Hell’s Belle

by Anders, Annabelle

  Cecily met Emily’s stare. “Blakely is actually willing to go through with such a plan?” Her voice was tinged with more than a little suspicion. “Doing so would end all possibility of a reconciliation for him and his father. It just seems rather drastic.”

  Emily was just about to blurt out the request she’d sent to Prescott earlier that morning when the doors flew open to allow Mrs. Mossant, along with Coleus and Hollyhock, to interrupt their meeting. Sending them away would have been rude, so their conversation would have to remain unfinished for now.

  The younger Mossant girls squealed in delight upon seeing Cecily’s gown and the conversation devolved into raptures of fashion, fabric, and accessories.

  Not exactly Emily’s favorite topics.

  While the others chatted about Madam Chantal’s latest designs, Emily itched to take a closer look at the Prescott library. She’d not done any reading since their arrival and since she could finally see again, the collection of tomes beckoned.

  And so, Emily rose quietly and edged out of the room while Coleus embarked upon describing, in excruciating detail, a gown she’d seen on display last week.

  There were some days when being invisible had its advantages.

  Emily slipped into the hallway and, without thought to anything other than exploring the shelves of books, skipped toward the library.

  She’d barely caught a whiff of cigars and bergamot before she barreled into, and then bounced off of, a sturdy and muscular male person who’d ever so quietly slipped out of the billiard room. She landed quite unceremoniously upon her bottom.

  Lord Carlisle!

  The vicar promptly dropped to his haunches. “Miss Goodnight. My apologies. Are you hurt?”

  A little stunned, she looked up into his eyes and realized the world had gone quite blurry again. No!

  No!

  No!

  “Don’t move,” she ordered him. Where were they? “I’ve lost my spectacles.” She swore to herself that if they became broken again, she’d ride into town herself in order to procure another pair. This was becoming too ridiculous for words!

  He stilled except for turning his head. “Right here.” Relief swept through her as he placed them in her hand.

  He would not be so presumptuous, as Blakely had been, to slide them onto her face himself. Why must that rotter always intrude into her thoughts? Perhaps that kiss…

  She fidgeted with the earpiece thoughtfully.

  Some clever inventor needed to design a contraption that would keep them from flying from her face at every turn. She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts and then settled the spectacles back upon the bridge of her nose.

  Only after the world took shape again did she accept the earl’s proffered hand and allow him to assist her to her feet.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Goodnight?” Staring into his startling blue eyes, she wondered how she’d never noticed what a good-looking gentleman he was before. She’d not considered him at all until hearing Rhoda’s prolific statements of admiration.

  In fact, her friend’s insistence upon Lord Carlisle’s absolute goodness was nearly enough to convince Emily that Rhoda esteemed him herself. That would be problematic! She nearly giggled at the thought.

  Rhoda and a vicar! Ha! What a laugh that was.

  “Would you care to go somewhere and lie down? Shall I fetch a maid?” Oh, yes, Lord Carlisle had asked her something.

  “No. I’m fine. How are you, my lord? I certainly hope I haven’t hurt you?” She’d run into him with considerable force.

  He laughed. “I’m fine, Miss Goodnight.”

  Emily stared at him for a moment. If Rhoda and Blakely were to ever elope, she’d better try to do something about her own circumstances. “Would you care to take a turn outside, Lord Carlisle?”

  He’d not refuse her. He glanced out one of the windows. “In the rain?” But then he shrugged. “If that is what you wish. Why don’t you fetch your coat while I procure us a few umbrellas? We can meet in the foyer in…” He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes?”

  This was good. Yes, this was good.

  Except then the door to the billiards room opened again and Prescott stepped out. He seemed a little surprised to see her standing with Lord Carlisle. “Miss Goodnight,” he acknowledged her in a friendly manner but also with a knowing look.

  Emily took a moment to raise her brows at him but also dip her chin. He nodded. He would not share her request for information with anyone else. Emily felt relieved that he’d acknowledged this but also unnerved.

