Hell of a Lady

by Anders, Annabelle

  Sophia had put everyone’s names in two different bowls to decide who was to go first. “Emily,” she announced. Then she drew from the other bowl. “Blakely, you’re to be the beast.”

  Unanimous laughter erupted. What with Lord Blakely’s reputation, even he could agree with being deemed a beast. Rhoda crossed her fingers for her friend as the earl removed his jacket and then got down on hands and knees. Emily glared in Rhoda’s direction and sat upon his back.

  “Now we all put our blindfolds on,” Sophia directed.

  The room went silent, except for a few hushed murmurs as the group donned their blindfolds. Rhoda sat between Prescott and Lord Carlisle and waited impatiently. It was up to Emily to guide Blakely toward the man she’d like to kiss her. This game was beyond risqué and if her mother discovered them, they’d all be in heaps of trouble. Her mother might even insist they return to London.

  Rhoda listened, listened… heard some ruffling and then, far too quickly… “Blindfolds off!” This from Emily.

  Her face had blushed beet red. Sophia and Rhoda met one another’s eyes meaningfully. Had she gotten a kiss out of Lord Carlisle? She certainly looked as though something had ruffled her feathers.

  Glancing toward Lord Carlisle, though, one would think nothing untoward had occurred. Unexpected relief swept through Rhoda at his practical and calm demeanor.

  “Rhoda is next,” Sophia announced, enjoying their game more than she ought.

  Presumably, Rhoda resigned that she ought to steer her beast toward Blakely. If she intended to snag him, even for very unromantic purposes, it might be wise to make some sort of overture. “And the beast is Lord Carlisle.”

  For some reason, this caused her heart to skip a beat.

  Nerves she’d not expected kicked into gear as he removed his jacket. Without the heavy wool coat, his waistcoat, and cambric shirt revealed his lean but muscular build. Rhoda’s mouth went dry when she remembered how he’d looked after they’d had their dunking.

  He efficiently rolled up his sleeves and then dropped to his knees. “Miss Mossant.” His brilliant blue gaze bore right through her. Was he mocking her? Judging her? What could that look be all about?

  Rhoda rose and, feeling unusually timid, crossed to where he awaited her.

  “Blindfolds on!” Sophia announced.

  Lowering herself onto his warm back, the intimacy of riding atop a gentleman returned to bite her. No wonder Emily had been blushing!

  Trying to act as though nothing was amiss, Rhoda placed one hand on his shoulder and scooted her bottom onto the arch of his back. He felt warm and solid beneath her.

  Now, without talking, she was supposed to guide him toward Lord Blakely. But how to guide him?

  Twisting sideways, she grasped both of his shoulders and pressed down on the side she wished him to go.

  Rocking slowly as he moved, he turned them in the opposite direction. “No!” she said aloud.

  “You’re not supposed to talk,” Emily chided.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Drat this man. Rhoda pushed and then tugged harder.

  Lord Carlisle continued in the wrong direction. Oh, well, she’d simply allow him to make the full circle and then she’d get to her destination anyhow.

  Except before he reached Blakely, he stopped at an empty chair.

  His!

  She smacked the top of his head. Why was he being so difficult?

  She went to smack him again, but her hand didn’t quite obey her brain. Instead, it remained on his head, enjoying the feel of his hair.

  Mesmerized by her own audacity, she watched her fingers thread downward toward his neck. Heat crawled through her arms and into her legs. She clenched her thighs in reflex to the liquid warmth that pooled between them.

  What would it feel like to sit on him in a very different way? To touch his skin, instead of the fabric of his clothing. He seemed stronger than St. John had been. Would his skin feel smooth to the touch? Would the hair on his legs be brittle or soft? Her fingers trailed around his neck to his jaw. The day’s growth of beard scratched against her fingertips.

  And then one hand grasped her wrist tightly.

  What was he doing?

  She tugged, in order to escape, but he refused to budge. In fact, he was slowly pulling her down.

