Hell of a Lady

by Anders, Annabelle

  “She’s not in any danger. And I suppose they’ll return her to dry land soon enough,” he conceded with a grimace. Rhoda couldn’t help but stare at his mouth. She shook her head to dismiss her surprisingly wayward thoughts.

  “Miss Redfield will be fine.” The dimwitted damsel. She’d likely intended for Rhoda to rip her hem.

  Lord Carlisle’s attention turned back to Rhoda. “We need to get you out of that dress.” His ears flushed red. “I mean, you can hardly remain at the gathering looking like that.” He tugged at his cravat. “Allow me, if you will, to escort you to your carriage?”

  “Oh, but my mother is here… somewhere.” As a breeze kicked up, she shivered.

  “I’ll locate her for you.” He took her by the arm and began walking her to where the carriages waited. “As soon as I get you warmed up.” He completely ignored the fact that he, too, was dripping wet.

  “You aren’t cold?” she couldn’t help asking. He was just always so very nice to her.

  She didn’t deserve it.

  “I’m fine.” He patted her arm. She felt warmer with him beside her. And since he’d attached himself to her side, the anxiety she’d experienced earlier disappeared. Likely, he’d ignored whatever gossip had caused today’s insults. Or perhaps no one had had the gall to gossip maliciously to the former vicar. He somehow didn’t seem the type to allow society to dictate his actions.

  Refreshing.

  And yet, his attention seemed suspect somehow.

  Was she his current project? But he was no longer a vicar. His vocation no longer dictated that he take pity on the wretched. Something cold curdled around her heart.

  He would be at Eden’s Court next week. Although she appreciated his protection, she did not appreciate his pity. She stiffened beside him.

  He ought not to waste his time on her. Angelic creatures such as himself deserved to yoke themselves to somebody sweet, pure, and innocent.

  Somebody like Emily.

  Justin couldn’t believe he’d pulled Miss Mossant into the water after him. He’d tried releasing her hand, but she’d tightened her grip at the exact moment he’d lost his balance.

  Had she been trying to save him from falling in? Good heavens. He was likely twice her weight.

  Her lovely gown, the one Miss Redfield had envied so, had turned completely transparent. And although she obviously wore other garments beneath it, Justin ought not to have ever seen her… details… so vividly.

  As much as he fought the urge, his gaze persisted in drinking her in.

  Something about this woman seduced him.

  The thought brought him up short. Did he think of her in such terms because of the rumors? He ought not.

  No, that wasn’t it.

  The woman herself brought the notion to mind. He’d never known another lady like her. Although yet a young miss, foisted, like all the others, onto the marriage mart, her sensual essence contrasted strikingly.

  She stiffened beneath his touch, as though reading his mind. She’d been standing alone when he’d located her earlier. And Miss Redfield’s mother had instructed the girl to steer clear.

  Likely, the other guests had been snubbing her.

  Which gave him another characteristic to admire. Any other chit likely would have run away in tears.

  Not Miss Mossant.

  He glanced at her sideways. Even after having been dipped unceremoniously into a frigid lake, her looks moved him.

  Perhaps more so, for her perfect features took prominence with her hair dripping wet and slicked down her neck and shoulders.

  By now, they’d reached the drive. One of the footmen approached quickly. “Have the Mossants’ carriage brought ’round, will you, sir?”

  The uniformed man nodded and took off at a run.

  Not often, Justin supposed, that his employer’s guests departed dripping wet.

  “You needn’t wait with me.” She went to slip his jacket off her shoulders, her lashes dropping so that she stared at the cobbled pavement. “If you’d get word to my mother, though, I’d appreciate it.”

  Her attempt to dismiss him was not subtle. He paused. He wasn’t keen on allowing anybody else to see her in this state. “Keep the jacket. You can return it to me at Eden’s Court.” It was the first time either of them acknowledged the awkwardly timed house party.

  He didn’t wish to leave her unchaperoned either. The girl ought to know better. “I’ll wait until your carriage arrives.”

