Hell of a Lady

by Anders, Annabelle

  A shudder ran through him as he buried his head into the crook of her neck. “But I do. I do wish to marry you.” His voice came out in a harsh whisper. He was practically trembling.

  Rhoda swallowed hard and slid her hands around his waist. She almost felt as though he cared about her.

  He was not St. John.

  He’d not brought her here in order to bed her.

  “I—” His searching kiss cut her off. Almost violent at first, demanding, desperate. Rhoda tightened her arms around him as she tilted her head back.

  Everything about this man felt real. His kiss wasn’t choreographed; it was all emotion. Their teeth clashed a few times.

  “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’ll stop.” But his mouth tugged at her lips, and then his tongue delved inside again. One of his hands slid beneath her bonnet, and he threaded his fingers between the loose strands of her hair. His other hand splayed low on her back. A growl vibrated against her.

  She’d never felt so beautiful, so absolutely necessary to a person in her life. A moan escaped her parted lips.

  “Not be hasty,” he mumbled into her neck. His lips trailed around her jaw, her throat. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not sorry,” she whispered. He had nothing to apologize for. Her heart bled at the thought of losing this man.

  He stilled after a moment, his lips no longer searching, but his breaths ragged. “I shouldn’t have. I don’t want you to believe—”

  “Hush.” She squeezed him tighter again, and in doing so, became acutely aware of his desire.

  “I’ll find a way.” His promise. His faith. He was nothing like St. John had been. She’d been a fool to fall for the marquess’s falsehoods. All last year, she’d experienced guilt over breaking the unpardonable sin. Guilt and fear. She’d berated herself for giving in to St. John’s seduction. She’d worried that she’d murdered a man, although she hadn’t felt tremendous remorse.

  What kind of a person did that make her?

  For the first time, she felt a genuine sense of regret. She regretted that she did not have her innocence to give to Justin. Remorse that she wasn’t a better woman. He deserved somebody who would ease his troubles, not bring him more.

  Breathing in the scent of him, of soap and spice and something uniquely him, tears stung behind her eyes.

  She’d give everything that she could.

  “Justin.”

  He stirred but didn’t answer.

  “You mustn’t marry me. You are so honorable, so full of good will. You’d berate yourself in the years to come that you’d not provided properly for those who depended upon you.”

  He nodded but then shook his head.

  “My mother has forbidden me to marry you.” At these words, he pulled himself up, confusion in his eyes. “She says it would not be fair to you.” Her mother’s changed opinion had surprised her as well. Likely Mother considered her decision to be a practical one. “I imagine she knows the pain of a troubled marriage.”

  He searched her eyes. She hated the uncertainty behind his blue depths.

  “You need protection.” His statement sounded almost like a question. As though she’d implied that she didn’t trust him. As though she doubted his ability to care for all that was his.

  “I will be fine. I’ve weathered worse.”

  But he was shaking his head. “Nothing like this. Jackals will be after you from behind every corner. You are not safe.”

  Rhoda couldn’t meet his eyes. Because she was afraid.

  She wanted his protection. She wanted to marry him, and she didn’t care how broke he was. “My mother says—”

  “Rhododendron.”

  She bit her lip.

  “We won’t make any announcements. We won’t have any banns read yet. You needn’t tell anyone, even your mother.” He swallowed hard. “But leave the betrothal in place.”

  He pinned her with his gaze, willing her to give in to his request.

  How could she argue against something she wanted more than anything else? If a miracle happened, surely it would happen for Justin White!

  She nodded slowly. “But I’ll have to tell my mother we’ve broken the engagement.”

  “I understand.” He took both her hands in his and raised them to his lips. “And you must know you’ll have my protection, even if I’m obliged to provide it from afar. Promise me you’ll not go out alone. Promise me you won’t trust any man.”

  Was it possible such danger truly existed? And yet she knew. It did. It had already touched her.

