Hell's Belle

by Annabelle Anders

  Seeing her through new eyes, from a different perspective, Marcus watched her sit up, brush the hair out of her face, and take a hesitant sip. He reached forward and removed the ridiculously endearing pair of spectacles that sat crookedly on the bridge of her nose, and then placed them on the table. “Drink as much as you can.”

  She paused and then downed a little more. When she looked to be finished, he took it from her hands and placed it beside her spectacles. At the same time, he used his other hand to loosen his cravat.

  Emily’s eyes grew more alert at his casual gesture. “Not tonight, sweetheart. I’m not that much of a bastard.” He pulled down the counterpane and sheet. “Slide in.”

  Too tired, too inebriated to argue, she curled up on her side as he drew the blanket back up. He then snuffed the candles and took a deep breath.

  She’d said they were friends.

  He climbed in behind her and tucked her up against him. He was going to cuddle her tonight—his friend, his wife.

  Because she seemed to need it, and God help him, somehow, so did he.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Do Over

  Emily’s mouth tasted like cotton, and her head pounded something fierce. She tried opening her eyes, but the sun was slanting in across the bed and the light only fueled the pain behind her eyes.

  Aside from that, she felt warm and comfortable. Why move if one didn’t have to? Especially when one had to face the fact that she was a married woman now, one who’d… Oh, no!

  Only when she went to sit up did she realize that the warmth and comfort she experienced was due to the warm, strong body wrapped around her.

  She peeked one eye open and could barely make out Marcus’ larger, darker hand casually draped over her arm.

  “Go back to sleep,” he growled. They lay so close to one another that his body rumbled against her when he spoke. And something hard poked between her legs.

  She knew what it was.

  Had they consummated their marriage last night? She hadn’t thought so. She remembered him making her drink water and then… nothing.

  “You’re thinking too loudly. Stop it.” He drew her even closer to him. “Nothing happened. You are still as chaste as the morning rose.” This time, she felt him, as much as heard him, chuckle.

  “I didn’t realize the morning rose was virginal,” she couldn’t’ help responding. Such a foolish thing for him to say!

  But then she processed his words logically. Why was he in her bed if not to…? Oh, how she hated not understanding certain things. From everything she’d ever heard or read, a man spent the night in his wife’s bed for one reason and one reason only.

  And this morning it hurt her head too much to think.

  “Next time I send dinner up, remind me to tell the maid to forgo the wine.” He spoke sleepily, as though he hadn’t really minded.

  “Hm.” She couldn’t stop the sound before it escaped.

  Marcus had been sweet last night. He’d apologized.

  And then he’d made her drink water and held her through the night. But why? Never in a million years would she imagine Marcus Roberts as a cuddler.

  Gentlemen could be the most vexing creatures. One minute he was telling her not to expect emotion from him and the next… this.

  Except the sensation of his arms wrapped around her really was a lovely one. She couldn’t remember ever waking with another person in her room, let alone in her bed.

  Touching her.

  Holding her.

  Pressing his mentula against her.

  If she felt better, she’d pepper him with questions about it. She might even wiggle her bum a little and see if she could make it twitch.

  As it was, she felt contented enough to simply close her eyes and promise her brain she’d ask him about it later.

  The next time she awoke, she was sprawled across the center of the bed… alone. Her head wasn’t pounding so loudly this time, and the curtains had been drawn.

  Thoughtful of him really. She’d almost believe he’d drank himself into oblivion a time or two himself. Oh, but a full tumbler of water sat on the nearby table, and upon closer inspection, she discovered a packet of willow bark powder sitting beside her spectacles.

  Blessed man.

  She drank the medicine and uncovered a basket with some pastries. A few tentative bites were all she could get down, however, until her stomach refused any more. She felt at least forty-five percent human again.

  Which might be enough to get her moving.

  Where had he gone?

  And then she bit her lip. Would he wish to begin their journey back to London today? She couldn’t even think about it. Rolling and bouncing along, feeling as she did, ugh. Her stomach rebelled at the thought.

  Nonetheless, she washed up to the best of her ability and donned another of the gowns Marcus had purchased for her.

  She still couldn’t’ quite wrap her head around the idea that she was a married woman.

  Married.

  No longer Miss Emily Goodnight, she was Emily Roberts now.

  Lady Blakely.

  Lady Blakely!

  “Lady Blakely.” She curtsied to herself in the glass.

  She didn’t look like a lady. She pushed her spectacles higher and scrunched her nose. Although the ceremony had been brief, to put it mildly, she and Marcus had actually done it. They’d eloped.

  Now, if only she could find him. After her behavior last night, she’d be lucky if he didn’t leave for London without her.

  Marcus didn’t need to look up from where he sat in the tap room to know she’d appeared at the top of the stairs. Surprisingly, it was as though he could feel her presence. Did marriage do that? Connect you somehow? That made no sense. They hadn’t even consummated it yet. Perhaps it was just her… or as she’d insisted… their friendship.

  He touched his pocket. Yep, the small pieces of metal he’d had prepared were still there. She took hold of the balustrade and glanced around. When she met his eyes, she smiled.

