Hell of a Lady

by Anders, Annabelle

  He’d been keenly aware of Miss Mossant all day. In fact, he’d done nothing but think of her lately. Perhaps if he’d not been so besotted, he wouldn’t have accosted her friend.

  He ought to have known.

  But he’d… wanted it to be Miss Mossant. He’d wanted Miss Mossant to purposely find him, and then press herself against him, reach her arms up around his neck.

  “Damn, Justin, I never thought I’d see the day.” Prescott sat on the corner of his desk.

  Justin wondered if Dev would, in fact, read him the riot act for compromising a young woman under his protection or if this was merely a formality in order to placate the irate Mrs. Mossant.

  Justin ran one hand through his hair. “I…” He shook his head, dumbfounded. Had Miss Goodnight initiated all of it? It was so completely beyond her character. He must be at fault! The lust he’d experienced lately had obviously gotten the better of him. “I can hardly believe it myself,” he finally answered.

  “You’ll offer for her, of course.” Dev sounded a trifle more dukeish than he had a moment ago.

  But, of course, he would. He had no choice. But Miss Goodnight? How on earth? “Of course,” he responded.

  “Although, knowing Miss Goodnight, it’s quite possible she’ll decline. She’s an odd sort. I’ll admit, I’ve never really understood some of Sophia’s friends.”

  If Miss Goodnight declined, Justin would simply have to convince her. He could not allow a young woman’s reputation to be besmirched due to his own animalistic behavior.

  But had she placed her arms on him first?

  She would not have. The woman could barely meet his eyes on most occasions.

  “It’s no matter. She won’t have a choice. I’ll go to her parents if necessary. By, God, Dev, who are her parents? And why do they unleash their daughter on the world in this manner?”

  He had all due respect for women, for their intelligence, their wit, and even their strength, after seeing Miss Mossant handle Lord Kensington so handily, but the men in their lives had a responsibility to protect them. From themselves as well as the less reputable gentlemen circling in the ton.

  Of which class, he apparently belonged. He’d compromised a woman less than one week after inheriting his title.

  Justin rose wearily. “I’ll meet you here early tomorrow morning, then.” He’d seen this situation before, just never imagined himself playing this part. “In order to offer for her.”

  He tried to picture himself going down on one knee in Dev’s study. Asking Miss Emily Goodnight to be his wife. As much as he tried to, he couldn’t shake Miss Mossant’s face from his imaginings. What a mess.

  Dev simply nodded.

  Without another word to his cousin, Justin exited to the foyer and wandered aimlessly until he located an outer door. He ought to pray. He ought to be begging forgiveness.

  The moon shone brightly tonight, making the landscape appear brighter than the sconces did inside. Damn, but he out to have left for Carlisle House two days ago. He’d sensed trouble ahead but couldn’t bring himself to leave because of one woman.

  Because of unbridled lust.

  Feeling the need for solace, peace, he knew where he must go. He crossed the lawn and followed the dirt road along the forest. Less light shone through the trees, but he didn’t care. He knew this route like the back of his hand.

  Luckily, he still had his key.

  The chapel, which was built in a rectangular shape, had never been ornate. It dated back to the thirteenth century. There was only one entrance, but tall windows lined both sides, rising above the pews somewhat majestically. When Justin entered, he inhaled and the peace that had eluded him all day finally came.

  He allowed the door to close behind him, shutting out the turmoil of the last week. He’d missed this. His time with God.

  Moonbeams filtered into the building. He’d not need to light a flint. He strolled down the aisle toward the altar and then took a seat in the front pew. He’s spent many hours in this place, both as a child and later performing services. He’d been honored to marry the duke and duchess last winter.

  Dropping to his knees, he bowed his head. He did not close his eyes though, choosing instead to watch the shadows cast by trees outside as they danced eerily on the stone floor.

  He’d thought he was better than that, than this.