  “I promise.” She nodded, feeling hopeless nonetheless.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  In or Out

  Justin hated that Rhoda was right. Partially right anyhow. He’d wallow in guilt if he couldn’t find a way to improve the conditions for those who depended upon the Carlisle estate. He could find another lady to marry, one with a larger dowry. Logically, he knew many titled gentlemen did just this.

  But he wasn’t like other titled gentlemen. In fact, he still looked over his shoulder when anybody deigned to call him ‘my lord.’

  It was one matter to see other men undertake such a mercenary course, quite another to contemplate it oneself.

  Besides that, he rather liked Rhododendron Mossant.

  She brought him to life. He ought to feel guilty for practically mauling her. He’d attempted to halt his coarse desires, but she’d held him tight against her. She’d hushed his apologies.

  Yes, he rather liked her. Rather a lot.

  After extracting her promise to be careful, Justin found himself feeling even more protective than he had before. He’d guided her gingerly down the rickety stairs, assisted her to the vehicle, and then tucked her arm into his as he drove them through the streets of Mayfair.

  In her bonnet, she was almost unrecognizable. Wearing his hat, he was indistinguishable as well. He wasn’t exactly a known commodity in society.

  And when he returned her to her mother’s home, he’d bent low over her hand and held his lips against her glove only a moment. He’d do nothing to bring her further shame.

  Driving away, his heart swelled, only to feel empty at the same time.

  Her mother had instructed her to break off their betrothal. Mrs. Mossant must have hidden her misgivings earlier that morning. Perhaps she had hoped her daughter would give him the heave-ho on her own.

  Justin had no doubt that Rhoda could find a gentleman who would provide well for her. How could she not, despite the scandal surrounding her? Such vibrancy and beauty would be snatched up in a moment.

  Likely, her mother knew this.

  Blast and damn but if he hadn’t inherited, none of this would be an issue.

  Steering the vehicle back toward Prescott House, Justin searched his brain for any answer other than the one involving gambling on a lady’s—on his betrothed’s—virtue.

  Again, nothing came to mind. His choices, it seemed, were charity, gambling, or losing her forever. The last he refused to contemplate. Neither could he accept money from Dev.

  He handed off the horses and, rather than meet with his cousin again, slipped out the back of the mews.

  The thought of never holding her again, of giving her up to another, or her going away left him ice cold.

  He strode along the sidewalk, not meeting anybody’s stare. He couldn’t make idle conversation feeling as he did now. Those fathomless warm eyes of hers, so serious and yet lost. She had an independent spirit about her, and yet she needed him desperately. He’d convinced himself of this on more than one occasion.

  She needed someone steady and true. She needed someone who would value all of her, laugh at life’s ironies with her.

  She needed him.

  Oh, hell, who was he kidding? He needed her.

  Justin stopped and looked up at the plain façade of the building looming above him. But for the small sign by the door, no one would ever guess at what manner of transactions and meetings took place within.

  With a deep breath, he
entered the club.

  It was their only chance.

  “Did you tell him?” Her mother peered up from her embroidery and awaited Rhoda’s answer.

  “I did.”

  Well, she had. She bit her lip and pretended to be interested in a book that lay on one of the end tables.

  “How did he take it?”

  Rhoda opened the book to a dog-eared page. “Oh, fine.” Best to say as little as possible.

  “And that is why you are suddenly interested in propagation techniques?”

  Propa… what? “What are you talking about?”

  “You are suddenly captivated by my book on grafting.” Rhoda turned the book over. Propagation Techniques: A Practical Guide for Grafting Nut, Fruit, and Ornamental Plants.

  Oh.

  “You did break it off, didn’t you?”

  Rhoda wasn’t handling this very well, and her mother was far too clever to not catch on to her halfhearted efforts.

  “I told him. He isn’t happy. I am not happy. But I told him.”

  “So, it is broken off then?”

  Blast her mother’s uncanny abilities! “It is no longer officially on.” Rhoda stared at her mother defiantly.

