Hell of a Lady

by Anders, Annabelle

  His eyebrows rose, but they both were required to partner another for the next few beats. When they returned to one another, his blue eyes held more than an ounce of suspicion.

  “There will be no winner,” he asserted and then lifted their hands above her head and twirled her.

  “But somebody must win,” she insisted and then backed away from him to line up again.

  They lost sight of one another for a few minutes, and Rhoda considered her next words as she followed the ladies around in a slow line. Ought she to simply come out with it? No one else seemed to be listening to them, each couple intent upon their own flirtations. Dancing had always been one of Rhoda’s favorite things to do on earth. After that, she liked to flirt. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

  “What if someone were to place a wager upon you?” she blurted out when he took her hand again. “After all, I—”

  He scowled, and his face darkened. “Absolutely not. I forbid it.”

  Rhoda raised her brows at that word. Forbid.

  She’d never taken well to such a notion.

  “You forbid it, Lord Carlisle?” At his stern look, a surprising bolt of heat shot through her and then settled between her legs. It was as though her body approved of his high handedness, reveled in it, in fact, even though her brain took offense.

  He touched her waist and twirled her again.

  “The wager is an abomination.” And yet when she glanced at him, she saw other emotions flicker across his features. Doubt. Disgust, Yearning. And when he met her gaze, she was certain she saw lust.

  She clenched her inner muscles in response and then stepped back into the line. When she turned, she nearly barreled right into the lady beside her. Wrong way! Good heavens, he’d befuddled her mind.

  And other parts of her.

  When they came together again, she could think of hardly anything but how his scent tantalized her senses, the warmth of his hand as it skimmed her shoulder and arm.

  Oh, but how she wished he could kiss her. Would they ever have that opportunity again?

  “I ask you not to pursue this train of thought. Trust me.” He leaned forward and whispered the words near her ear. So closely that his breath moved some wisps of her hair. “Please.”

  He stepped away from her and the music stopped.

  She nodded.

  Before he could take her arm and lead her into the large dining hall, cool fingers grasped her elbow from behind.

  “I’m afraid Lord Carlisle will have to dine with somebody else.” Her mother again! “I’m in need of your companionship myself.” The strength with which her mother could drag her away from him was surprisingly forceful. “I asked you not to appear in public with him.” This time, it was her mother’s breath filling her ear. “Two dances! Two dances, Rhododendron? Does that sound to you like avoiding him?”

  Rhoda cast one apologetic glance back toward Justin, who appeared rather as though he’d just lost his best friend.

  His melancholy warmed her.

  Rhoda wasn’t nearly so bothered when ladies swarmed Lord Carlisle after that. He didn’t look at them with any longing whatsoever.

  As he did with her.

  He must hold her in his affections!

  And although she ought to have guessed this from all of their other encounters, she’d had a difficult time trusting it. She’d grossly misjudged St. John’s regard; how could she trust her conclusion now?

  But this was different. Ah, yes, Justin cared for her. She was not mistaken.

  And so, she could enjoy the rest of the evening, pretend even, that the ridiculous compliments she received did not stem from the bilious wager someone had found necessary to initiate.

  When the rather young Lord Turlington bowed his thanks for a particularly lively set, Rhoda decided to forgo searching out her mother in favor of a trip to the ladies’ retiring room. She sashayed past a group of tittering girls, all of whom she’d once believed to be her friends, and slipped into the darkened corridor leading to her destination. Part of her hem was coming undone and her hair needed repairing as well.

  She ought to have located her mother first but nothing untoward had happened all evening, and there were moments when a girl needed a moment to herself.

  Just as the thought niggled at her, a hand covered her mouth and another arm wound around her waist, lifting and pulling her into a dark entrance she’d not been aware of.

  She recognized that scent. It had nearly choked her once before.

  Rhoda kicked out behind her and twisted and squirmed.

