miss Goodnight! Say yes so that we can live happily ever after!”

  He then lifted her hands to his lips and pressed an obnoxious kiss on the back of her wrist. “And help me end this nonsense with my father once and for all!”

  For half a second, tiny shivers spiraled down her body. Except they fizzled all too quickly as the reality of his proposal dawned on her. He had liked the idea of taking revenge against his father. And although her reputation wasn’t nearly as tarnished as Rhoda’s, it was no longer stellar. She supposed his father would be just as annoyed with him for marrying a bespectacled bluestocking nobody.

  Could she do this? Could she live with herself if she did?

  She would have her own home. Likely, he’d leave her there for years at a time, but she’d have freedom.

  “Perhaps Rhoda calling off is a sign you ought to make amends with your father.” She made a half-hearted attempt. “What if you’ve been misinformed?” She should tell him what the duke had discovered.

  But he shook his head.

  “What if your father didn’t kill Mr. Thistlebum? What if everything you’ve believed for the past ten years was all a mistake?”

  He reached forward and pressed a fingertip against her lips. “Stop manipulating. Stop trying to solve everyone else’s troubles. And give me an answer.”

  This man. She’d wanted nothing more over the past year than for him to notice her. She’d dreamed of his kisses. Made him into the hero of all her dreams.

  And now he knelt before her. Not offering her love and companionship for the remainder of their lives, but something she needed desperately.

  Oddly enough, freedom. And with it… perhaps a few marital delights.

  Children.

  “You’ll regret it someday,” she warned him.

  He, oddly enough, took her words as acquiescence. “By Jove, you won’t have to go to Wales, and this standoff with my father will come to an end once and for all.”

  His smoky gray eyes smiled in relief. He wants this.

  He needs me.

  She stared out the window, a mixture of anticipation and guilt churning her stomach. She’d not expected this in a thousand years. Marrying Marcus Roberts.

  She bit her lip.

  She wanted to ask him a few other pertinent questions regarding this marriage, but in truth, his responses didn’t really matter. Of course, she’d marry him. She’d been in love with him for nearly a year.

  She hoped Rhoda would forgive her.

  “Yes.”

  In her fantasies, this was the moment he swooped her into a passionate embrace and kissed her senseless. They’d dream together, of their future, their home, their children.

  Lord Blakely punched a fist into his other opened hand, as though he’d won a race or a toss of the dice. Looking all too satisfied with himself, he lifted back into the seat on the bench beside her and made himself comfortable once again.

  Oh, yes, marrying her might be even better than if he were to marry Rhoda.

  At least Rhoda would have brought beauty to their union.

  Emily pulled her feet up onto the bench and hugged her knees. “I haven’t anything to wear.”

  “You can purchase a few gowns in the next village.” He waved away her concerns.

  “Dressed in this?” O
h, why hadn’t she simply taken a few minutes to don even one of her simplest of gowns? She suddenly felt exposed, empty.

  Alone.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Road Games

  “As promised.” Blakely handed over three boxes and a large bag. “I’ve rented a room for a few hours, so we can both clean up.” He then removed his coat and handed it to her. Emily stared at it dumbly. “Put this on. You can hardly go traipsing through the taproom in nothing but your nightgown.”

  Oh, yes. Change. Get dressed. She’d been lost in thought after he disappeared. Worrying that Rhoda would hate her now. Or that Sophia might think less of her.

  Or that he’d learn his father wasn’t the ogre he’d made him out to be and regret this impulsive decision.

  They’d both have to live with it for the rest of their lives. What would Prescott think of her? He knew the truth. Would he tell Sophia?

  She slipped her arms in his jacket and climbed out of the carriage. All kinds of activity jostled around the Inn. Another carriage had pulled in and the ladies alighting from it looked to have just stepped out of one of Cecily’s fashion magazines.

  Emily felt frumpy and dirty. Grateful for his jacket, she buried her head and followed Marcus up the steps. She doubted she could have made it through the crowd without his supportive hand on the small of her back.

  “This way.” He led her up the stairs, into a sparse room, and set the purchases he’d made upon the bed. “I’ll grab us some food while you clean up.” Flashing her a grin, he toggled his brows and then disappeared. She’d not seen him in such a mood before. It was almost as though he meant to garner his freedom by marrying her.

  Perhaps he would.

  She caught sight of herself in the mirror, and her reflection stirred her to action. How he must have been laughing inside while he’d made his preposterous proposal. The braid she’d tied her hair into earlier that night had all but come undone, and stands of hair hung limply along her face. Beneath her eyes, dark half-circles stood out against her pale skin.