  Her mother’s steady gaze narrowed. “So, he was not eager to move on to other chits?”

  The memory of his eager mouth on hers, of his trembling body pressed against hers, sent tingles of warmth swarming around her heart. “He was not eager to move on.” The words came out almost a whisper.

  She awaited her mother’s recriminations, but none came.

  “Well then.” Her mother sounded surprisingly unperturbed. “So long as he knows where you stand. I’d tell those other girls as well, the duchess and Mrs. Nottingham, that the betrothal has been terminated.”

  Except it had not been. It might just as well have.

  He expected her to wait. It had been her own suggestion that he simply put it all in God’s hands.

  Something Rhoda could never do.

  “Speaking of which, Sophia and Prescott have returned.” Rhoda closed the book with a decisive snap and placed it on the table. “I’m going to go ’round, find out what’s happened with Emily.”

  “Take a maid. Better yet, ask Miles to tag along.” This was most unusual.

  That frisson of fear slid down Rhoda’s spine again. If even her mother thought she needed protection…

  “I will,” she promised for the second time that day.

  Damn St. John to hell.

  “Emily is now a countess then?” Even though Rhoda had known their destination was Gretna Green, she hadn’t quite believed Emily would return a married woman. This was Emily, for heaven’s sake. How many times had she disdained the idea of marriage?

  And now she had married Lord Blakely, of all people.

  Sophia nodded emphatically. “She is!” She leaned forward. “And not in name only.”

  Rhoda raised her brows at this. Well, of course, when one married…

  “She was positively glowing!”

  Rhoda felt her brows rise even higher. Of all people, Emily was not one Rhoda would have ever imagined…

  She would not imagine.

  “But they have left for his father’s house?” Emily’s husband’s future estate was near Southampton. Rhoda had hoped they’d return to London soon.

  Sophia nodded again. “With Cecily and Mr. Nottingham.”

  Rhoda grimaced. “I suppose Emily fears meeting her in-laws.” She tried to be charitable but couldn’t hold back the sound of her disappointment.

  “She wouldn’t say.” But Sophia seemed to be studying Rhoda intently. “You cannot go out alone. Are you afraid?”

  “We haven’t been here all that long.” Rhoda hated admitting that she was fearful, but this was Sophia. “I am. A little. But do you want to know the worst part of it all?”

  “Feeling as though it’s all your fault?” Sophia surprisingly supplied exactly what Rhoda had been feeling.

  Of course, Sophia would understand.

  “So many things I would have done differently if I’d only known. I call myself stupid every day. I never used to do that before.”

  “You aren’t stupid, Rhoda. And it most definitely isn’t your fault.” She pinched her lips together. “It’s the men who are idiots. Not only idiots, but louts, villains, monsters. Greed tends to have such an effect.”

  Sophia and the duke must have discussed the status of the stupid wager.

  “I know. I will be fine. I miss going to parties with you.”

  “You know I’d go with you, but I’ve already been far too active for a lady in mourning. It offends Harold’s mother.”

  Of course, it would.

  “I have Mother, of course.”

  Sophia wrinkled her nose. “Your mother is nearly as bad a chaperone as Mrs. Goodnight was. Dev says you and Lord Carlisle have yet to make any announcements. Surely, that will provide you with some protection.”

  Rhoda moaned and then explained their unfortunate predicament; the financial despair the Carlisle estate was in, how her father had withdrawn her dowry, her mother’s insistence they not go ahead with it.

  Sophia furrowed her brows. “You are still engaged, are you not?”

  “Not officially, and not according to my mother, in case the subject arises.”

  “Dev could help him.”

  But Rhoda already knew this. She had suspected it anyhow. “I think this is one of those things, Sophia, you know. I think Carlisle believes he needs to solve this himself. He already believes Dev’s family has given him too much.”

  Sophia tapped her chin. “He believes he must earn it himself, then?”

  Rhoda recognized this devilish gleam from when they’d been planning the parlor games.