  “Be still! I’m not going to hurt you, for God’s sake, Miss Mossant!” Both hands tightened around her, the one about her mouth pinching her lips and cutting them against her teeth.

  Blasted Lord Kensington! She ought to have known better. He would not play this game fairly. He would not care how he won the wager. All he’d ever cared for was himself.

  His hand blocked her cries as the door closed her into an empty room alone with him. It wasn’t a library or any room she remembered ever visiting before.

  She raised her hands and tugged at his upper arm. Just enough.

  Once she’d gotten a much-needed breath of air into her lungs, she exhaled with the loudest scream she could manage.

  His hand clamped over her mouth again, just as quickly.

  She would not allow this to happen.

  Anger. Frustration. Outrage. She shot her elbow backward and connected with what she hoped was his rib.

  His hold loosened, and Rhoda grabbed his hair and tugged his head toward the ground.

  Yelping sounds escaped his mouth now. “Odwick, I could use a little help here!”

  Two of them!

  Not now! Not tonight! This wasn’t happening!

  Rhoda broke free and dashed for the exit, her heart racing. It was a wonder it hadn’t burst out of her chest. She managed to swing the heavy door inward just as another hand grasped at the back of her dress.

  A tearing sound rent the air when she kicked a foot behind her, and then pushed herself into the foyer. She didn’t wait around to see how far they’d follow her. Instead, she set her legs pumping until she burst into the light of the ballroom.

  It felt rather like awakening from a horrible nightmare.

  A lively set was playing, those around her laughed and smiled and continued to converse. No one noticed her appearance. If they did, would they realize what she’d nearly endured a mere dozen or so steps away? Would they be horrified to realize that some of their guests were such villains?

  What would happen if she attempted to tell her hostess that the Earl of Kensington had just accosted her?

  Dismay? Disbelief? Judgment? Likely, all three, but would they be directed at him or at her? At his accuser?

  It wouldn’t be worth it. She and her family would be dragged even further through the mud and Flavion would continue to go unpunished.

  She could tell Justin. He was a man of honor. But then he’d call Lord Kensington out, likely challenge him at dawn.

  Icy cold fear gripped her at the thought of something happening to the man who had comforted her, protected her, trembled in her arms with wanting.

  She’d give him up to another rather than have him meet with any harm.

  No one else would believe her, if they even listened to her. Men of the ton lived lives of entitlement, and part of what they considered themselves entitled to included women. Another aspect of their privilege was an unpardonable lack of consequences for their crimes.

  Some could even kill with impunity.

  Her mother would believe her, but she would likely respond as others would. Flavion was a man. Not only a man, but an earl.

  She swallowed hard and attempted to slow her breathing lest anyone approach her before she could decide what to do next.

  She knew one thing for certain. This wager must come to a conclusion, and that conclusion would be decided by her and only her.

  She pushed some stray hairs behind her ear and
searched the room for her mother. It was time to leave.

  And tomorrow, well, come tomorrow, she would take matters into her own hands, determine her own destiny, blast them all. She was tired of being subject to what others did, what others thought. She’d not only survive. By God, she’d thrive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Girls Can Be Boys, Too

  First thing this morning, she’d taken it upon herself to make a visit to Prescott House. Sophia had been up already, having fed Lady Harriette in the early dawn hours. Since the babe was down for a morning nap, the two of them sat in Sophia’s favorite drawing room while Rhoda told her of the events from the night before.

  Sophia quite agreed. The wager needed put to rest once and for all.

  “Dev says the last time he looked, no one had placed any wagers upon Lord Carlisle. He isn’t even listed.”

  “That’s a good thing, though, right?” As Rhoda understood the nature of betting, it would mean anyone who placed their money on Lord Carlisle would take the entire pot.

  After Lord Carlisle won, that was. And she’d make certain he did. But how? She hadn’t worked that part out yet.

  Sophia was nodding. “The minimum bet allowed is a thousand pounds.”