  When had a smile come to feel like a balm to his soul? Did it mean she’d forgiven him? Marcus met her gaze and rose from his chair as she descended the stairs.

  “I thought you might have left me.” She laughed in that self-deprecating way of hers. “I can’t believe I’ve slept most of the day away.”

  Marcus cleared his throat. “Feeling any better for it?”

  She winced a little but nodded. “A little.”

  “Would you like to take in some fresh air?” He’d already explored. He knew precisely where he wanted to take her.

  “I think that would do me a world of good.” She hesitated only a moment before taking the arm he held out. The last time he’d done this, they’d gotten married. And he’d made a horrible hash of it.

  Clouds hung heavy, but Marcus didn’t think they’d produce anything for a while. The air felt humid and cooler than it had earlier.

  “I love that smell.” Emily took in a deep breath. “It’s one thing that’s never changed. Whether I’m in London, or at home, or… in Wales… and now I’m here with you. And even though everything is about to change, it’s still the same. The scent of rain.”

  Marcus led her to the edge of town where a meadow opened up. She wore her half boots, so she had no difficulties picking her way through the flowers and grass beside him. He’d caught sight of the spot from the road earlier and known it would be perfect.

  Someone had built a small gazebo, and just behind it, a stream dropped into the most adorable lily pond. Would she like it?

  “Oh, Marcus! Look at this!” She ran to the railing and peered over the edge of the railing. “Such a magical place!”

  Marcus knew himself to be a scoundrel, because when she bent over, he envisioned himself covering her from behind. “You like it?”

  She turned around, more color in her cheeks than had been there before. “You knew it was here? And… you wanted to bring… me? Here?” She shouldn’t be so astonished that somebody wou
ld wish to do something special for her.

  He needed to rectify that.

  And he intended to begin right now.

  Reaching into his pocket, he dug around until his fingers grasped the two pieces of smooth metal.

  “Emily.” He cleared his throat. She suddenly seemed to realize he’d brought her here for a reason. “I know our wedding ceremony wasn’t all the crack you’d thought it would be. Hell, even I was surprised how dry and… unromantic it was.” At her raised brows, he cleared his throat again and forced himself to go on.

  “God, I hope this fits.” He reached for her hand and she gave it up willingly. He slid one of the rings to his fingertips and then slid it on her third finger. “I know we’ve talked about not having a regular marriage, but I rather thought…” God, his throat closed up on him again! “I thought you might wear a ring? Something to do with… friendship?” This was stupid. Hell, he’d have laughed at himself for doing something so maudlin and sentimental less than a week ago.

  “You have two rings?” Her voice sounded breathy. She opened his fist and exposed the second, larger ring. Were both of their hands shakings?

  “There was leftover metal.” He tried to make light of it.

  “Left over? From what?” She peered up at him with those pools of warmth. He shrugged. This was only getting worse.

  How had it felt like a good idea earlier today?

  “Your broken spectacles. I had them metal melted down.” He might as well tell her the rest. She could go back and have a hearty laugh with her friends at some later date. He supposed he’d deserve it. “I figured, they had helped you to see. And I was thinking they could be symbolic. For seeing the truth. And clarity. In this… whatever it is…”

  He’d barely finished talking when she took the larger ring from him. He held out his hand, and she glided it up his finger.

  “Marcus.” She spoke barely above a whisper. “Thank you.” She stood inches from him, and her scent wafted up to his nostrils. It blended with the hint of rain in the air. Leaves rustled nearby, creating a particularly magical music along with the stream.

  She’d not released his hand, rather she turned it over and studied the back of it. She smoothed her fingertips along his knuckle and then over the ring. When had her touch come to affect him this way?

  “I can’t believe these were once my spectacles.” She shook her head.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a breeze swept a few drops of moisture through the small shelter. The sensation reminded him of when he’d removed her shoe that day they’d gone walking.

  He’d kissed her then.

  He wanted to kiss her again.

  Would that be foolish? He’d already ventured into territory that conflicted with his ideas about marriage. They’d be friends. They’d have children together.

  He tipped her chin up and couldn’t help but smile at the questions in her eyes. God save him from her questions! “Friends?” he asked before she could even open her mouth.

  She nodded slowly.

  And then Marcus leaned forward. The top of her head barely reached his chin, so he had to bend his knees to lower himself enough that he could reach her easily.

  Still holding her hand, he tracked her lips with his mouth alone.

  When he finally captured it, she sighed.

  Sweet. Soft. Giving. He drew a line along the seam of her lips.

  They parted without hesitation.

  Marcus didn’t kiss many women. And when he’d kissed women in the past, he’d had his hands on them, he’d explored their bodies, and pressed them up against his cock.

  His fingers grasped Emily’s tightly as he turned his head to deepen this kiss. She allowed his tongue to explore along the lines of her pearl-like teeth, and the tender skin behind her lips.

  Had he kissed her before? He had, surely, he had, but it hadn’t felt like this.

  When her tongue slid along his teeth, Marcus opened his mouth to take even more of her. Her head tilted back farther but she met him in this dance.

  Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed an instant later. He barely took heed when he felt mists of water from rain slashing through the air.