  With a sideways glance in Carlisle’s direction, Prescott clasped his hands together and reverted to his normal, somewhat intimidating manner. “Is my duchess yet holed up in the drawing room with the other ladies?”

  No answer was necessary, however, when a flurry of feminine steps and voices drifted from the end of the hall. “Dev!” Sophia beckoned. “Are you gentlemen finished with your cards and whatnot?” She took his arm and easily stepped into his embrace.

  “Miss Goodnight and I were just about to take a turn outside in the rain. Are there any umbrellas handy?” Lord Carlisle answered with his own question.

  “Oh, but that sounds like a delightful idea. We’ve been cooped up all day.” Coleus’ enthusiastic comment to invite herself along drew a scowl from Rhoda.

  “You’re more than welcome to join us, Miss Coleus.” The earl responded graciously.

  “I want to go too!” Hollyhock added.

  “We might as well all go.” Rhoda caught Emily’s gaze with a silent apology, but then shrugged.

  And then the billiard room door opened, and the remainder of the gentlemen stepped out as well. By the time the details of the outing had been decided upon, all of them were planning on joining them except for Cecily’s father, Mr. Findlay.

  And Sophia’s mother-in-law, of course. The elder duchess of Prescott who’d kept herself to the dowager house since they’d arrived.

  So much for Emily’s romantic stroll with Lord Blakely.

  Did she just think Lord Blakely? She meant Lord Carlisle. Yes… her romantic stroll with Lord Carlisle. C-A-R-L-I-S-L-E.

  Perhaps she could still separate Carlisle off from the others, although as everyone excused themselves to their chambers to change into boots and collect coats, she doubted her ability to finagle such a coup.

  She hurried to change, nonetheless, and was the first to arrive in the meeting spot.

  “Whoever thought a walk in this weather would be enjoyable ought to be shot.”

  She didn’t need to see the face of the gentleman standing in the shadows to know the speaker. “No one is putting a pistol to your head,” she responded lightly as she slipped on her gloves.

  Marcus stepped out of the corner into the filtered light coming in from one of the windows, looking more imposing than normal. Dressed in a great coat with numerous capes and a tall top hat, he stole her breath. Same as always.

  In one hand, he held the curved handle of an umbrella. Such elegance! She couldn’t help but compare him in her mind to the man who had stolen into her chamber earlier that morning. He’d shaved recently. Yes. But he could not hide the shadows beneath his eyes. She wondered how often he thought of Meggie and the child she’d carried. She wondered if the child yet lived. What if the woman and her child now dwelled in a charming cottage tucked away in some faraway village? Or perhaps even in a village not so very far away? Her heart stopped beating. Knowing Prescott, all of these questions would be answered very soon.

  “Shall we lead the way?” He jerked his head toward the door. “I’d prefer not to spend an entire afternoon waiting on others.” His manner this afternoon more irritated than normal, he winged an arm toward her and led her outside.

  Although streams and puddles presented small hindrances along the walk, the rain now fell in more of a drizzle. Blakely opened the umbrella and held it so that both of them received some protection as long as Emily stayed close to him. With her hand tucked into his
elbow, he took long strides toward the garden.

  His gait required Emily to take two steps for every one of his. As they entered the garden path, she heard more of the party exit the manor behind them. Would they catch up?

  Did she want them to?

  Perhaps Lord Blakely wished to discuss his arrangements regarding Rhoda.

  “May we slow down? Please?” By now, she was a little breathless.

  He glanced down at her and scowled, almost as though he’d forgotten she was there.

  “Your legs are much longer than mine,” she added.

  “We were playing cards.” His words caught her by surprise. “But then a maid delivered a message to Prescott that the child needed her mother.”

  “Ah, and Sophia had instructed the servants not to disturb her.” Yes, Emily remembered vaguely hearing Sophia make this request when they’d holed up in the drawing room. But that wasn’t the point. The two of them traveled a few more steps, shorter ones now. “And this bothered you?”