  She frowned, staring at her hands now. “I’m looking forward to it. At first, I wasn’t, but now…” The hurt in her voice revealed that she’d not been unaffected by the other guests’ treatment of her today.

  Justin hadn’t expected her to say anything, let alone that. The smile she turned on him held a brittle quality.

  “Sophia, Her Grace, I suppose I should say, has invited some of my dearest friends. Mrs. Nottingham and Miss Emily Goodnight. I believe you’ll rather enjoy their company.”

  “I’m certain I will.” A breeze stirred the trees above them and, for the first time since his dunking, he began to feel the cold.

  “Your lips are turning blue. Where is your carriage, my lord?” She stared up at him almost accusingly as she huddled beneath his coat.

  At such a question, he laughed. He’d never even owned a carriage. He’d walked.

  “Don’t tell me you plan on returning to Prescott House on foot.”

  “I’ve never had need of one.” He shrugged along with his explanation. She faced him full on now.

  “You may ride with me. We’ll have the footman send word to my mother, and once home, I’ll send the coach back for her.”

  Justin sneezed. Could he not, just once, actually save this wench?

  “I refuse to allow you to walk when you’re just as likely to catch a chill as I am.”

  The sound of horses approaching kept him from telling her that he considered her idea to be a sound one.

  The coach waited, with Miss Mossant safely tucked inside, while he made arrangements for the message to be given to Mrs. Mossant. When he finally climbed into the cramped quarters, he was satisfied to see Miss Mossant had located a blanket and wrapped it around herself. His coat had been tossed on the back-facing bench.

  She scooted to the far side and gestured for him to join her. “There’s only one blanket, my lord.”

  Justin dropped onto the bench across from her. He would have liked to take the corner of the rough wool but could not impose upon her that way. Already, his urges tempted him.

  When she shivered, he couldn’t help wishing he’d given in to them so that he could now tuck her up close beside him.

  Necessity ought to have dictated that he impose upon her sensibilities but that he also exercise self-control. Which, of course, he would have. He simply wouldn’t have slept well that night.

  “Are you unhappy to leave your position as vicar? Now that you are an earl?” Her question took him by surprise.

  “I need permission from the bishop, before I can officially retire. I have a worthy curate, however.” He had little doubt the bishop would give his blessing. Justin had an entirely new collection of responsibilities to tend to now.

  “So, you aren’t reluctant? To abandon your… flock?”

  An edge laced her question. As though she resented his very vocation. As though she resented the church itself. “There are indeed many families, many friends, I’ll regret leaving. But I can always visit.”

  She nodded vaguely then folded her arms in front of her. “I imagine they’ll be saddened to lose you.” Again, not words he’d expected to hear.

  He shrugged. “Sometimes, we don’t have choices in these matters.” He appreciated her interest but wanted to know more about her. He wanted to dismantle her defenses, understand why she’d so blatantly offended society.

  He wanted the veil behind her eyes to lift.

  If the rumors were true, hell, if St. John hadn’t lied to him, she was no longer a maiden.

&nb
sp; And yet, in her manner, in the rigidity in which she held herself, she did not invite familiarity. He’d guess that she was berating herself more than any snobbish London miss ever could.

  If the rumors were true.

  Seeing her like this now, he was glad her friends were watching out for her. Not many, ladies or gentlemen, could hold up against such a reception as she’d experienced today. Despite her good looks, she’d have difficulties finding a gentleman of the ton who would marry her. He wondered if the plans Dev’s Duchess made might not all be in vain.

  “Tell me about your family.” He wondered if she would comply. He knew so little about this woman who had stolen into his thoughts.

  Those arms remained tightly clasped in front of her. “My father is French.” She didn’t sound overly fond of the man. A major revelation from her. “I have two younger sisters. Coleus is seventeen and Hollyhock two years younger. And yes, my mother has a fondness for flowers.”

  Poor girls. Why would any parents choose to burden their daughters with such ridiculous labels?

  “And they thought to name you—”

  She sighed loudly. “Rhododendron.”

