Hell’s Wedding Bells: A Devilish Debutante’s Novella

by Anders, Annabelle

  When she’d asked her husband if they were to dine privately, he’d scowled in her direction and informed her she could take her meal in their chamber. He’d be taking his downstairs with an ale or two.

  She’d not seen him since.

  Why didn’t he talk to her? Already she missed Arianna’s incessant stories, and even Fran’s chattering about the most recent letter she’d received.

  He’d only rented one room for the two of them. Every five minutes or so, her eyes drifted to the large bed that sat in the center of it.

  Without even a cursory knock, the door opened, causing Lila to sit up straight. She had long ago changed into her night rail and dressing gown. She’d brushed out her hair and braided it.

  She thought she was ready, but the sight of his tall and strapping form made the room feel considerably smaller. He removed his jacket before bothering to even look at her.

  “The evening meal was to your satisfaction?” And then his gaze flickered to her half-eaten tray of food.

  She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

  He walked to the washbasin and splashed some of the water onto his face.

  “Is it always so loud here?” she asked him. Any sort of conversation would be better than this brooding silence he’d displayed all day.

  “Quieter in back, but this was all they had available.” With his back to her, he spoke somewhat defensively.

  “I wasn’t complaining.” Lila hugged her knees into her chest and curled her bare toes around the edge of her chair. “Um. So…”

  She lost track of what she was going to ask him when he dragged his shirt out of his breeches and then lifted it over his head.

  Once, when she’d been reading one of Arianna’s stories up in the loft of her father’s stable at their southern estate, the stable master, after coming in from a ghastly thunderstorm, had disrobed right out in the open.

  She’d stayed hidden and watched.

  The stable master had been well into his fifties, though, and had a large paunch around his midsection.

  Her husband…

  She swallowed hard.

  Seeing him thusly did little to calm her nerves. He had not an ounce of fat on him. His white skin stretched tightly over an abundance of sinewy muscles, making her wonder how he’d spent most of his life. Doing hard labor, she imagined.

  “I didn’t know dukes could look like you.”

  He stilled at her words but then turned to study her. “And how is that?” His jaw clenched. “Unrefined? Crude?”

  “Oh, no! You must think very poorly of me to think I’d develop such an unfair opinion of anyone.” It was her turn to frown. “You look…” Her gaze dragged unwittingly over his chest and abdomen. “Strong. I’ve never seen a duke that looked even remotely like you. They are usually very slim, effeminate almost. Except for my former fiancé, and he was only an earl when we were betrothed.” And then she covered her mouth with her hand.

  Did he know she’d been thrown over already?

  Would he care? Most noblemen most definitely would consider her damaged goods.

  Apparently, the Duke of Pemberth wasn’t like most noblemen.

  “What should I call you?” She could hardly imagine herself calling him Your Grace.

  “The title is Pemberth,” he responded but then ran one hand through his hair. “And you?

  Lila took a deep breath. He was talking to her. After being married for nearly twelve hours, he was finally talking to her.

  “Will you call me Lila? When we are alone, anyhow. I could hardly abide by you calling me Your Grace when we…” And then her gaze unwittingly drifted to the bed. “When no one else is present.” And then she added, “My sister calls me Lila. Do you have any sisters? Or brothers perhaps? Won’t you sit? Please?”

  At last, an opportunity to learn something about him.

  “No.” But he sat down.

  “Oh.” She was rather disappointed at that. She’d hope for some friendly company. “Your estate, Glenn Abby? Do any other relatives live there with you? An aunt? A grandmother?” Or was it to be just the two of them?

  “No.”

  He was doing it again. That not talking thing. She needed to ask him something that would require more than just a yes or no answer.

  “Why did you marry me?” The question escaped before she could think it over properly. She wasn’t usually one to babble but he… made her nervous.

  He hadn’t given her his full attention, in truth, up until that moment. He’d stared at the floor. Out the window.

  Finally, his ice-cold blue eyes focused on her. “Why did you marry me?” His rejoining question surprised her. “Were you so determined that you should gain the title of ‘duchess?’”

  The question ought to have offended her, but she waved one hand through the air. “That is all my father. And I only married you because he insisted.” Not a flattering answer, but… She raised her shoulders in a shrug. “Do I look as though I’m enamored with your title?”

  He shrugged, but then dragged his gaze over her. “Oddly enough, no. Do you always do what your father tells you?” He finally seemed truly interested in something she might have to say.

  Again, she shrugged. “I learned at a young age that to do anything other than his will resulted in… unpleasantness.”

  He continued staring at her. “You fear him?”

  It was her turn to look elsewhere. Yes, she feared him. Her father had made a great deal of money from investments and… other business dealings. He was also born an earl. He had power. Not only over her but the people he’d surrounded them with.

  She shrugged for a third time, this time without answering.

  “Do you fear me?” His question was straightforward.

  Lila hugged her knees even more tightly against her chest. “I’ve no reason to, have I?” Except that as his wife, she was his possession. “I am…” She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly quite dry. “I am hopeful that I will have no need to.”

