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

by Anders, Annabelle

  Achingly familiar eyes studied her in concern. Shadows had etched themselves beneath them and stubble the color of a lion’s mane darkened the lower half of his face. “I could feel your breathing change.” He gave her a weak attempt at a smile.

  “You came back to me.”

  Again, that weak smile. How had his become such a precious face? “I am back. I never should have left.” Gentle fingertips grazed her cheek. “Will you forgive me?”

  Lila blinked. “Will you forgive me?”

  And then he dropped a kiss on her lips. No demand. No need. Just a kiss of affection and acceptance. “Nothing to forgive.”

  “Vincent.” She tested his name on her lips. “I have nothing to forgive of you, either.”

  His smile spread wider this time. How could they smile after all that had come to pass? She could smile because she lov—

  “I love you, Lila.” His smile settled into simple contentment. “Your father was an evil, horrid man, but I will always have him to thank for forcing me into your life. And now that you are here, I’ll do everything I know to keep you happy. You are a blessing to me. I would marry you a thousand times over if I could. Never doubt my love.” His gaze revealed a hint of hidden savagery. “Never.”

  Lila swallowed hard. He was right. Without the damnable man she had called father, she would never have found this.

  Him.

  Love.

  This absolute knowing that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

  She had discovered her destiny, the man of her body and heart. “I love you, Vincent.” She wound her arms around his neck. They would climb out of this bed today, bathe, eat, and make their plans for the future.

  They would bring Arianna here, and they would mourn together and allow the scars of their childhood begin to heal.

  They had survived and they had one another. Lila would shower her sister with all the love she deserved. Because despite everything, they had survived.

  And life meant nothing without love.

  Lila’s heart swelled. She had been given more than her fair share.

  Vincent climbed out of their tall bed, walked over to the window, and drew back the curtain.

  Sometime in the night, her husband had removed his clothing. Lila licked her lips as she studied the sinewy ridges that made up his beautiful physique.

  She’d been given hope and life and love and oh, so much more.

  Her eyes trailed up the length of his legs and stopped just below his hips. She licked her lips again.

  So very much more.

  Epilogue

  Unlikely Friends

  Lila frowned as she watched Adrianna spin around on the dance floor at her very first ton ball. The gentleman who’d claimed this particular dance seemed far too old for Lila’s little sister. Not quite eight and ten, Adrianna had finally convinced Lila and Vincent that she was more than ready to make her come out to society this spring.

  Lila bit her lip. Her little sister looked so very grown up and very, very pretty. Perhaps too pretty.

  The music echoed across the gleaming parquet floors and chandeliers sparkled from above. After having been away from London for so long, it was all a little overwhelming.

  “She will be fine,” Vincent whispered in her ear. “She has her sister’s beauty but also her wits.” He squeezed her hand. “And if any one of the blokes sniffing around her makes so much as a single misstep, she will have the benefit of her brother-in-law’s fist plowing through their face.” Lila couldn’t help but smile upon hearing that overly protective growl in her husband’s voice.

  He made for an excellent, if not somewhat overbearing, older brother to Adrianna.

  “I know and I’m so very proud of her,” Lila responded as she watched the couples execute the dance.

  Vincent’s breath caressed her cheek as he leaned in closer. “Would anyone notice, do you think, if we were to disappear for ten or twenty minutes? As lovely as you look tonight, the sight of you in that gown is making me rather uncomfortable and I’m not certain I have the patience to––“

  “Pardon me, Your Graces?” An oddly familiar voice cut off the inappropriate suggestion Vincent was about to make.

  Marcus Richards, Lila’s former betrothed, stood before them with the woman she presumed to be his wife at his side.

  “Your Grace.” Lila nodded, unsure of what he might want to say to her. She was not angry with him. She’d never loved him. But her father had espoused him to be the most despicable of gentlemen after he’d broken their betrothal contract.