  A pink flower, from what he could recall. Hearty for landscaping. “One of my favorite flowers.” He would not make a joke of it.

  She chuckled. “Well done, my lord.”

  Could he woo this prickly young woman? As the thought crossed his mind, he brought himself up short. He was not looking for a wife. Was he? And he certainly couldn’t take on a woman in her circumstances.

  God, but she was a beauty though. And she tugged at him in a visceral way. His eyes searched her face; strong, high cheekbones; delicate arching brows, and lips, full, plump, the color of a pomegranate.

  She watched him back warily, as though waiting for him to chastise her for such insolence. Behind her eyes lurked that combination of defiance and fear he’d begun to recognize. He quickly searched his memory for what he knew of various flowers. “The rhododendron is one of the heartiest of flowers, you know. It’s from the evergreen family. Why wouldn’t it be somebody’s favorite?”

  She looked for a moment as though she might soften, but then straightened her spine. “You haven’t studied the language of flowers, have you?”

  He hadn’t. He’d heard of it but considered it something frivolous, suited for lovesick swains with nothing better to do with their time. “I’m afraid not. Feel free to enlighten me.”

  “But of course.” She pinched her lips and narrowed her eyes. “The rhododendron isn’t exactly a romantic flower. Whereas most flowers signify beauty, or devotion, or other such nonsense…” She bit her lip and twisted her mouth into that brittle smile once again. “The rhododendron leans more toward the macabre side of human nature. When you see a rhododendron, you ought to consider it a warning. In the language of flowers, it means caution. Beware. Danger.”

  “That doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful.” He nearly whispered the words. He’d not meant to say them out loud.

  Her smile faded. He could swear her eyes welled up with tears.

  And then the carriage rolled to a halt. Neither of them spoke as the driver pulled down the steps.

  She blinked quickly and pursed her lips. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  Justin nodded, not wanting to leave her alone, but unable to think of a single reason to remain in her company. “Good day, Miss Mossant.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Something’s Amiss

  “It’s ruined, Miss Rhoda,” lamented the young maid shared between Rhoda and her sisters when she saw the condition of her formerly spectacular gown. “The fabric won’t ever be the same.” Lucy, a normally vivacious woman, had been with the Mossants for less than a year but had been as excited about the gown as Rhoda.

  Rhoda stood in her chemise, goose flesh spread over her skin, awaiting assistance out of it. “It’s just as well.” Rhoda sighed. The afternoon had proven to be an utter catastrophe.

  Not just because she’d fallen into the lake. Something was amiss. The female guests had pointedly ignored her. And the gentlemen… Well, they seemed to think they could say anything they wished to her, no matter how rude or insulting.

  Except for dear, kind-hearted Mr. White—Lord Carlisle—that was. He actually seemed to like her. Which made no sense at all. Except that she’d never witnessed him showing anything but kindness, even to Miss Redfield.

  He deserved somebody much like himself. Somebody equally good and smart. Somebody who could appreciate him for those very qualities.

  Rhoda would steer him toward Emily. They would be a perfect match for one another. They were both kindhearted, pure, innocent, and undemanding. She’d do her best to help the two form an attachment next week at Eden’s Court.

  She’d die if Emily’s mother sent her to Wales again. It was so far. And so desolate.

  When Sophia had first mentioned the house party, Rhoda hadn’t caught on right away as to why on earth she’d hold one. But then it had struck her. Sophia surely was hosting it so that Emily might have better luck landing a husband. Sophia had invited a handful of eligible gentlemen to come away from the throngs of debutantes in London, and since she was a duchess, they could hardly decline. Of course! That had to be Sophia’s motivation all along. Nobody threw a house party at the beginning of a Season, especially when one’s family was in mourning!

  Leave it to Sophia to devise such a scheme.

  Rhoda towel dried her arms and legs while Lucy fetched her dressing gown. Her skin felt clammy and cold.

  She’d not felt chilled when Lord Carlisle watched her from across the carriage.

  “Slip this on, Miss, while your hot bath is prepared.” Lucy held up Rhoda’s dressing gown.