  And then she lifted her chin, awaiting his next move.

  * * *

  Vincent had done his best to pretend all day long that he had not just encumbered himself with a wife.

  He could pretend all he wanted, but that did nothing to change the reality sitting across from him covered from neck to toe in a heavy dressing gown and night rail. His wife was a small woman who looked younger than her age. Long lashes framed rather pretty blue eyes and practically perfect features.

  She’d admitted that she’d married him because she had been given no choice. She said she had not cared about a lofty title.

  Oddly enough, he believed her.

  “You have no need to fear me.” His voice sounded gruffer than usual. But he meant it. The memory of her father violently removing her shawl and then tearing pins from her hair… Hell, what must she be expecting of him? “I won’t force myself on you.”

  He wasn’t so desperate that he’d ever force a woman—not even his wife.

  “I am more than willing to lie with you.” She did not blink as she spoke the words. Likely the notion of duty had been beaten into her.

  He shook his head. He’d rather not bed a martyr.

  But then she added, “I want to lie with you.” This time, her eyes flared. He could almost imagine the blue of her gaze as a blue flame.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Perhaps not for the reasons people choose to lie together, but…” Her gaze dropped to where his hands rested on his thighs. “If you change your mind, if you decide to send me back… My father… I was betrothed before and the gentleman… cried off. If I fail in this…” She lifted her chin to meet his eyes again. “I want you to lie with me.”

  Vincent drew in one long breath and then slowly released it.

  Damn, Keenan.

  “Do you not wish to lie with me?” Her brows furrowed. “Is it me in particular?” And then her eyes widened. “Do you not find women—“

  “I find women quite nicely, thank yo
u,” he groused.

  “Then why…?”

  “Did I say I did not wish to lie with you?”

  There, that put an end to her impertinent questions. She shook her head slowly. “I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions.”

  If he’d thought he would be having such a conversation when he awoke this morning, he would have laughed outright at himself.

  His wife of not even one day, who had been forced into marriage with him, was trying to talk him into bedding her. And for the first time all day, his sense of humor jumped to life.

  As did his cock.

  His gaze landed on her lips.

  “So, you will?” she pleaded.

  Vincent cleared his throat. Not exactly the scenario he’d envisioned for his wedding night. If he had envisioned one at all.

  “If it is your wish.”

  “Oh, yes.” She lowered her feet to the floor and leaned forward. “Now?”

  He went to speak but only a choking sound emerged, causing him to groan a little and then scrub one hand down his face. “I don’t imagine you’ve any experience.” He half wished that she did. Although that would then mean… Nonetheless, it would make all of this so much easier.

  She sat up straight at his question. “Of course not!”

  How did a person go about this in such a dispassionate manner?

  And yet, he realized he did not feel dispassionately when he looked at her. He’d found himself attracted to her since she’d glared at him just before the ceremony. It was her own practical approach that gave him pause.

  She rose and smoothed her night rail down her hips and thighs. A lantern burned behind her, revealing curves he’d discovered when she’d fallen out of the carriage onto him earlier.

  No, he was not the one who would experience any difficulty.

  But she was a small woman. She was a virgin.

  And he was… none of those things.

  “Should I get on the bed, then?” She might as well have been asking him if he’d prefer mutton or beef.

  “I suppose,” he muttered. “No. Wait.”

  She paused and stared at him in some confusion. Vincent could not do this the same as he would repair a fence post or round up a herd.

  He’d had some ale with his meal but suddenly wished he’d downed a few drams of whiskey. Pushing such thoughts away, he rose and crossed the room so that he stood directly in front of her. At least he’d washed the dirt and sweat off himself from his day’s exertions.

  She tilted her head back sharply just to meet his gaze.

  “It will make it easier for you.” His voice sounded gruff… gravelly. “If you are prepared.”

  With a determined glint in her eyes, she nodded. “Yes. Yes. That would be best.” And then that furrowed brow of hers appeared again. “What does that require?”

  “I should… you ought to… Oh, hell—” He reached one arm down to curve around her waist and dragged her body up against his.

  God, but she felt fragile.

  He lowered his mouth and claimed her lips.

  She initially stiffened and went to draw back her head, but Vincent followed her hungrily, unwilling to draw out this dialogue any further.

  If she didn’t like it, he would stop. But she needed to have a taste of what was to come if she intended him to swive her that night.

  Drawing his tongue along the seam of her lips, satisfaction rolled through him when she relaxed hers, allowing him entry. She tasted of something sweet, warm, and clean.

  He’d gone too long without this… since before Keenan’s death.

  With a surge of excitement, he tightened his grip around her and when she made no sounds of protest, reached his hands beneath her knees, lifted her easily, and carried her to the bed.

  4

  A New Experience

  Planning for such a life-altering event had not been easy, as sheltered and isolated as Lila had been throughout her life. She’d managed to ask Fran a few questions, and one of the housemaids, Dora, had been quite forthcoming, but nothing she’d learned on her own had prepared her for the magnitude of the actual experience itself.