  The Duke of Waters turned toward the petite brown-haired lady standing at his side. “Emily, I’d like to present you to the Duke and Duchess of Pemberth, Your Graces, this is my wife, the Duchess of Waters.”

  Lily flicked a glance toward Vincent. She’d explained her previous betrothal to her husband months and months ago, shortly after they married and from the wariness in his eyes, he had remembered the man’s identity.

  She smiled at him reassuringly and then, curious as to what this was all about, Lila curtseyed to the other duchess who curtseyed back with a smile.

  In all honesty, Lila could not remember if duchesses were supposed to curtsey to one another. After being married for a year and a half and keeping to their country estate for the most part, she hadn’t as yet met any other duchesses.

  She could not help herself, however, but take the measure of the other woman.

  Upon being jilted by Marcus Richards, Lila had been told by her father that her betrothed had married a Miss Emily Goodnight. The horrid woman was, he had insisted, an antidote, a vile and most disagreeable spinster who would long be remembered as the ugliest of all the duchesses in England.

  Yet another thing he’d lied about.

  Although Miss Goodnight, Her Grace, wore spectacles perched upon her nose, slightly askew no less, she was really, rather pretty.

  And by the look in the duke of Water’s eyes, Marcus Richards was obviously enamored with her.

  “My sympathy on your father’s passing.” Lila murmured, remembering that the duke’s father had passed shortly after her father moved them up to Bryony Manor.

  Waters cocked one brow. “My sympathies to you, as well, Your Grace.” He turned to Vincent. “Perhaps, Pemberth, you’ll take a smoke with me on the terrace, while the ladies, ah, get to know one another?”

  Vincent met Lila’s gaze and she nodded. He would know that this meeting might be uncomfortable.

  “I would like for nothing more than to become acquainted with Her Grace.” She consented.

  Both ladies watched the backs of the gentlemen as they strolled toward the terrace doors. Lila surmised that although the young Duke of Waters cut a fine figure of a man, he paled in comparison to her husband. Vincent had a far superior––

  “I have wanted to apologize to you for a very long time, and when I heard that you and Pemberth had come to London, I absolutely insisted Marcus introduce the two of us.” The other lady touched Lila’s arm lightly and drew them toward the wall.

  Did Lila want an apology? She studied the other woman who seemed quite friendly and open and was not at all the witch her father had made her out to be.

  “But I am quite content with the outcome, Your Grace. You have no need to apologize.” Lila had considered this before. In fact, perhaps she ought to thank the other woman.

  The Duchess nodded as though in agreement.

  “Emily,” She said. “Please call me Emily. Far too much Your Gracing all around if I do say so myself.” She scrunched her nose, making her seem even more approachable and friendly. “The thing of it is, I intentionally set out to convince your betrothed to jilt you. I am not sorry for that as I would not give him up for all the gold in the kingdom, but I am sorry that you were hurt as a result of my actions. And I am most sorry that you were forced to remain in your father’s custody, villain that he was.”

  Lila had not thought anyone would speak so bluntly of her father in London, let alone at a
ball.

  “Few people crossed my father and emerged unscathed.” Lila could not help but wonder what all had occurred when he’d discovered the couple’s temerity. “But, you are… happy?”

  “We are.” The other woman’s gaze shifted in the direction of the terrace. “And you, Your Grace?”

  Lila could not help but grin. “I am.” And then she added. “All is well that ends well. And please call me Lila.”

  Lila hadn’t been allowed to become close to other women for most of her life. Since her marriage, although she’d become acquainted with a few of their neighbors, the ladies maintained a certain aloofness. Lila’s station was something of a barrier.

  How wonderful it would be to have an actual friend. “I had forgotten the splendor of a ton ball.” She put forth.

  Again, the duchess, Emily, scrunched up her nose, making her glasses jump up and then settle again, this time quite evenly. She leaned closer to Lila. “You’ll have the most fun in the library, let me assure you.” Emily smiled quite unapologetically.

