Hell of a Lady

by Anders, Annabelle

  She would not let him win.

  She would not.

  She turned her head frantically. “Sophia?” she called out once more, hoping against hope that her friend truly awaited her nearby.

  Flavion laughed but then grew serious. He was but three feet away from her. She would have backed up farther, but the backs of her knees pressed against the stone wall that encompassed the pool.

  “It’s not just the money, you know. Because of you and your friends, people laugh at me everywhere. They may not do it to my face, but they all believe I am incapable.”

  “Surely, that doesn’t matter!” But she ought to know better. Flavion’s masculine pride would have been devastated by such rumors.

  “You’ll swear to all of them for me. You’ll tell them I’m the best you ever had. You’ll tell them what a wonderful lover I am.” Had he gone mad? But no, his eyes appeared more hooded than usual. He did not appear completely steady on his feet.

  How foxed had he become before coming to undertake this diabolical mission?

  “Relax, Miss Mosssannt.” Oh, yes, he’d had more than just a few. “And enjoy.”

  “Never!” She could only imagine the harm it would do to her mother and her sisters.

  And what Justin would think of her.

  “I won’t do it,” she asserted.

  And then he lunged toward her.

  He’d not timed his attack well, however, and Rhoda managed to slip just out of his reach before he could latch onto her.

  His momentum tumbled him into the pool. She would not wait around for him to have another opportunity. Nor for the others who were hiding to come forth.

  The path she’d only just been admiring for its beauty now became her roadway to safety. Why did the manor suddenly seem so much farther away?

  Heavy footsteps pounded the ground behind her, pushing her to lengthen her stride. Likely one of Flavion’s witnesses. What would he do if he caught up with her? Take her back to Flavion? Take her for himself?

  She hated this! She hated all of this so very much. She wanted to cry but knew that she needed the safety of others.

  A stitch formed in her side. Such a man would not be stopped. She could go to her hosts, tell them of his actions, but she knew they would do nothing about it. They would blame her for walking alone in the garden.

  Even if they believed her, even if they wanted to. Nobody would challenge an earl.

  Likely, her own father would merely laugh at her plight. He’d probably placed bets of his own on her.

  A sob tore from her at the thought. She’d never be safe. She’d never be afforded the protection of a respected lady.

  She wanted to leave London tonight and never return.

  She felt so alone. So very alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Not Again!

  Justin would go to her today, this afternoon. He’d make his proposal. He tipped his hat to an elderly lady as he sauntered along the pavement.

  Again. He’d propose again, but this time refuse to accept no for an answer. Over the past eight days, he’d done his best to leave her alone. He’d had to for his plan to work. He’d pour out his heart to her and then they’d head north.

  It all sounded so much easier when he put it that way.

  Pour out his heart.

  He’d decided he’d do whatever it took. This morning, he’d relay his plan to Dev and then abscond with one of Prescott’s more well-sprung carriages. The journey to Gretna Green would require two long days of travel, after all.

  This was what he ought to have done to begin with.

  Mr. Evans opened the door and led him to Dev’s study.

  Dev was not alone.

  Mr. Nottingham and, surprisingly enough, Lord Blakely sat on two of the high-backed chairs around Dev’s desk.

  A somber mood hung over the trio.

  Mr. Nottingham, in particular, looked paler than normal with dark circles etched beneath his eyes.

  “Come in, Justin.” Dev beckoned him. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news.”

  As always, in circumstances such as these, Justin’s insides froze. Had something happened to Mrs. Nottingham? The child?

  “Kensington is dead,” Blakely announced bluntly before Justin’s imagination could conjure up more horrific tragedies.

  “Kensington?” Relief swept through him at the same time he realized the man had been Nottingham’s cousin. “My condolences,” he managed. The blighter had been sick in the head. Selfish, dangerous. But he’d also been someone’s kin.

  Nottingham dipped his head.

  Justin had spent hours upon hours praying with those who mourned. He hoped to God they didn’t expect this of him today.

  “What happened?” Probably another duel. The rogue hadn’t much caution when it came to offending papas and brothers.

  And likely, husbands.

  “Drowned. In the Crabtrees’ fountain. No one is certain whether or not it was foul play.”

  Justin had been there last night. Kensington had been deep in his cups. Justin’s attention had been focused mostly upon Rhoda. He’d had to make it appear as though he had not been, however, what with her mother’s disapproval and other… rather important matters.

  Rhoda had left the ball early with Mrs. Mossant. He’d not seen them depart but Lady Crabtree had informed him when he’d become worried.

  The last he’d seen her, she’d been heading for the terrace.

  She’d been alone, and Justin had intended to follow her but been caught up by the mother of one of the heiresses. By the time he’d rid himself of her fawning, he’d lost her.

  Rhoda had not been on the terrace. He’d assumed she’d returned inside and was lost in the crush.

  He suppressed a shiver at the thought that she’d been alone in the garden.

  It would not be the first time she’d had to fend the desperate earl off.

  “When was he discovered?” Justin intentionally made himself sound only mildly interested.

  He dismissed any foreboding the news brought with it. Kensington had made more than his fair share of enemies.