  Rhoda would be glad to get out of Town. Hopefully, whatever gossip was circulating about her would sort itself out after a few weeks of her absence. She hated to think Emily had heard it, or Sophia. Oh, Lord, and her mother!

  “Rhoda?” Her mother stood in the open door. “Are you well? I came home as soon as John returned with the coach. What is this business I hear that you fell into the lake?”

  Rhoda considered telling her mother about Miss Redfield’s part in all of it but decided to keep it to herself instead. Because her mother would begin asking questions and then questioning her behavior. She only hoped her mother hadn’t heard anything untoward already.

  “Lord Carlisle had offered to row me about the pond and the boat moved away from the jetty before we were secured. He tumbled in as well.”

  “Oh, my! The Earl of Carlisle, you say?” And then a cunning spark materialized behind her eyes. “Quite an honor for you, I’d venture to say, for him to make such an offer. It’s a shame you never got him alone on the water. I think an earl would make a suitable husband for you. After all, you did nearly marry a duke.”

  Rhoda groaned. She hated these outlandish expectations! St. John had not proposed to her. In fact…

  “It sounds as if this Carlisle fellow might be interested in you. He wouldn’t have made such an offer if he wasn’t.”

  “He was being kind, Mother.”

  Her mother laughed. “So humble. My daughter is so humble. I was just telling Mavis how you never lorded your relationship with St. John over anybody.”

  Wonderful. Rhoda wondered what Mavis Torrey had had to say about that.

  Her mother wandered across the room and picked up a bottle of Rhoda’s perfume thoughtfully. “Mrs. Potter acted quite strangely today, though. Gave me something of a snub. I don’t think I’ll invite her to my next at-home. I certainly didn’t appreciate her attitude.”

  Rhoda stilled at her mother’s words. What was being said?

  Rhoda intentionally made her voice breezy. “Perhaps she wasn’t feeling well, Mother, and whatever bothered her will have passed by the time we return from the duchess’s party. Think of all the morsels Mrs. Potter will be wishing to hear. Not just anybody receives an invitation to a ducal estate for two weeks.”

  H
er mother contemplated Rhoda’s words. “Hmm, I suppose. Yes. You’re likely right.” And then she did something quite out of character. She crossed the room and embraced Rhoda briefly. “I’m going to send Wesley up here to light a fire. I don’t want you catching a chill.”

  Rhoda found herself blinking away tears for the second time that day. “That sounds lovely, Mother. Lucy’s having a bath prepared. I think I’ll take my supper in here and have an early night. If you don’t mind, that is.”

  “Of course not, dear.”

  After her mother left and the fire was lit, Rhoda curled up on the comfortable chair in front of the hearth. Hugging her knees, she wondered how things might have turned out if she’d never met St. John—if Sophia had never engaged herself to Lord Harold. Would the three of them still be huddling together in the wallflower section of all the prominent balls? Would Rhoda still flirt and laugh the way she’d done before?

  St. John had seemed like a dream come true. A future duke! He’d acted attentively toward not only her but her mother and Coleus and Holly as well. He’d ingratiated himself with all of them.

  Rhoda had believed he loved her. He’d not ever said the words, but he’d indicated such with special looks, and… other ways.

  How foolish she’d been! She should have waited. She should have followed the one rule that every girl with half a brain knew to be of utmost importance while being wooed by a gentleman. Because sure enough, after Rhoda had broken that one rule, St. John’s attentions had changed. And then there’d been that awful afternoon at Priory Point.

  Rhoda squeezed her eyes together tightly in an attempt to make the memory disappear.

  But it never did. Surely, it would be with her forever.

  The journey to Eden’s Court didn’t take more than half a day and aside from a little rain, proved uneventful. By keeping the windows open, they even managed to prevent Coleus from getting sick. Rhoda’s mother hadn’t mentioned her lady friend’s strange behavior again and so Rhoda allowed herself something of a sigh of relief. Maybe it had all been nothing. Maybe she’d imagined it.