  As he did so, her face hovered just behind his neck.

  A spice, bergamot? The clean scent of soap tickled her senses as she inhaled, inches from his hair.

  He turned his head so that she could see the outline of his face. And then he released her hand and tapped his cheek.

  He wanted her to kiss him.

  He was only playing the game! And all he asked for was a kiss on the cheek. Not on the lips. Was he doing this to keep her out of trouble? Was this his way of trying to protect her from her wanton ways?

  Red clouded her vision. His attempt to manipulate her was misguided indeed!

  How dare he!

  Allowing the frustration of the day to vent itself, Rhoda did not think about what she was doing. She relaxed her head, opened her mouth, and placed it on the side of his neck. She’d show him! He thought he was protecting her! He wanted to control her!

  With the taste of his skin on her lips, however, she forgot quite what she’d intended. Sensing his racing pulse, Rhoda nipped at, and then swirled her tongue along the taut skin.

  He gripped her hand again.

  Locating his earlobe, Rhoda bit down, ever so gently.

  “This is becoming rather boring,” the lieutenant complained from across the room. “Is anything happening?”

  Rhoda lurched from atop Carlisle’s back and made a mad dash for her chair.

  “Blindfolds off.” Her voice came out lower than she expected.

  As everyone slipped the silk from their faces, Rhoda couldn’t help but look over to the man she’d been licking like one of Gunter’s Ices. Kneeling now, he met her gaze squarely.

  He gave nothing away. What was he thinking? Was he angry? Disappointed in her? Shocked? The man possessed an uncanny ability to conceal thoughts and emotions.

  But then her eyes dropped to his hands, casually clasped together on his lap. There was one thing he wasn’t quite so talented at concealing.

  Justin had been a rule follower for most of his life. Rules existed to maintain order. Order protected the fabric of society. Society, well, society didn’t always conform to rules or order.

  So, when he’d listened to the rules of the game, and then later been selected to act as beast to Miss Rhoda Mossant, he’d already worked out the notion that the person did not need to be sitting in his chair to demand the maiden’s kiss.

  He could reveal something of his feelings, in a most respectful manner, by requesting the maiden’s kiss for himself.

  Which was exactly what he did.

  Except that he’d angered her somehow. He’d seen it on her face just after making his request.

  Had she wanted to kiss Blakely so badly? Was that it? He’d known that was her direction when she’d placed those cool, feminine fingers upon his shoulders.

  But he’d already decided upon his course of action.

  When those same fingers began dragging sensually through his hair, he’d found himself tempted to…

  He couldn’t even think about it.

  At this moment, he needed to focus on anything but Miss Mossant’s attributes.

  He reached up and tugged at his earlobe. By God, she’d bitten him.

  She’d not drawn blood, of course, but she’d…

  Think of something else, anything else. Kneeling, he could rest one arm across the front of himself, but if he were to stand right now, it could be rather embarrassing. A cold swim. Dead fish. The sickly-sweet flavor of Ratafia… But Ratafia was often a dark red, much like the lips of the woman who’d recently sat atop him.

  Much like the lips of the lady eyeing him suspiciously.

  “My duchess and I had best retire. Our little lady Harriette tends to make the nights rather shor
t on occasion.” Prescott rose, his hand firmly clasping that of his duchess.

  Babies.

  Clouts.

  There we go. Justin planted one foot on the carpet and pushed himself to stand.

  “Oh, but we haven’t all had turns yet,” said young Miss Coleus Mossant.

  Her older sister shushed her. “It’s been a long day. We’ll play games again, I’m quite certain of it.”

  What kind of games? Justin casually sauntered over to the bowl in which the duchess had placed all the folded-up pieces of paper to draw from. Picking one of them up, he was not surprised in the least.

  Blank.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I Did It

  Rhoda stepped out of Emily’s chamber and closed the door. She pressed her back against the heavy oak and closed her eyes.

  It was unbelievable, really.

