Hell’s Belle

by Anders, Annabelle

  Emily’s breath caught. Please say no. Please say no! But there would be regrets. As soon as she told him…

  More clacking of balls. “Aren’t there always?”

  “Where my marriage is concerned. No.” Lucky, lucky Cecily! Mr. Nottingham would even admit this to a newly married fellow. “Too late for you now, Marcus.” An ironic chuckle followed the statement.

  “She entered our arrangement with a clear understanding…” Marcus did not sound nearly as sure of himself as normal. “…messier than I would have it.”

  She ought to stop listening this very second. No one ever heard good things about themselves while eavesdropping.

  “Perhaps this will end this stand-off with your father once and for all. It’s taken a toll on all of you. That’s to be certain. The duchess, Corinne… Lady Hartley. Your niece and nephews will not recognize you.”

  “Father’s going to hate her.” Emily squeezed her eyes shut. That had been the idea all along. How would he feel now? Knowing he’d been mistaken as to his father’s crimes.

  “He won’t hate her. He’s going to hate that you’ve caused him to break his contract with Lord Quimbly.”

  “True.” Another hard click and more clacking. Maybe she didn’t want to hear this.

  “It’s going to be priceless.” More glee in his voice. “Em, er… Lady Blakely and I will make an appearance together in London and then travel south. Quimbly and his daughter traveled to town with them. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

  At that moment, she realized that Prescott hadn’t given her a choice, really. There was no other decision, in fact, but for her to tell Marcus the truth. No man ought to harbor so much hate in his heart.

  She would tell him the facts and be done with it.

  Unfortunately, he might choose to be done with her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Perhaps Best Left Unturned

  Marcus played another round of billiards by himself after Stephen excused himself to see what his wife was up to.

  Blasted wedded bliss.

  As he and Emily had approached Eden’s Court earlier this morning, the reality of his marriage had reared its ugly head.

  For years, Marcus had sworn to never marry. Even the best of his friends looked up to him as the consummate bachelor. He’d become an icon for gents all about town.

  And now he’d been caught.

  Hook, line, and sinker, blast and damn.

  The nature of his circumstances chafed. And yet…

  His body craved hers. Having a wife at one’s fingertips proved to be rather opportune. Especially when said wife demonstrated herself quite unorthodox in the bedchamber… and the carriage… and conveniently situated gazebos…

  Ah, yes, Marcus could appreciate this aspect of marriage.

  For now.

  Although his passion had not diminished in the least, he was bound to become uninterested eventually.

  But for this moment, contemplating the image of his wife’s mouth on his… Marcus adjusted his breeches. If he were to hazard a guess, he might even believe he wanted her more now than before.

  He could liken Emily to a fine scotch.

  He remembered the first time he’d sampled the amber liquid. The smoky taste hadn’t impressed him much, and it had burned his chest and then his gut.

  But his appreciation had grown with each exposure.

  He chuckled.

  Em, too, was an acquired taste. One he could possibly become addicted to. One he was more than willing to over-imbibe, but also one he’d cradle.

  Inhale.

  Savor.

  In an absent-minded manner, Marcus went in search of the object of his frustrations. That was the problem with a craving. It tended to overtake logical thought.

  “Crandall.” Marcus would put an end to his valet’s vacation. He swept into the room he’d been provided when he first arrived, only to find it empty.

  A liveried manservant addressed him from the foyer. “Your man has moved your belongings to a larger suite, my lord,” he volunteered cheerfully. “Only four doors down.” He gestured to his left and bowed.

  “What the…?” Ah. The duchess had been so kind as to put him into a suite with his wife.

  As much of him bristled at this as appreciated the convenience of having Emily in the same suite as himself.

  The decision had been a presumptuous one, though, made by another managing female. What if he was one of those men who preferred to sleep alone?

  He nearly snorted at the thought. Of course, he wanted Emily in his bed.

  And yet, he’d not truly come to terms with the loss of his independence.

  Marcus traversed the carpeted corridor and then turned the knob. He refused to knock on his own door.

  She didn’t hear him at first. She appeared thoughtful, wringing her hands as she stared out the window.

  Likely she was worrying over some new tome she’d been reading. He’d steered clear of bluestockings in the past. She might have ruined him for empty-headed chits forever now.

  Possibly, she’d ruined him regardless.

  His chest tightened. Marcus hadn’t prepared himself for the emotions this minx evoked. He raised one hand to his chin and contemplated her. What might be the ramifications of making her a permanent fixture in his life?

  Not only legally, but in reality…

  She must have sensed his movement, for she snapped her head to look at him. She winced at first, as though he’d caught her doing something wrong.

  “Marcus. I didn’t hear you enter.” Her eyes blinked behind those spectacles of hers before flashing between him and the bed. The slow pink flush traveling up her neck sent an all too familiar heat shooting to his groin.

  He knew she wouldn’t be anxious at the notion of sharing a bed.

  This, though.

  Sharing a suite. The mingling of one another’s belongings. This lent itself to an even greater intimacy.

  Odd that.

  He allowed the door to close behind him and stepped across the room with an itching in his fingertips.