  “What would one want to do in a library when there is a ball…?”

  The other lady winked, and Lila couldn’t help but burst into laughter. It was no wonder Emily Goodnight had so easily caught herself a husband.

  “In addition to that, if we were to stroll through the gardens, we’d overhear all manner of interesting goings-on.”

  Lila laughed again. “Who needs to dance with so many other offerings for entertainment?”

  “My sentiments exactly.” Emily smiled and then, suddenly distracted, waved at someone beyond Lila’s shoulder. “I must warn you, we are about to be bombarded on all sides. Some of my dearest friends are approaching––you will absolutely love them.”

  Excited cries of “Emily!” And then,“Cecily! Sophia! Rhoda!” had Lila taking a step back. Three other ladies, all lovely and obviously old friends––very good friends––hugged and fawned over one another, asking about babies and husbands and travels making Lila feel more than a little like an interloper.

  Before she could make her excuses, Emily grasped hold of Lila’s wrist and introduced her to all of them. They all seemed to know exactly who Lila was, but welcomed her enthusiastically, asking her about her marriage and her journey to London and even invited her along on an excursion to Bond Street with all of them the next day.

  “We’re going to visit Madam Chantal and will insist that she fit you into our appointments. I have the most inspiring idea for a dress for you.” The redhaired lady suggested in a friendly manner that Lila was most unaccustomed to.

  “Puffed sleeves past the elbows?” One of them asked.

  “Yes, and a low back, what with such a lovely complexion.”

  Lila could hardly keep up with them. It was overwhelming and frightening and… absolutely one of the most delightful things to have happened to her since they’d arrived in town.

  Was it possible that she might make some friends in London? Despite all the sins of her father?

  “I have a sister here,” Lila’s gaze searched for Adrianna and then located her, sitting along the wall and chatting, most animatedly, with two other girls seated beside her.

  “Oh, she has met Hollyhock and Coleus, my younger sisters.” The tallest of the girls, but also the most… sensual looking of them, commented.

  “And that is Althea, one of Devlin’s younger cousins.” The tiny blond woman, who, ironically enough, was yet another duchess, chimed in,

  “They are sitting in the exact spot the four of us met.” Cecily, the redhead smiled at all of them. “Do you remember?”

  Rhoda cocked her head. “Were we not closer to the windows?”

  “No, that is the exact spot.” Emily confirmed quite adamantly.

  “But should they remain sitting? Should they not be mingling so that they might all be asked to dance?” Lila wondered aloud.

  “Absolutely not!” Emily Goodnight put one arm slightly around Lila’s shoulders. “Because being a wallflower is one of the most important aspects of having a London Season.”

  Lila raised her brows in question.

  “Finding oneself a husband is absolutely divine,” Sophia explained in a hushed whisper. “But a girl must have good friends who will always have her back.” She locked arms with Lila.

  “And tell her if her hem has come undone, or if gentlemen are betting on her.” Rhoda added.

  Cecily grinned. “Or if she has had too much champagne.”

  Lila couldn’t help but think how lovely all of that would be.

  She sighed and glanced back to where the younger girls sat chatting.

  “I did not realize this.” She admitted shyly.

  “Well, now you do.” Emily lowered her spectacles and winked. “Sometimes… we go so far as to discuss the attributes of various mentulas…

  All of them burst out laughing and Sophia blushed to the roots of her hair. “Enough Emily! You’re going to scare our new friend away!”

  Lila just barely caught sight of Vincent, standing with the Duke of Waters and three other very impressive looking gentlemen. All of them glanced over at them upon hearing the laughter.

  Vincent appeared content and smiled at Lila warmly.

  Perhaps later she would slip away with him to the library, but for now she wished to learn more about her new friends.

  She turned back to the ladies. “What exactly is a mentula…?”

  ~THE END~

  Thank you so much for reading Lila and Vincent’s quest for a happily ever after! If you haven’t read any of the other Devilish Debutante’s stories, you’re in for quite a treat!