  Emily had asserted most adamantly that Lord Blakely was willing to marry her! He would elope with her—as a twisted form of revenge against his father.

  What had her life fallen to?

  Marcus Roberts, the Earl of Blakely, wished to marry her for the soul purpose of punishing somebody.

  Sweat broke out on her forehead, and her heartbeats sounded loudly in her own head. After counting to ten, she lifted one hand to her chest. There wasn’t enough air in here. Dragging in shallow breaths, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart.

  I’ve become a punishment.

  When she opened her eyes, the hallway appeared as an endless corridor.

  On legs much weaker than they’d been only moments before, she forced herself to walk toward the staircase. She needed to be outside.

  Who had she become?

  Locating the banister, she carefully made her way down the stairs and outside.

  The air chilled her bare skin, but it was not so cold that she needed a wrap. Where could she go? She needed somewhere to hide. She needed to hide from herself, from the past that would haunt her forever.

  “Are you running away, Miss Mossant?”

  How did he do that?

  Rhoda jerked her head around to see Lord Carlisle leaning against one of the brick walls that divided the terrace.

  But then he pushed himself away from it and approached her. “I was only joking. Are you unwell?”

  Where had her voice gone? She sensed something horrible chasing her. Gripped in inexplicable terror, her mouth refused to form any words and then the lawn, the walls, the trees were spinning out of control.

  She shook her head in confusion.

  In the next instant, strong arms tightened around her, pressing the side of her face against the wool of his jacket. “Shh… It’s all right. Take deep breaths.” His voice soothed, as did the motions of his hand stroking her hair and back.

  She rested against his strength, eventually absorbing his warmth but still unable to make her voice work. She wanted to apologize, to step away from him but her body refused to obey.

  After what could have been hours or mere seconds, he finally steered her toward a conveniently placed lawn chair.

  Sitting unaided, now, she should feel better, not leaning against him, clinging to him. Instead, she acutely bemoaned the loss of his touch.

  He’d located another chair for himself.

  “I remember the first time my mother brought me to Eden’s Court. Surely, I felt it must belong to the king himself.”

  Rhoda’s heart slowed a little at his words. Even though they seemed to come from far away, they summoned her back to the present.

  “I was all of eleven years old. The duchess invited us for the summer. My mother was ecstatic! And how could I complain? There were even other boys my age.”

  “Harold? St. John?” Ah, her voice worked once again.

  “And Dev.”

  “How exactly are you related to them?” She’d never really asked him about himself. The sound of her heartbeats no longer echoed as loudly. The air she breathed in actually filled her lungs now.

  He seemed to make himself more comfortable before answering. “My mother is a distant cousin to the dowager, very distant.”

  “So, you inherited your title through your father?”

  “Ah, yes.” But he didn’t say anything more on that. Suddenly, curiosity prodded her.

  “How long ago did your father die?” She was being nosey now. Would he mind?

  “My father went to war shortly after he and my mother married.” The steady tone of his voice showed no irritation at her questions. “He didn’t make it back. I never knew him.”

  “Your mother never remarried?”

  He took a deep breath. “I think she wanted to. I think she would have… at first. But my father failed to provide for her, and she fell on hard times. She lacked… protection. She’s never told me, but I’ve since deduced that her family opposed their marriage. And she was too proud to return to them upon his death. We lived in a small village not far from Bath. The men who wooed my mother never followed through with any sort of respectable offer.”

  Rhoda swallowed hard as the reality of his childhood dawned upon her. “You were poor?”

  He nodded. “We were.”

  “But I’ve met your mother, on a few occasions. She’s a beautiful woman. She mingles in the ton.” Her statement was a question.

  “I’m not sure who wrote who first, but the duchess and my mother began corresponding at some point. My mother told me we were only coming to Eden’s Court for a short visit.” He smiled ruefully. “We never really left. I was sent off to attend school along with the heirs to a dukedom. The duchess never made us feel as though we were an imposition. She insisted we were family. Family took care of one another.”