  He hadn’t touched her since they’d climbed out of the carriage this morning.

  He hadn’t kissed her since those last moments in their room at the inn.

  He hadn’t been inside of her since the early hours of the morning.

  “I’ve another experiment I’d like to undertake with you.” He spoke matter-of-factly but could not prevent the growling sound that caught in his throat.

  His words chased the worry from her eyes. They darkened, and she licked her lips.

  “An experiment?” Again, her eyes flashed toward the bed.

  “Ah, yes,” he confirmed. What was it about being at Eden’s Court now, surrounded by people who knew them, that heightened his awareness of her? Of Emily?

  Before the fateful night just one week ago, he hadn’t the right to touch her. She’d been her own person.

  Just as he’d been free.

  He’d explored every inch of her person. He’d put his seed in her.

  His wife.

  An English lady who held nothing back when it came to giving of herself. An English lady who saw nothing wrong with exploring sensual delights with him.

  There was nothing exceptional about her looks. Except for the perfect size and shape of her bosom.

  And her legs, soft where they ought to be soft, tapering to slim calves and ankles. And her face: heart-shaped, ivory complexion with a smattering of freckles. Intelligent eyes.

  At a glance, she was quite easily overlooked.

  But now that he’d seen beyond what everybody else saw, he felt strangely… gifted.

  “And what will be required in order to perform this experiment?” She wrinkled her forehead and tilted her head.

  Marcus settled his hands around her waist and backed her up against the bed.

  Their bed.

  In a quick motion, he lifted her bottom so that she sat on the mattress, legs dangling. “You need only l
ay back and pay close attention, my lady. My hypothesis is that greater satisfaction can be achieved with greater accessibility. Make a thorough analysis, my dear. Take notes, perhaps.”

  She fell back with only the slightest pressure applied to her chest. Marcus gathered her skirts and slid them to her waist.

  “Didn’t you do something like this?” Her voice hitched. “Already?”

  Hooking her knees over his shoulder, Marcus trailed his fingers to the delicate skin of her inner thighs. “I’d like to make a few adjustments.” He spoke as though reading the financials from the papers. “Adjusting your position, I ought to implement my skills more thoroughly.” And with a lick of his lips, he thought to silence her.

  He ought to have known better.

  “You’ve done that before, Marcus.” Her words sounded far too controlled.

  Perhaps the first of his… adjustments was already necessary.

  “Oh. That’s new.” A gasp. A soft moan. “Ah, yes, new. Certainly.” Gasp. “New.”

  Perhaps he’d try—

  “Oh, God. Marrrcus. Oh!” A louder moan this time. And then some clenching.

  She’d invoked the Lord. Progress, indeed.

  “You see here, when I do this?” he teased. “What thoughts might you have on this particular technique?”

  Fists grasped at his hair with a fierceness no one would expect of her, and she stuttered but could not quite answer.

  He chuckled against her flesh.

  Her hips jerked. “Marrrrcus.”

  The less coherent her words became, the harder Marcus got.

  By God, Marcus enjoyed himself immensely. Not because he sought his own satisfaction, but because he could invoke hers. Not once. But twice.

  And in the matter of fair play, she then insisted upon unbuttoning his falls and placing him at her entrance.

  In giving, we receive…

  Marcus was never one to say no to a lady.

  “Would her grace feel slighted, do you suppose,” Marcus lay back against the soft pillows, thoroughly satisfied, “if we were to forgo her dinner this evening?” He and his wife lay side by side, fingers threaded with one another’s.

  It would take a few moments for them to catch their breath.

  Emily turned and tucked herself up against him. “One could argue that we have, just this morning, completed a lengthy journey.”

  “That’s my girl.” He would sleep then. She’d rather worn him out.

  “Marcus?”

  “Um hum.” Sixty more seconds and he’d be asleep.

  “I’ve done something.” She played with the short hairs on his chest.

  “What have you done, Emily?” He could not keep the smile from his voice. He was coming to truly enjoy her little surprises.

  “Um.” Unusual of her to be searching for her words like this. “The farmer you believed your father killed, Mr. Thistlebum. He was not your Meggie’s father. He was her husband.”

  It took him mulling over her words for nearly a full minute before Marcus realized what she was telling him.

  “Why would you say something like that?” he finally managed to spit out, pushing her away and sitting up. Only moments ago, he’d contemplated if he was in love with this woman. Now, she seemed like the worst of busybodies, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

  Emily gathered the blanket around her and then glanced about for her spectacles.

  Marcus grabbed them from the table and tossed them in her direction in irritation. “Answer me,” he demanded.

  Once she had the lenses perched in front of her eyes, she seemed to gather her wits and then glanced up at him again. “You told me she was older than you. I wondered that an older woman might be tempted to prey upon a seventeen-year-old heir to a duke.”

  “And so, you… what? Hired an investigator?” Her gaze moved nervously around the room. The truth dawned on him at that moment. In order to have garnered such information, she would have had to have made inquiries before they left for Gretna Green.

  They’d only just returned.