  Rhoda bit her lip. Technically, her mother had allotted her that very same amount. “Would I need to have the money present to place the bet?”

  “Members are not required to make any such deposits. If you wager in Lord Carlisle’s name, nothing shall be required. But his signature must be true. And there is a man who keeps watch over the book. That’s the tricky part.”

  They sat in silence together, both attempting to contrive some plan for this additional obstacle.

  “You might be able to create a diversion. Knock something over, pretend to faint: anything to divert attention. And while you do that, I’ll write the bet in the book.”

  “Both of us dressed up as gentlemen, I take it.”

  “But of course.” Rhoda was already racking her brain to think where she might come up with a waistcoat, jacket, breeches, and a hat that might work for her. And for Sophia.

  “Dev forbade me to do this, you know.”

  Rhoda’s head snapped up at this. “You mean you told him?”

  Sophia shrugged her petite shoulders, a few blond curls dangling around her face. “I tell him everything. And he’s always deigned to give me advice. But he’s never forbidden me to do anything.”

  Rhoda recalled how she’d felt upon hearing that word from her mother. And then later from Carlisle.

  “I’m going to do it, of course.” Sophia tilted her chin up just a notch.

  “Of course.” Rhoda understood completely.

  “We can watch from across the street for a group of dandies to enter together. I think we’ll fit in best with that sort. It might be tricky, but it oughtn’t be so very difficult.”

  “Dev told me that the wager has taken on of a life of its own. A separate ledger has been tucked into the betting book. The betting book sits on a pedestal near the front drawing room. You’ll have to locate it. Once you’ve done so, I suppose I can create the diversion.”

  “What sort of diversion?”

  Sophia wrinkled her nose in thought. “As we discussed already, I’ll do something to draw attention. Run into a waiter…” And then with a twinkle in her eye, she said, “Initiate a fight.”

  “Good Lord, Sophia, that’s the last thing we need… you being called out. Challenged to meet some blighter at dawn.”

  The laughter they shared wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

  Sophia was going to do it with her. Rhoda gave into the overwhelming urge to embrace her friend.

  “Rhoda, remember, please, I’m not using a wet nurse!” Sophia pushed her away and glanced down at her bosom. Sure enough, two spots of moisture had appeared on the front of her gown.

  “Now that would be an interesting diversion.” Sophia looked irate and then they both erupted into another fit of giggles.

  When they finally brought themselves under control, they’d decided to set the plan into motion for tomorrow at eleven in the morning. Sophia would send over clothing for Rhoda to wear later today. She’d said so many wardrobes had been left at Prescott House by Dev’s relatives that she’d have no troubles locating two sets of disguises. Rhoda’s task was to perfect Lord Carlisle’s signature. They would place the bet using his Viscount title so that others wouldn’t question him about it. Best the bet remained anonymous for as long as possible.

  Tomorrow morning it was to be then.

  Rhoda left terrified, but also with a skip in her step. She wondered what Cecily and Emily would think when they discovered Sophia and she had broken into White’s.

  A gentleman gave her a curious glance when she giggled out loud as she passed him. Rhoda’s maid likely was scowling as she followed behind her.

  Tomorrow!

  Rhoda hadn’t slept a wink, various scenarios playing out in her mind not allowing even a moments rest. She wondered if Sophia fared any better.

  The night before, Rhoda had used up the remainder of her ink practicing the notation she was to make in the book. Hopefully, nobody knew Lord Carlisle’s secondary title. If anyone caught her forging it, she’d be challenged upon the spot.

  She spent the early hours of the morning working on her disguise. She’d first thought to pin her hair atop her head and keep it under the hat but if she were to lose her hat… She realized it could look more natural tied into a simple queue at the nape of her neck. She tucked it under once, hiding the length.

  What with the cravat, waistcoat, and jacket, she even managed to hide her other feminine assets. After wrapping a long piece of muslin around her chest, that was.

  She wondered how Sophia would manage to hide this sort of preparation from her husband.