  “So… you were close to all of them.” He’d been close to the family that had been decimated by tragedy last year. She remembered how he’d nearly jumped off the cliff after Lord Harold’s fall. He’d persisted more adamantly than St. John that they bring in rescue efforts.

  He nodded. “Not so much the duke, himself. But to Harold and Dev.” He met her eyes candidly. “And yes, to St. John.”

  The honesty of his gaze caused her to look away and, staring across the lawn, she spoke without thinking. “I thought that I loved him. I thought that he loved me.” What was it about this man that invited her confessions?

  He didn’t respond to her declaration, just sat calmly as a gentle breeze swirled across the terrace. When she shivered, he rose, removed his jacket, and dropped it on her shoulders. She huddled in his leftover warmth and watched him take his seat again.

  “I did it.” She spoke the words aloud. “I lay with him.” A small portion of the weight she’d been carrying lifted from her chest. “I assumed he’d visit my father shortly after, but he didn’t. In fact, I saw less of him afterward. He ceased singling me out.” She swallowed the sob that threatened to follow her admission. She’d not said the words aloud to anyone.

  She’d been so hopeful. So damnably proud.

  She’d imagined how pleased her father would be. She’d thought it might change things for their family, for her father…

  St. John’s touch had felt like love, like a promise.

  She’d tried to forget, but the memory remained as vivid as ever. He’d collected her from her parents’ home, and they’d ridden the short distance on his high flyer. “He invited me to visit Prescott House.” She laughed at herself. “I felt so honored. He wouldn’t bring me to his home if his intentions weren’t honorable! Would he? Of course not! I ignored every piece of advice I’d ever been given. Even so, I should have suspected something when no one else was about. It was a few days after Sophia and Harold’s wedding, just before we were to leave for Priory Point.” God, she’d been so excited. “I was such a fool!”

  Lord Carlisle still hadn’t spoken.

  “He wanted to give me a tour, he said. He showed me the gallery, the gardens, and then, of course, the tour would not be complete unless I saw his chamber.”

  “But you trusted him.” Thes
e were the first words he’d spoken since she began her confession.

  “Yes.” A sudden lump formed in her throat. She had. She’d trusted him. He’d treated her as though she were special. As though he cared for her.

  “At some point, I stopped thinking of him as a marquess, and I began to see him as the man, St. John. Lucas. Was all of it a ruse? I was so easily deceived.”

  Lord Carlisle leaned forward, that thinking position of his that was becoming all too familiar. He loosely clasped his hands together, staring at the ground. “I don’t think St. John would have feigned affection. Not that I’m defending him, mind you. You must understand, he was always set apart from the rest of us. Duty to his legacy came first. We went to school, and he had a tutor. We played games while he sat at his father’s feet.” His voice broke.

  “And it was all for nothing.” Miss Mossant spoke the words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say aloud.

  “All the training, the grooming, destroyed in the blink of an eye against the side of a rocky cliff.” Justin cleared his throat. “What I’m trying to say, what I’m doing a poor job of saying, is that I don’t believe St. John did not love you. I simply believe there were limits to what he could give.”

  “You don’t seem shocked.” She stared at him, her gaze cool and collected once again. She’d scared him earlier. Her face had turned white as a sheet and she’d nearly fainted dead away. She seemed better now. He only wished she didn’t find it necessary to rebuild all her defenses.

  He shrugged. “Let he without sin cast the first stone.”

  She laughed at that. He hated when she did that. He ought to leave Eden’s Court tomorrow. Purge this woman from his blood. He had responsibilities at Carlisle House.

  “I’m sorry.” She’d stopped laughing, and some warmth entered her expression. “You don’t deserve my acid tongue.” At the mention of her tongue, he couldn’t help but recall how she’d used it earlier that night. She avoided meeting his eyes. Perhaps she, too, was remembering.

  He wouldn’t leave yet. He had to see this through.