  “Dear God, forgive me.” The words left him on an exhale. “Forgive me.” His God was the embodiment of grace. Justin had heard many a hell and brimstone sermon, but the New Testament spoke to him.

  Would Miss Goodnight ever forgive him? And Miss Mossant? When he’d peered out of the dark closet, her eyes had stared in accusingly. She’d been confused. Shocked even.

  Almost as shocked as he’d been to realize it was Miss Goodnight he’d been kissing and not Miss Rhododendron Mossant.

  Fathomless coffee colored eyes brimmed with tears. He’d hurt her.

  All during the course of a game. A parlor game. Good God, a child’s game. He tilted his head back as though the answers he sought could be read upon the ceiling of the chapel.

  And then a breeze swept through.

  Turning toward the entrance, he wondered if his eyes deceived him.

  Surely not.

  This time, he made no mistake.

  The woman who’d taken up permanent residence in his thoughts had slipped inside and was kneeling in the back row. Her presence sent a buzzing through his limbs. The air itself came to life, charging the chapel with an energy it had lacked only moments before.

  He froze. She’d not seen him. He swallowed hard and just as he would make himself known, a gut-wrenching moan echoed off the ancient stone.

  “I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to do it.” Her forehead dropped onto the pew in front of her and great sobs shook her shoulders. “But I can’t go on this way, God, I can’t.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Confession

  She needed to repent. She needed to confess, if only to an empty church in the middle of the night.

  “I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to do it.” Once she allowed the tears to flow, she couldn’t rein them in. “But I can’t go on this way, God, I can’t.” The thought of taking her own life beckoned, but she pushed it away. But what could she do? She faced hopelessness at every turn.

  “Rhoda.”

  The sound of her name echoed from near the altar.

  She froze. God didn’t just speak to people like that. Did he? She reared back and peered farther into the chapel. Sitting in the very first pew, she eyed a masculine silhouette. “Who’s there?”

  He rose and stepped into the aisle.

  Carlisle.

  This man evoked a tumult of confusion inside her. Sometimes, he gave her peace; other times, he’d stirred up want. Tonight, she ought to be angry with him.

  No, that wasn’t fair. He owed her nothing.

  Despite that she’d felt betrayed earlier. And if he’d truly thought Emily was her, well…

  Had he really thought she was Emily? Emily would not lie about such a thing.

  “What are you doing here? Do you come here every night? Is that what vicars do?” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. She hated that he’d heard her crying. She’d sounded like a wounded animal, for heaven’s sake.

  As he approached, she made room for him to sit in the pew beside her.

  “Sometimes. When I feel the need.” He sighed deeply. “I could use some clarity tonight.”

  And then she remembered. He’d been backed into a corner, by Emily—practically at her will. She had encouraged Emily to do whatever might be necessary.

  “Did you really think it was me?” The words escaped her mouth before she could think better of them. She had to know. Would it change anything? Likely not, but she wanted, no, she needed to know.

  “Of course, I thought it was you!” Affront and disgust laced his voice in his abrupt response. Irr
itation etched lines in his forehead. His countenance carried a darkness she’d not think he could summon.

  He’d thought Emily had been her.

  Warmth spread through her. He’d been sincere in his declaration. He really had wanted to court her. Only none of that mattered now.

  Would he feel the same if he knew everything though? Her conniving? Her manipulating?

  What she’d done to Dudley Scofield, to Sophia’s stepbrother?

  That burning sensation crushed her lungs at the thought of revealing her sin. And yet. She could trust him. She knew she could trust him.

  No matter what transpired after this. She’d know how special of a person he was.

  “You will ask for her?” Of course, he would. She’d hate him if he didn’t. And then she’d hate him after he did.

  No, she would not. How could she ever hate such a man?

  He nodded. “I will. In the cloakroom. I thought it was her at first, but then I thought it was you. The perfume.” He held her gaze. “It was the same. I thought you’d come to me…”

  Rhoda nearly stopped breathing at the thought of what could have been. If she’d gone to him, if she’d discovered him in the closet instead of Emily.