  “You asked the duchess to look into Meggie Thistlebum before we left? You shared my private information with your friend in some misguided attempt to discredit a woman I once loved? Why on earth?” He swiped a hand through his hair. “What reason would you have…?”

  Marcus was out of the bed now, tugging on his shirt, pulling up his britches. “Was it not enough for you to trap Carlisle? Snare me for your friend?” He couldn’t quite wrap his thoughts around what she’d done.

  And what did it mean?

  Did any of it even matter anymore?

  “Damn you to hell, Emily!” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “What else did you discover?” Good God. “And the child? Where is he? Why has this evil-hearted woman not used my child to extort funds?”

  Emily bit her lip but did not back down from him. Why would she do this? Was she jealous of his past? Could this possibly have been done out of some misguided ruse to reconcile him with his father? And why would she care about that anyhow?

  None of it made sense.

  “There is no child.” She sounded uncaring as she said the words.

  “He died?” Marcus gathered his Hessians. He presumed he had a dressing room of his own. “Crandall!”

  “There never was a child.”

  “Yes, my lord?” His valet appeared at one of the doors. Ah, yes. He did seem to have a dressing room.

  Marcus stuffed down the barrage of emotions threatening to erupt. Her calm demeanor angered him to no end. He’d never hit a woman. He wouldn’t do so now.

  But God damn his eyes for coming to trust her. Idiot he was, God damn his eyes for marrying her.

  “Pack my belongings.” He flicked his gaze to the man who’d served as his valet for over a decade. “I’d like to depart before dark.”

  Crandall nodded and backed out of the room discreetly.

  Now she blinked.

  Now she appeared contrite.

  “But.” A tremor shook the single syllable. “We’ve only just arrived.”

  Marcus lifted her gown from the floor and tossed it in her direction. “You can do whatever you damn well please, my lady.” He watched his words wash over her. “I’ll be leaving alone.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Damage Control

  The room felt all too quiet at Marcus’ departure.

  Emily sat unmoving, staring at the closed door he’d disappeared behind, confused.

  She knew he might not take pleasure upon hearing this information, but she didn’t quite understand the bitter words he’d thrown at her.

  She’d only sought the truth.

  She shook her head as though she might unmuddle her thoughts.

  Not only her thoughts, but something else. A sharp pain on the left side of her chest—a burning emptiness.

  Only ten minutes ago, they’d shared the greatest of intimacies. And now…

  He was leaving her?

  Finally spurred into action, she bounded off the bed and tugged the wrinkled gown over her head.

  They’d decided to forgo Sophia’s dinner. He’d wanted to lie abed with her.

  And now he was leaving?

  Without her?

  She tugged the bell pull more vigorously than necessary and did what she could to make herself presentable once again. When a maid arrived, she asked the woman to deliver a message to her grace.

  Emily could not return to London without her husband. Her mother would never believe her. Marcus held the certificate! Miss Emily Goodnight wed to the Earl of Blakely. Even she could hardly believe it.

  The past few days had been like a dream. None of it felt real.

  And in truth, perhaps it hadn’t been. Just a game. Marcus played the part of passionate lover, and she, his devoted wife.

  She’d not bothered to ask a maid to unpack the small valise Marcus had purchased for her on their way to Gretna Green. It remained unopened, by the door.

  She heard doors slamm
ing from next door and assumed Marcus was on his way out.

  Yes, she was guilty of manipulating. Yes, she’d married him without being completely honest. She’d tried to tell him before their wedding, but only half-heartedly. Nonetheless, he was still her husband.

  And she’d be damned if she’d allow him to abandon her. She’d come this far. No sense in rolling over now.

  Marcus rapped once on the oversized door leading into Prescott’s study, and then promptly stepped in upon hearing the muffled answer.

  The duke glanced up and frowned. “I take it she’s told you, then?”

  Even Prescott knew?

  Had she told everyone of his private affairs?

  “Devil take it, Prescott, can a man not expect a modicum of privacy?” Marcus tossed his hat on a conveniently placed table and threw himself into the tall leather chair facing the ducal desk.

  Prescott’s responded by searching through some paperwork in the drawer to his right. “You have your modicum, Blakely.” He then drew out a small stack of paperwork and handed it across the desk. “Miss Goodnight asked for the investigation in strict confidence. Even Sophia knows nothing of it. The man I hired is trustworthy to an extreme. She had a hunch.”

  But of course! She’d not asked the duchess. Why ask the duchess to investigate your husband’s affairs when you have a duke at your disposal?

  “Did you not think it might be an intrusion into my privacy, Prescott? Did you not think perhaps to consult with me before sending a hired man to look into my personal affairs?”

  The duke lifted his chin. In only a year, the former Army man had undisputedly taken on the mantle of his title. “You’ve essentially been banished from London over this. Lady Blakely’s instincts were spot on. Hadn’t you considered investigating the matter yourself?”

  And there.

  That.

  The crux of it.

  For the past decade, Marcus had ignored the tragedy of losing his first love. He’d purchased a ship. And then another. Traveled throughout India, brokering deals and amassing a small fortune. Anything to avoid addressing what had happened between his father, Mr. Thistlebum, and himself.