  They’d reached a circle of stones, and he stopped altogether. “I’m rarely around children.”

  “And this annoyed you?” She would have liked to slug his lordship then and there.

  But then he shook his head. “No, quite the contrary, actually.”

  She wished he would just say what he was thinking. “Were you losing?”

  Now he looked at her in confusion.

  “At cards?” she clarified.

  He waved one hand in the air, as though to dismiss such a notion. “I never lose.”

  Very well. So, what about his grace being informed of little Lady Harriette’s needs had disturbed Lord Blakely to the extent that he would drag her into the rain without waiting for the others?

  “Don’t you like children?” She was beginning to feel like an investigator. If she wished to discover the crux of the matter, she’d have to question him extensively.

  “It made me wonder about my own.” He spoke in an even tone, not looking at her though. “I try not to think about it, but you had to go and bring up her name today.”

  Oh.

  She didn’t know what to say. How could one comfort somebody regarding a loss such as that? She imagined there was no comfort. Even time. So, she tightened her grasp of his elbow, brought up her other hand, and squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  The light drips on the umbrella increased in volume as the drizzle redoubled its efforts.

  This close, she could feel each breath he took. She ought to be cold, but his warmth spread to her.

  “What would you have done? If your father hadn’t… gotten involved?” She’d wondered this on more than one occasion. Would he, a future duke, have acted honorably with a village maid?

  The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” His groundout words seemed innocent enough… and then. Ah. He wasn’t only angry with his father but with himself as well. Perhaps even more so.

  “You are a duke’s heir,” she said. “How old were you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “That’s very young.” Emily imagined a lankier, carefree version of him.

  He pivoted, dragging her along with him and turned them both down a different path.

  “How old was Meggie?” she asked.

  “She was a few years older than me,” he answered grudgingly. Emily wondered how many years but decided not to ask. The length of his steps had increased again, as had his pace. “But the child would be nearly ten.”

  “Wait. Please.” She could not keep up this pace. She might just as well have been running. His scowl deepened, and Blakely suddenly seemed so very unapproachable. Disengaging her hand from his arm, he stepped out from beneath the umbrella, leaving the handle for her to grasp.

  “You’ll want to join the others.” What is the matter with him?

  For years now, all of the ton had viewed him as rebellious and ungrateful, refusing to do the honorable thing by his father. When really, his own conscience could never allow him to go along as though nothing had happened.

  And on top of all that, he carried his own burden of guilt. “So, you doubt that you would have done the honorable thing toward her, is that it? Given the chance?”

  He stood in the rain, water accumulating in the brim of his hat and spilling off the front. He squinted those unfathomable eyes of his while a flurry of sideways drops blew into his face. When he shook his head, more drops drizzled onto the top capes of his coat. “I don’t know.” His mouth twisted into a grimace and deep lines etched his forehead.

  “And you’re tormenting yourself about his? About something you may or may not have done when you were all of seventeen years old?” Emily lifted the umbrella and stepped toward him. Grasping his hand, she pulled him toward a location where they could talk. “Come with me,” she ordered. He wasn’t thinking logically about this.

  A few hundred yards to the left, tucked in behind some trees, a quiet gazebo had been erected. Remarkably, he followed her without argument.

  Beneath cover, Emily closed the umbrella and set it aside. Before he could move away from her, she reached up, removed his hat, and then shook the water off. She dropped it on the small table and then sat on one of the chairs. “I’ve a pebble in my boot.” Dratted thing. “Sit down, for heaven’s sake. You make me nervous looming over me like that.”

  He exhaled a loud sigh and then crouched in front of her. When Emily persisted in attempting to untie her boots, he pushed her hands away. “I’ve never known a woman who struggled so much with the most basic requirements of living.” He deftly untied the boot, loosened the laces, and then tugged the shoe until it came off.