  All she could do when Pemberth claimed her mouth and then lifted her easily and carried her across the room was cling to him for dear life.

  Dora had not mentioned anything about his tongue… doing these things. And although she might have thought the sensation would be unpleasant, Lila found it all rather intriguing.

  In fact, she felt somewhat bereft when he dropped her onto the bed, forcing their mouths to disengage.

  Most likely, he’d unfasten his breeches now.

  “Do you want to extinguish the lantern?” She stared up at him.

  His hands were indeed working at his waist. He did not answer her. He merely shook his head.

  So, she would see it. It could not be very large, because Lila couldn’t imagine…

  Perhaps she’d rather not actually see it.

  Laying back, she slid her feet apart, creating what she hoped would be an appropriate amount of room for him to work, and closed her eyes tightly.

  She was not sure exactly what she had been waiting for, but when nothing happened, she opened her eyes and found him lying sideways on the bed, staring at her with his head resting on one hand.

  And then she felt… it.

  Glancing down was enough to confirm her suspicions. He had removed his breaches and—

  Yes. The solid poking feeling at her side was indeed his member pressing into her. She just as quickly flicked her gaze back up to his face.

  “Lila.” For the first time since meeting him that morning, she sensed he might possibly be capable of smiling. Not that he was smiling at her now, but something danced in the back of those silver-blue eyes. “Are you certain you are prepared to do this?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t want to take any chances. “Just do what you need to do.” She closed her eyes again.

  Then his hand was running down the length of her arm. He took a moment to draw a few light circles on the back of her hand and then moved his to rest on her abdomen.

  Butterflies seemed to dance under her skin where he touched her. Her breath hitched when that same hand crept upward to just beneath her breast, cupping it from below.

  “I won’t hurt you, Lila.” His voice sounded gravelly beside her ear.

  She nodded slightly. Did she trust him?

  Oddly enough, she did.

  And then his fingers were slowly massaging the flesh that surrounded the tip. Pangs of… something hot coursed from where he touched her, to her center. Abandoning her earlier position, she squeezed her legs together and bent her knees. A tight pinch from his fingers had her swallowing hard.

  When something warm and wet settled over her other breast, her eyes flew open.

  She could only see the top of his head. He’d taken her nipple into his mouth, the fabric of her night rail no deterrent at all!

  Awareness of a throbbing warmth between her legs replaced her initial shock and a moaning sound filled her ears.

  Was that her?

  It was! She squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable and wanting and scared all at the same time.

  “I’m preparing you,” he mumbled before claiming her lips with his again.

  Again, she could only nod, as his lips chased around the sides of her mouth, trailing down to her earlobes.

  She shivered, and his tongue swirled around the shell of her ear.

  His hand had abandoned her breast and now caressed her thigh. She’d not even noticed that he’d lifted her night rail.

  Part of her wanted to stop him, and the image of his member burned on the back of her eyelids, but she’d determined long ago the necessity of assuring her marriage could never be contested.

  She knew her father all too well—his dishonesty and cheating—his nefariousness knew no bounds.

  Pemberth’s hand moved to the small mound just above her apex and all thoughts of her father fled. Dora had hinted at some of this, but Lila had not
really believed her. Hunger grew inside of her.

  Of their own volition, her hips thrust forward, inexplicably demanding more of his touch.

  Ah, yes. Whereas before she’d been unable to even imagine him putting something inside of her there, she now wanted something…

  She wanted anything.

  She found herself twisting, writhing to be closer to him. And then his fingers slid into her folds, rubbing, circling, almost robbing her of her breath.

  “How?” she panted. “What is—?” But then his mouth was devouring hers again. And just as his tongue thrust past her lips, one of his fingers slid inside of her.

  His tongue thrust around her teeth and then deeper, just as he did with his hand. Another finger entered her and all she could do was clutch at him. Part of her felt like crying, part of her felt like screaming. This overwhelming onslaught was nearly too much.

  * * *

  Vincent hadn’t expected to find himself straining against his own needs. He wasn’t a rutting schoolboy.

  But, by God, watching her come alive beneath his hand—feeling her body tremble and reach for completion—had him struggling not to spend atop the bedclothes.

  “So wet. So warm.” He hadn’t known he was speaking until he heard his own voice out loud. His hand caressed and then massaged around her opening before slipping a middle finger inside. She lifted and bucked beneath him in a haze of passion. But he enjoyed being in control and slowed her by leaning forward, pinning her down with his body.

  When she cried out, he captured her sounds inside his own mouth.

  Such a fine line between exquisite pleasure and torture.

  Unable to wait one second longer, Vincent withdrew his hand and rested his arms along her head. He had never taken a virgin before.

  Spreading her thighs wide with his knees, he settled atop her and pressed his tip against her soft opening.

  Sensing her arousal, experiencing a hint of her tight, wet heat, his own excitement had him surging forward with one single thrust. There was nothing to do but to break her barrier; better not to prolong the process.