  “A gardener came across him just after dawn.” Nottingham stared into the bottom of his glass. “Face down in the water.”

  “No bruises? Or injury?”

  “A bump on the head,” Dev answered this time. “And Justin…” Oh, hell. Dev’s voice contained a warning of sorts. “The last person he was seen with was Miss Mossant.”

  It was as though all the air in his lungs was sucked out in the fraction of a second. Justin met Dev’s gaze, both of them remembering the revelation she’d made at Eden’s Court.

  “Sophia is readying to leave, as is Lady Blakely and Mrs. Nottingham. She’ll need her friends.”

  He could not wait. He had to go to her.

  Now.

  Even if she’d done nothing to merit suspicion, she would need his support.

  And if the opposite were true, she’d need him even more. “If you’ll pardon me.” Justin dashed out the door without another word. He hardly even noticed the startled glance from Mr. Evans when he ran through the foyer to the entrance and flew out the door.

  What happened? Had Kensington succeeded in harming her this time? It had been the last ball of the Season; he would have been desperate.

  And Rhoda was not completely vulnerable. She would have fought.

  It took a moment for him to orient himself as to her residence. He’d not have a mount readied. He could move much faster on foot.

  The notion that another tragedy might be too much for her to cope with terrified him.

  Why hadn’t he moved more quickly?

  He jumped across a pile of steaming manure. Even Mayfair couldn’t avoid some aspects of daily living. Dodging women carrying parasols and gentlemen clipping along with their canes, all Justin could think about was getting to her.

  She’d looked more beautiful than ever last night. He’d wanted to talk with her, dance with her, hold her in his
arms… but he had been forced to console himself with the knowledge that he’d have her alone in a carriage the following afternoon. They’d elope and return just before the Season officially ended. Just before all of Mayfair exited the city in pursuit of the cleaner air they’d enjoy at their various country estates.

  He brought himself up short at her doorstep, breathing heavily, and pounded on the door.

  The butler took his card and asked him to wait.

  What if she wouldn’t see him? What if she sent him away?

  “Right this way, my lord.” The butler’s announcement jolted him from his concerns.

  At the mere thought of seeing her again, away from the prying eyes of the ton, his heart raced.

  God help him, but his attraction to this woman knew no bounds.

  Sun drenched the drawing room, allowing him to drink her beauty in unimpeded.

  “Justin?” She rose as he entered. “Lord Carlisle?”

  She looked pale, tired even, but not overly distraught. At a sudden loss for words, he bowed low but refused to refer to her formally. “Rhododendron.” His mouth twisted into a smile at her exasperated expression.

  “I…” She trailed off. “Won’t you sit down? You are out of breath. Did you run here?”

  “I needed to make sure you were all right.” Hopefully, her calm demeanor indicated her lack of involvement with whatever befell Lord Kensington and not something else.

  “Why would I not be all right?” She seemed only a little confused. “What have you heard?”

  Those eyes of hers. He wanted them to smile at him again. He wanted them to gaze at him with passion-filled longing. He swallowed hard.

  “You have heard the news, have you not?” At her blank stare, he continued, “About Lord Kensington.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Lord Kensington is a worthless toad. He’s not worth the space he takes up on this earth.”

  This comment surprised him.

  She hadn’t heard, then.

  “He’ll not be taking space—above ground, anyhow—for much longer. He was found dead this morning.”

  All the blood seemed to drain from her lovely complexion. No pink, no hint of cream. “How? What happened? Was it another duel?”

  He was impressed that she didn’t show any sort of glee at his demise. The bastard had done his fair share to discredit both her and her friend, Mrs. Nottingham.

  “Dead. Found in the Crabtrees’ fountain early this morning.”

  He’d not thought it possible, but she appeared to go even whiter, her skin appearing translucent almost. “They believe he drowned last night. There is doubt as to whether it was an accident or foul play.”

  She raised one hand to cover her mouth and stared back at him with horrified eyes.

  Her response gave him cause to believe he’d been right to suspect the blighter’s death had something to do with her. “Did he attack you again last night?”

  She was shaking her head but not in answer to his question. “I didn’t mean to! Oh, dear God, I didn’t mean to! Tell me this isn’t happening again!”

  Justin crossed the carpet and dropped down beside her on the loveseat. Nothing in the world would stop him from holding her right now.

  She didn’t need to tell him it had been an accident. He didn’t need for her to tell him she had been defending herself.

  “Hush, hush.” He tucked her head into his chest and rubbed his hands up and down her back. “This isn’t your fault. Even if he died at your hands. I know, by God, I know with everything inside of me that it isn’t your fault.”

  “But I didn’t believe in you!” she wailed into his shirtfront. “I broke into White’s with every intention of forging your name. How can you believe in me now? And after everything I’ve told you about Dudley Scofield.”

  He hushed her again, his lips finding the gentle curve of her cheek. “I’ll always believe in you. Always.”

  And then her arms wound around his neck. “You cannot!” she moaned but clutched at him even more tightly.

  He’d waited a lifetime for her. For this woman.