  Her fingers itched to touch his head, run her fingers through his tousled hair as he bent over. Meanwhile, he firmly grasped her foot in one hand and shook the offending shoe with the other. “I don’t know how you’ve existed this long without a keeper. Really.” He smoothed the bottom of her foot. She supposed he was making certain no rocks clung to her stocking and then he went about slipping it back on. After a few hearty shoves, he laced it up again.

  When the laces were tied, instead of rising to his feet again, he remained on the ground, bent over her foot.

  Almost as though her brain had disconnected from her hands, she reached out and brushed at the dark, thick locks. When he didn’t move, she grew bolder, combing her fingers toward the back of his head. He groaned, dipping his head forward, almost into her lap.

  “It does no good to beat up on ourselves.” She continued stroking her fingers through his hair, contemplating. “Others will do it for you.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. He obviously didn’t want to talk about himself anymore.

  “You told me last night to imagine that I’m good enough. To try to think of myself as good enough to land a husband.” She laughed a little. “Thank you ever so much for that, by the way. Anyhow, I’ve been ruminating the matter. How does one pretend to be good enough when no one has ever given you any indication that this is the case? And can I pretend enough so that one of the bachelors here might actually make me an offer?”

  Emily’s fingers rhythmically combing through his hair were mesmerizing. His heart slowed considerably, and Marcus found himself practically slumped into her lap.

  She somehow eased the self-disgust that at times threatened to overwhelm him. And now, this talk about not being good enough.

  But as she explained, in her calm soothing voice, that she’d never been good enough for anyone, a different sort of disgust built within him. Who had caused her to feel this way? Did I play a part in it?

  Damn my eyes.

  Marcus reached up and grasped her tiny wrists. At the same time, he sat back on his heels and held her gaze. “Miss Goodnight, Emily.” She had it all wrong. “Of course, you are good enough to receive an honorable offer. Likely, you’re too good for all of us.”

  He’d always treated her as something of a friend, a sister, almost, excepting last night. A moment of madness. He’d sensed she nee
ded protection though. From bastards much like himself. “You’re smarter than most of us, quite pretty, really, and you always make the most interesting conversation.”

  Her gaze shifted away from him. “I’ve rather come to believe that’s a great deal of the problem.”

  Marcus stared at her lips while she spoke. How had he not noticed how full and lush those lips were before now? He’d tasted them last night. Obviously, he’d drank too much brandy after dinner. This was Miss Goodnight, for God’s sake.

  “Some gentlemen actually appreciate a woman of intelligence.”

  She licked her lips. “Do you…” She licked them again. She shouldn’t do that. He tried to ignore the tightening in his groin. “Do you think Lord Carlisle might appreciate somebody like me?”

  “Carlisle?”

  “You look incredulous.” She exhaled a deep sigh and grimaced. “Just as I thought, I am looking too high then.”

  He shook his head. They’d already discussed this, hadn’t they? He couldn’t quite remember but for some reason, the notion didn’t sit well with him.

  It should. Carlisle, a former vicar, could provide her with a home, respect, financial security, protection… children.

  “No.” His voice came out sounding like something of a croak. “No, of course, you’re not looking too high. I simply hadn’t considered…” He shook off this odd sensation she’d wrought. “Haven’t you any swain waiting for you in London? Fellows who’ve followed you from ball to ball, sniffing at your skirts?” He far preferred to imagine her being courted by some nameless, faceless, spineless sort.

  “You’d be surprised.” She lifted one corner of her mouth and attempted a smile. At the same time, Marcus realized he was still kneeling on the ground.

  He rose and took a few steps backward. “Try your shoe now. I’m pretty sure I removed whatever was bothering you but…” His voice trailed off as she left the bench and gingerly stepped across the gazebo, away from him.

  Her shoulders slumped, she seemed smaller than when they first had set out.

  It wasn’t right that he leave her in such doubt as to her abilities to attract a husband. Even as he chastised himself, he chuckled as she stomped her feet to further assess the condition of her shoes.