  When Lucy knocked on her door, Rhoda climbed beneath the covers and pulled it over her head. “I’ve a megrim this morning! I’ve no wish for breakfast or chocolate!” she murmured as though half asleep. She only hoped her mother wouldn’t see fit to check on her.

  In truth, she was starting to feel like she might vomit. This had nothing to do with her health, however, but everything to do with her nerves.

  What if they were caught?

  What if Dev discovered the plan and kept Sophia from assisting her? Would Rhoda have the nerve to undertake it on her own?

  She had to!

  The alternative was unthinkable! More days, possibly weeks, of fending off advances that had become violent in nature. And even worse, having to relinquish Justin to some other lady.

  After Lucy had closed the door behind her, Rhoda wanted to cry. She needed to pull herself together.

  And then another knock sounded at the door. “Rhoda?”

  It couldn’t be.

  She sat up in her bed, momentarily forgetting to stay hidden and called out. “Cecily?”

  The door cracked open and sure enough, Cecily peered in with a cheery grin. “Whatever are you doing dressed that way?” She opened the door farther and strode across the carpet, taking in Rhoda’s strange costume with questioning eyes.

  “Oh.” Rhoda tugged at her cravat in an attempt at nonchalance. “Sophia and I are sneaking into White’s today. I’m going to place a bet on Carlisle, so he can pay off the bills he’s inherited along with his title.” Might as well come right out with it. Cecily would get it all out of her anyhow. “I thought you were with Emily.”

  Cecily waved her hand in the air. “We left her with her husband. She and Lord Blakely had quite the adventure.” She regaled Rhoda with an unbelievable turn of events and then absentmindedly began retying Rhoda’s cravat. “You need a valet, Rhoda. Tell me all about what you have planned because I’m going with you! I can’t allow the two of you to sneak into White’s without me!”

  “Hm…” Sophia had sent over a rather large assortment of clothing. Rhoda pointed toward the worn carpetbag sitting outside her dressing room door. Cecily’s assistanc
e certainly couldn’t hurt. “Let’s see what we can put together for you. But we have to hurry. I promised Sophia I’d meet her a block away at a quarter till eleven.”

  Cecily finished the cravat with a flourish and then examined the contents of the bag.

  “Aren’t you going to chastise me for manipulating too much?” Rhoda asked her somewhat skeptically, the disapproval Cecily had expressed at Eden’s Court still stinging.

  Cecily looked over her shoulder with an apologetic smile. “I was only worried for you both. Since then, I see that Emily has found herself in something of an unusual love match and Sophia wrote that you seem to be rather enamored with Lord Carlisle. I’ve realized neither of you would have trapped yourself in a marriage you didn’t really want. I ought to have trusted you both.” She stood up, holding a pair of black breeches.

  “These ought to fit. Your hips are larger than mine since your confinement with Little Finn.” Rhoda stepped forward and held them up to Cecily’s waist but couldn’t stop herself from grasping her in a tight hug. “I know you were just concerned. I’ve missed you, Cecily.”

  After holding tight to one another for a moment, they both awkwardly stepped back and became quite interested in the remainder of Cecily’s costume. Rhoda and Cecily had always been the least demonstrative of their foursome. Sophia was always hugging everyone, and Emily was quite affectionate as well.

  They caught one another’s expressions and let out some nervous laughter.

  “Oh, this one is perfect!” Cecily had pulled out a rather elaborate waistcoat. “The embroidery on this is magnificent.”

  Between the two of them, they pinned and tucked and scrutinized until both of them looked passably masculine. Again, Rhoda wondered how Sophia was faring, on her own through all this.

  “You aren’t concerned that Mr. Nottingham might be angry if he discovers you committed such a crime?” More and more, Rhoda was beginning to consider the entire enterprise to be more than a little illegal. Trespassing, forgery, fraud.

  Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead at the thought of all they were undertaking today.