  “You touched her,” she reminded him. “And you didn’t know the difference.” She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but she wondered. Did all women feel the same to a man? Could she identify him by touch alone? Would she notice the strength of his jaw? The muscled cords of his neck?

  He shook his head. “I wanted it to be you. I think perhaps I’d fooled myself into believing what I wanted.”

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. That thoughtful position she’d seen him in so many times. And now, here they sat. Alone, in a darkened church.

  Perhaps Emily and Lord Carlisle would be happy together. Her eyes burned at the thought. She loved Emily. She wanted nothing more than for her to find contentment in marriage.

  He glanced over his shoulder, a self-deprecating expression twisting his beautiful face.

  Rhoda leaned forward slowly. As she did so, his throat worked, as though he had to swallow hard. Mere inches separated their lips. She wanted to kiss him. The truth was that she’d wanted to kiss him for a very long time.

  Why had she ignored this?

  She didn’t deserve him. He’d never be hers. But at that moment, she didn’t care. Lifting her hand, she trailed her fingertips along the line of his jaw.

  He closed his eyes, and a tremor vibrated through him.

  He’d declared that he wanted to court her, and she’d blurted out that she was to marry Blakely, ignoring the longing she’d seen in his eyes so many times.

  She’d hurt him.

  Unable to deny him now, unable to deny herself, she inched closer until her lips barely skimmed the corner of his mouth. “Justin,” she whispered.

  Her heart nearly melted at such nearness. This man, he’d absorbed her pain since the day of Harold’s death. He’d absorbed the pain of others, too. For how long, she wondered? Had he done it all his life?

  She adjusted herself to align their mouths better and then placed her hands on both sides of his face. Without thinking, her fingertips caressed the bristly texture of beard that had appeared since earlier that morning. His jaw, his neck. As she did so, the pulse fluttering in his throat quickened.

  This man.

  “Justin,” she whispered again. He opened his eyes and, even in the darkness, she wanted to drown in his blue depths. He held himself like a statue, not resisting nor responding.

  Leaning forward, testing, she pressed her mouth against the tender skin of his lips. Her kiss was an apology, a need, a question. It would say all the words she’d kept inside.

  “Justin,” she whispered again. “I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.” She spoke her heartfelt apology against his mouth.

  And then he grasped her wrists and groaned.

  Desperate hands moved to her hair.

  “My fault,” he whispered back.

  Opening his mouth beneath hers, finally, his hunger unleashed. Lifting her onto his lap, his body cradled hers, effortlessly, all without breaking the kiss. His hands traveled from her cheek, to her chin, her neck, and shoulders. He held her as though she might evaporate any moment. So much tenderness she thought she’d melt. A whisper of a touch here. A sigh of a kiss, a murmur of affection. Surely, this was what if felt to be kissed by an angel.

  Of course, he blamed himself for what happened tonight with Emily. Rhoda couldn’t allow it.

  He cared for her.

  She craved him. She ached for him. But…

  She buried her face against his throat. “I can’t. I can’t allow you to think you know me. You don’t. It’s not just about St. John.” She squeezed her eyes shut, holding back the tears this time. She’d own up to what she did. He’d be glad to walk away from her after knowing.

  She moved her lips, but no sound escaped.

  Again, and nothing. Her blood might as well have turned to ice. All she knew was his touch.

  And fear.

  Terror.

  “It’s all right. Take all the time you need. I’m here.” Those tender hands touched her hair and back soothingly. “You are safe. I’m right here.”

  She shook her head side to side and then inhaled deeply.

  And then, after nearly a year of locking it away, she spoke the words of her nightmares. “I killed a man.” They scraped past her throat, a ragged whisper. She cleared her throat. “I killed a man.”

  His motions stilled for the briefest of moments before starting up again. His throat moved against her forehead. “Tell me.”

  He hadn’t pushed her off him yet.