  He’d fought his attraction from the very beginning, attributed it to an ungodly lust.

  He was a fool!

  A God damned supercilious fool!

  He’d listened to gossip. A part of him had even blamed her for his own traitorous physical response to her. She’d done nothing to deserve the treatment she’d received. At the hands of others, and, by God, by himself.

  “Forgive me,” he begged as his lips captured hers. Ah, sweet. Nectar of the gods.

  She sobbed. “No. How can you forgive me?”

  His fingers soothed hot tears away. This woman. She was everything. Without her, he was nothing.

  His hands ached to touch every inch of her skin. He needed to worship her. He’d beg her forgiveness for the remainder of his days. His mouth left hers, searching, craving her feminine curves. He gently bit down on the lobe of her ear, lust jolting him when she arched herself closer.

  “My sweet, sweet girl,” he murmured against the pulse beating frantically beneath his lips.

  How had he managed to wait for so long?

  When a warm small hand began stroking the material covering his manhood, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

  Justin had come to her. Finally. All the need, all the pent-up emotion she’d tried to ignore broke free. “Justin,” she murmured back, vaguely aware of the endearments he whispered against her skin. She tugged at his cravat, as hungry to devour him as he seemed for her.

  In his arms, she could ignore the horrifying thought that she’d killed another man. In his arms, she could pretend her future wasn’t in such peril. She would take this moment. She would embrace it with all of her heart.

  She lay back on the settee, exulting in the weight of him on top of her, between her thighs. Both their movements had become frantic, urgent. Her skirts had made their way around her waist, his pantaloons unbuttoned. “I need you,” he gasped, his lips latching onto her breasts.

  “Now.” She clutched him against her. So much pleasure spiraling with just a hint of pain. Was this love?

  It was.

  It was one part of it. It was the earthly, necessary part of love that wasn’t discussed in polite circles.

  His hand touched her, fondled her, and slid partway inside. And she wanted more.

  She struggled to lower his breeches and smalls, caught up as though starving for him. “Now,” she commanded again and clasped her legs around him.

  He removed his hands and settled between her thighs. “Sweet, sweet flower of mine.”

  She could barely talk, and he was reciting poetry.

  And then even those thoughts evaporated as he lunged himself forward, filling places she never knew she had. Touching her deep within.

  He withdrew and then drove forward again. She arched and met him with all her need. “Justin. Yes.” Her voice left her in whimpers.

  And then they were moving together, like a great orchestra, building, slowing, louder, softer, all the while knowing something wonderful awaited them both.

  “Rhoda, are you in here? There is a magistrate here to ask a few quest—Oh, my heavens!” Her mother’s discordant shriek effectively brought all thoughts of crescendo to a screeching halt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Interrogation

  “Rhoda! Lord Carlisle!”

  The words sliced through Rhoda’s passion-clouded mind and, at the same time, Justin was tugging at his pantaloons and pulling her dress down.

  As quickly as they’d been interrupted, the door slammed closed.

  “Tell me that did not just happen.” Rhoda groaned into his shoulder. Mortification set in along with disappointment.

  And frustration.

  A tender kiss landed on her forehead.

  He was inside of me!

  And Mother saw us!

  “Are you all right?” He’d kept his arms around her, but the door could open again any minute. And
then one word her mother had uttered struck an even greater fear.

  “Magistrate. The magistrate is here.” Her voice raised an octave or two, and she burst off the settee. Why was this happening to her? Nervous energy surged through her as she paced across the room. Ought she to run? Could she escape? She’d been the last person on earth to see Flavion Nottingham—an earl, for God’s sake—alive!

  “The magistrate.” She came to a halt and moaned the word this time as Justin sat watching her. “What should I do?”

  Tucking his shirt back into his breeches, he stood and crossed to her side. He looked so handsome, all ruffled and serious. She wished she could take the time to appreciate the fact.

  “Did you strike him? Tell me everything that happened, exactly as you remember it.” He took her by the elbow and lowered them both back to the settee. Sitting this time. With their clothes on.

  She glanced anxiously at the door. “But they are returning.”

  “Tell me quickly.” He rested his elbows on his knees but regarded her closely.

  As coherently as possible, she described the events of the night before. The more she said, the more she sensed him relaxing. And just as she finished her narrative, a tentative knock sounded at the door.

  “Rhoda?” Sophia!

  “Tell them exactly what you have told me,” Justin whispered in her ear. “You have done nothing wrong.”

  She nodded at his words. “Come in,” she croaked.

  Her face burned. Who had seen them? Who all had witnessed their lovemaking?

  She wanted to bury her hands in her face at the sympathetic look on Sophia’s.

  “Would you like to withdraw to your chamber for a moment?” Sophia crossed to her and cast an apologetic glance toward Justin.

  Her lover.

  What had Sophia asked? Her chamber? Oh, no. “I’d rather get this over with now, if it’s all the same to… everyone else.”

  “If you are certain?” Sophia stepped forward and began fussing with Rhoda’s hair, removing a few pins and then inserting them again.

  It would be more seemly, Rhoda supposed, to change her gown. And perhaps remove some of the wetness that remained on her thighs.