  “The wager.” Rhoda stated the obvious. “I’ve thought of it. Mother forbids me but—”

  “Why ever would you seek your mother’s permission?”

  “Well, I would need assistance, and I didn’t expect you to return so soon.” Rhoda bit her lip. She’d just instructed Justin to trust in God, for heaven’s sake. And here she was contemplating…

  “Do you have a sample of his handwriting?” Of course, Sophia’s mind had already caught up with her own.

  Rhoda pulled out the copy of the contract Justin had handed over this morning. Had it just been this morning? “His is the second signature.”

  Justin White, Fifth Earl of Carlisle and Viscount of Dorwich.

  “I didn’t know he’d inherited more than one title.” Sophia pondered this new information.

  “I hadn’t either.”

  Their gazes caught and held. Would Sophia truly be willing to assist her? “If we were to get caught, even you might suffer from the scandal of it,” Rhoda warned her friend.

  “Even more important, if we get caught, might you lose Carlisle’s affections?”

  That indeed, was a good question to ask. He’d already once told her he did not appreciate female manipulations. “I’d rather not find out.”

  They both fell silent, considering the ramifications of failure.

  “We are speaking of the same thing, are we not?” Sophia’s expressive blue eyes were rather serious.

  Rhoda drew in a deep breath. “Sneaking into White’s? Placing the wager on Lord Carlisle’s behalf?” She nodded. “I’ve been unable to come up with anything else.”

  “Chancy,” Sophia stated.

  “I don’t want you to take the risk. I’ll do it on my own.” Good Lord, what a scandal there would be if the Duchess of Prescott were caught sneaking into the exclusive gentlemen’s club! This was most unethical, perhaps criminal.

  “I wouldn’t think of allowing you to have such fun without me.” Sophia lifted her chin. “When do you want to do it?”

  Rhoda opened the marriage contract once again. “I’ll need to perfect his signature.”

  Could she really forge his name? “I’ll take a few days. And we’ll need disguises. We’ll need to look like gentlemen if w
e’re to stand a chance at gaining entry.”

  “Dev says Kensington usually enters with an entourage. I think perhaps we could attach ourselves to such a group.”

  “With Kensington? As in Flavion?” Rhoda raised her fist to her mouth. This might be trickier than she’d originally thought. Perhaps her mother was right…

  Sophia shrugged. “We’ll fit right in with that group of dandies. Half of them look like women as it is.”

  How could Sophia seem so undaunted by all of this? “Will you tell Prescott? Surely, he wouldn’t support his wife undertaking such a dangerous prank?

  “Of course! I tell him everything.”

  Rhoda groaned. “Let’s wait a few days. Let me see if Carlisle stumbles on his miracle. If God fails to lend him a hand, well, then I suppose we’ll have to do it ourselves.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Still Undecided

  Viscount of Dorwich.

  Too much flourish. Rhoda made another attempt and cursed beneath her breath when the ink bled from the r to the w. Two days had passed since she and Sophia had discussed sneaking into the exclusive male gentlemen’s club to forge her fiancé’s name in the betting book.

  At least she believed he was still her fiancé. She’d done naught but slip out for a turn about the park early in the mornings since arriving in London. With her maid and one of her mother’s manservants, of course.

  The first ton affair they planned to attend was tonight. Perhaps she could feign a megrim—or female troubles. Her heart raced at the thought of entering the Primroses’ ballroom.

  Not that she’d never entered it before. She’d attended numerous balls at the elaborate mansion, ironically enough, set right next door to Lord Kensington’s townhouse.

  But she’d not attended even one since the Snodgrass’ garden party.

  Hearing a knock, Rhoda stuffed the contract and her abysmal attempts at forgery into her top drawer. “Enter.”

  “You aren’t dressed yet?” Her mother’s hair had already been styled high atop her head, and she wore a pearl taffeta evening gown embellished with silver ribbon. “I’ll send Lucy down, so you can ready yourself. Important that you look your best. Not that you ever have anything to worry about.”