  Later, when all of this was over, she’d allow the numbness to take over her heart forever. She’d accept her fate. Her punishment.

  She pulled away and met his gaze. “The day Harold fell.” God, she’d never forgotten that day. Likely, he wouldn’t either. “Later, I went to Sophia’s room, and she wasn’t alone. I found her with her brother, her stepbrother. Dudley Scofield.”

  Justin shook his head. “I was unaware that Her Grace had a brother.”

  She did.

  She had.

  A stepbrother. A horrible, horrible man. A person who ought to have been her protector, her champion, who’d instead tormented dear Sophia.

  “He hadn’t arrived until later that day. And when I found him in her room, he was… harassing her.” Rhoda couldn’t go into the details of what Dudley had done to Sophia. That was Sophia’s secret alone. “I offered to escort him to the rescue efforts. And, of course, he couldn’t very well refuse, could he?”

  Rhoda remembered the late afternoon sunlight clearly. Long shadows and the slightest hint of a breeze. That unique hint of seawater had been in the wind. Every muscle in her had ached at the time from weeping over Lord Harold. But she’d needed to go to Sophia. She’d needed to see for herself that Sophia was going to make it through the horrible accident. She needed to hold her friend. She’d wanted to comfort her. And when she’d entered Sophia’s chamber…

  “I don’t suppose he could,” Lord Carlisle affirmed. And then he waited for her to go on.

  She had to continue. She had to tell him. She had to tell someone! Surely, if she kept this inside much longer, like a poison, it would eat her alive.

  Rhoda had manipulated Dudley Scofield into coming outside with her, so that he could work with the rest of the search party. But by the time they’d exited the castle and worked their way along the path, the sun was already setting. “When we reached the cliff, the search effort had been called off.”

  “St. John and Dev feared the cliff posed too much danger for the rescuers. The tide had come in… without the sunlight…”

  Justin’s finger threaded through her hair. She felt his lips against her forehead.

  “Mr. Scofield accused me of bringing him outside for some other purpose. And then he… grabbed at me.” She remembered Dudley’s sinister
snarl. His breath had reeked of decay and cheap wine.

  His hands had squeezed at her breasts and then violently sought the crease between her legs.

  “I pushed him.”

  She’d said it. She finally told somebody.

  “You pushed him? Away from you?” Justin’s voice sounded so reasonable, so matter of fact.

  “We were at the edge of the cliff. The ground was muddy from the rescue efforts. I pushed him, and he lost his footing. And then he fell. Off the cliff.” She needed him to understand. So many times since, she’d wished it had been her who’d fallen into the sea. But no.

  The memory of that moment haunted her. She’d dropped to the ground but been afraid to crawl to the edge, to look over. Afraid he’d climb back up and attack her again but also afraid that he wouldn’t.

  The mud. So much mud. And the wind. She never wanted to breathe in salty air again.

  “What did you do after?”

  She’d been horrified, but a part of her had been glad! That horrid, horrid man had hurt Sophia badly. He’d caused her to live in continuous fear. Yes, Rhoda had pushed him… and then she’d done nothing afterward. And she’d told no one. Perhaps if she had … But, no. Such thinking was of no use.

  She’d run in the opposite direction. “I ran.”

  Justin sat calmly but then nodded. “So, you did not see where he landed? You did not ever see him flailing in the water or broken on the rocks below?”

  Rhoda shook her head side to side. “But it was a cliff! The same cliff that killed Lord Harold.”

  Justin pulled away from her. “Look at me, Rhododendron.”

  The sound of her name on his lips sent warmth traveling through her veins. “I spent hours on that cliff, and just below it. There were several places where a person could have caught themselves, stopped themselves from falling, depending upon where they went over.”

  Rhoda wasn’t sure what he was saying. “But he disappeared afterward. He never returned to the castle.”

  Justin tilted his head. “I’ve heard nothing of another body being discovered. Dev would have been informed if Mr. Scofield’s remains turned up on his estate. Have you ever asked him?”