  He finally dropped her hands and took hold of her face. He couldn’t get enough. He wanted to taste her everywhere.

  Lifting her to sit atop the railing, he stepped between her legs. Her hands combed through his hair, along his neck. God, but he wanted her lips on him again.

  Everywhere.

  “Marcus.” She mumbled his name and then wrapped her legs around his waist. He pressed himself against her center. Not stopping himself. Not thinking. He reached under her gown. Softest damn skin in the world. A woman’s thighs. Emily’s thighs. He slid his hand higher until he found her warmth, her moist heat. She jumped and made a mewling sound.

  “You like this?” He slid one finger along the plump skin. He wasn’t going to hold off for very long. Her desire was wet on his hand now. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Hold on to me,” he growled and then dropped to the ground, pulling her knees over his shoulders at the same time.

  He pushed her skirts out of the way and dragged his mouth along the butterfly skin of her inner thighs. The scent of woman drew him higher, drowning out the rain, the thunder. Drowning out everything but for this woman.

  He felt her hands on his head but did his sweet Emily push him away? Hell, no, she tugged him closer. He used his tongue on her and then his fingers. He flicked. He sucked. And he reveled in her coming apart all around him.

  When he could ignore his own desire not one second longer, he pried her thighs from around his head and stood back up. By now, all he could think of was getting inside of her. Both their hands fumbled at his falls, and then he was free.

  She felt so wet, hot, and tight.

  One storm waged outside and another under the thatched roof of this tiny gazebo.

  She met him, thrust for thrust. Magic, lightning, water, thunder, and warm, tight heat pulsing all around him. When he found his release, he nearly collapsed.

  Marcus closed his eyes and pulled her head against his chest. He felt a little lost. Where were they? Her hair dripped down the heat of his chest. She was soaked.

  “Emily!” He opened his eyes and tipped her head back, so he could see into her eyes. Water trickled down her face, her neck, and into the top of her dress. But she was… laughing?

  “Oh, my! Marcus!” She wrapped her hands around his face and pulled him down to kiss her again. “That was amazing!” She kissed him again.

  Marcus couldn’t help laughing into her neck. She was so God damn incredible. Was it possible he’d never tire of somebody like Emily? Was it possible she’d keep him entranced for a lifetime?

  Her hands had already crept down his shirt and then down… farther. She wrapped her hand around him, and he went hard all over again. “Can we do it again?”

  Perhaps she’d simply kill him first.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Honeymoon

  After the inauspicious beginning of their marriage, Emily and Marcus more than made up for it later that day and well into the night. Emily wished they could stay another day. In fact, a part of her never wanted to leave Gretna Green, but she knew Sophia would be worried. And she needed to explain herself to Rhoda.

  She so hoped Rhoda wouldn’t be angry!

  She wondered, too, if Prescott’s man could possibly have been wrong about Mr. Thistlebum. Was it possible there’d been no misunderstanding? Oh, she never should have delved into Marcus’ affairs this way. But that the Duke of Waters really had wronged Marcus horribly, she’d have no cause to upset her husband’s very reason for marrying her!

  Even though she’d tried to tell him.

  He’d refused to even entertain the notion.

  Emily fisted her hand against her forehead. None of this would be an issue if she’d only minded her own business.

  Even so, Marcus’ intentions had been made crystal clear. She might enjoy his comp
any and attention for now, but he’d no plans to become a besotted husband like Mr. Nottingham, or Prescott, for that matter.

  They were friends.

  They enjoyed one another physically.

  And they happened to be married to one another.

  He’d had rings made for both of them out of her the metal from her broken spectacles!

  And then the rest. They’d gone back to her chamber, and she’d done things she didn’t even know words for. Even now, sitting in the carriage next to him, heat spread up her neck.

  He seemed a little quieter than he had been when they left, but nothing like before. She didn’t wish to push him. He’d already made so many concessions for her.

  They’d talked, like friends. And now they knew one another’s bodies in shockingly intimate detail… and yet…

  “What are you thinking?” She couldn’t stop the question from escaping past her lips.

  Marcus turned his head away from the window to look at her. Dark circles etched beneath his eyes, which didn’t concern her. She probably had some herself, since they’d slept so little.

  But he hesitated. Emily fingered the smooth metal encircling her finger. Did he regret making such a gesture?

  “Perhaps I’m simply wondering what you are thinking.” He dodged her question easily enough.

  Emily wondered how honest she could ever be with him. I’m worried you’ll distance yourself before I’m ready. I’m wondering if I could be increasing after what we did over and over again yesterday. Are you going to hate me if your father didn’t kill Mr. Thistlebum as well? If you realize you’ve burned your bridges with him for nothing?

  Emily had never considered herself to be an overly emotional person but all of this marriage and intimacy business had sent her moods into a dizzying spiral.

  But what should she say to him?

  “I’m afraid of going back.” She settled on the truth.

  Marcus seemed a little surprised at first, but then he nodded, dropped one arm over her shoulder, and pulled her close. Emily sighed and snuggled against his chest. Oh, yes, this was what she needed. But then his words jolted her out of the comfortable place she’d settled into.