  Read on for Cecily’s story in

  HELL HATH NO FURY

  Because we all need wallflowers in our life!

  Happy Reading!

  HELL HATH NO FURY

  Cecily

  Chapter One

  if it’s the last thing I do, I will free myself of that scoundrel. Sipping her third glass of champagne in an absentminded motion, Cecily Nottingham, the new Countess of Kensington, glared daggers across the crowded ballroom at the man she’d pledged to love, honor, and obey in a church of God, less than one month ago. Even if I have to kill him.

  Tonight, her husband’s hand caressed the delicate arch of another woman’s back as he guided the lady across the parquet dance floor and outside to a romantically lit terrace.

  Cecily wondered if anybody present did not know that that woman was his lover. For since their nuptials, Flavion had exhibited no discretion whatsoever. All too late, Cecily realized that she’d married a narcissistic, good-for-nothing, parasitical bastard.

  Both Cecily and her father had been fleeced.

  Swindled.

  Duped.

  The villain, Flavion Nottingham, the Earl of Kensington, stood at above-average height and was slim with blond hair and gloriously cobalt eyes. In addition to being inordinately handsome, he possessed an uncanny ability to charm any lady he so desired. One might call it a gift.

  His lady love, Miss Daphne Cunnington, nearly equaled him in beauty. A twinkle caught Cecily’s eye and curdled something ugly in her stomach. For Miss Cunnington’s dark ringlets were being held in place by a heavily bejeweled barrette purchased with the money from Cecily’s dowry.

  Which now belonged to Flavion.

  It was not the first gift he’d bestowed upon his lover since his windfall.

  A fleeting urge gripped Cecily, to run across the ballroom, slip outside and rip the barrette off Miss Cunnington’s head. Cecily would not be sorry if she pulled a few strands of hair out as well. In her mind, she could picture the scene — Miss Cunnington’s high-pitched wails drowning out the sounds of the orchestra as she clutched at her ruined coiffure, her face pinched and red. The thought could almost make Cecily smile.

  Almost.

  Instead, she lowered her gaze from their retreating figures to watch the bubbles in her champagne glass. She would not give in to boorish behavior. Cecily was a lady now.

 
It was not Miss Cunnington, anyhow, who vexed her most; her degenerate louse of a husband deserved that honor.

  And herself for being so gullible.

  “I had no choice but to court you. I have responsibilities – quite noble of me, really,” he had told her, with not even the tiniest trace of regret in his voice. “The earldom needed the blunt.”

  He had explained this to her approximately two minutes after consummating their vows.

  That had been twenty-four days ago.

  Every night since then, she’d locked the connecting door between their chambers and wrapped herself in a cocoon of icy anger. Based upon his persistent requests to enter, he still expected her to present him with an heir. His sense of entitlement knew no bounds. Cecily, however, would not allow him to touch her ever again.

  During mealtimes and in passing, the bounder impudently assumed that she would be a cordial and biddable wife. He expected her to peaceably accept her circumstances as though she were any other lady of the ton. But she was not, never had been, and never would be. As the only daughter of the well-known, self-made millionaire, Thomas Findlay — an orphan who had created his own wealth from nothing but cunning and determination, she could not settle for intolerable circumstances. She would not.

  “But we live amongst the haute ton,” Flavion had told her. Had she truly expected his undying love and flattery to continue indefinitely? “You ought to be grateful to me! You are now the Countess of Kensington, for God’s sake. You have duties, my lady.”

  Impossible.

  Absolutely not.

  Flavion, apparently, had comprehended to know her no better than she had thought she’d known him.

  Despite all the lessons and training she’d received from her governess, her middle-class notions of marriage could not be so easily relinquished. She’d married believing she’d found a love match. Instead, she was the pawn of a horrific business transaction.

  She wished her papa had not sailed for America so soon after the ceremony. He would never have allowed this farce of a marriage to stand.