Hell's Belle Read online

  Hell’s Belle

  Annabelle Anders

  Copyright © 2018 ANNABELLE ANDERS

  EPUB Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  1. Infatuation

  2. An Educational Experience

  3. A Most Unusual House Party

  4. Four in a Carriage

  5. The Dangers of Emily’s Brain

  6. Manipulations

  7. The Proposition

  8. Fluttering Eyelashes

  9. Parlor Games

  10. Good Morning, Miss Goodnight

  11. Kisses in the Rain

  12. Quarry captured

  13. Arrangements

  14. Carried Away

  15. A Convenient Swap

  16. Road Games

  17. Naughty Emily

  18. Wow!

  19. Antidotes for a Bad Dream

  20. The Mentula

  21. More Than a Bluestocking

  22. Men’s Blissful Ignorance

  23. Do Over

  24. The Honeymoon

  25. Back to Reality

  26. Perhaps Best Left Unturned

  27. Damage Control

  28. Choose Your Battles

  29. Hard to Say I’m Sorry

  30. Bad Timing

  31. Foolish Man

  32. Meet the Parents

  33. Hi, Dad

  34. Lady Blakely Indeed

  35. A Lucky Guess

  36. Figuring It Out

  37. Finding Emily

  38. Rescue and Revelations

  39. And Now You May Kiss the Bride…

  Excerpt from Hell of a Lady

  More by Annabelle Anders

  About the Author

  To everybody who has encouraged me along this journey. Rebecca, as always, thanks for keeping me engaged and writing on a daily basis. I’m so glad you suggested we become writing buddies! D’Ann, Mary and Deb, I love that we get to connect over lunch and encourage one another—this is so important to my sanity! To my mom, for loving every book I write. To Tracy and Kay for helping me fix this story up for public consumption… LOL. To Jena Brignola for making an amazing cover! To Samantha and Katie for helping me launch this baby LOL.

  And to all my friends and supporters on Facebook and in my Reading Group: A Regency House Party! Especially Maggie, Paula, Patricia, Debbie, Debbie, Marina, Kelly, Carlene, Karen, Jill, Roxane, Kat, Judy, Tabetha, Amanda, Ornella, Michelle, Lorrie, Wendy, Carol, Tracy, Shell, Gwessie, Taffy, Melissa, Kelly-Ann, Linda, Kari, Leonor, Susan, Maida, Cristin, Peggy, Rose Marie, Aunt Julie! Aunt Diane!, Aunt Pam! Aunt Judy! Aunt Jenni!, Rita, Sandra, Margie, Katherine, Rhyanna, LaSchelle, Chris, Summer, Mary, Terra, Lore, Debra, Bethany, Cousin Cecilia, Denise, Elke, Liberty, Beverlee, Chasidy, Pamela, Polly, Cheri, Brenda, Lisa, Barb, Nell, Lori, Gabrielle, Darlene, Patti, Dianne, Nese, Brianna, Melina, Sara, Isha, Siobhan, Kathy, Danette, Hoda, Cynthia, and OH my Gosh, so many others, I wish I could name you all! Thank you for all your support.

  And as always, thank you to my sweet and handsome husband for allowing me to “buffer.” I love you babe. Couldn’t do this without you!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Infatuation

  Marcus Roberts, the Earl of Blakely, leaned against the brocaded wall, arms crossed. The gorgeous fellow seemed completely unaware that his good looks drew the gaze of nearly every wallflower present.

  Miss Emily Goodnight was no exception.

  Of course, she’d never confess her infatuation to anyone, especially her closest friends. They assumed Emily was immune to such nonsense. She’d gone out of her way, in fact, to perpetuate the opinion. She’d quite intentionally developed her reputation as a practical, rational miss to protect herself from the sting of rejection she’d surely experience otherwise. When she found herself forlornly seated while the comelier ladies danced, she wouldn’t feel so pathetic.

  She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and pretended to watch the dancers in his vicinity. In truth, she secretly watched him.

  His appeal wasn’t only in his looks but something else, something nearly unidentifiable. He slouched slightly, as he leaned, not bothering to adhere to what was considered appropriate behavior, and his slightly hooded eyes perused the room lazily. He lifted his broad shoulders, stretching them up and back, drawing Emily’s attention to his abdomen, flat and firm looking.

  When he tilted his head to one side, a lock of thick chestnut hair fell across his forehead, partially covering one eye.

  Emily looked away before he caught her staring.

  Surely, he would not remain alone for long.

  Ah, yes, she was quite right.

  Mrs. Cromwell, a newly widowed beauty, promenaded past several other ladies to reach him before “accidentally” dropping her handkerchief at his feet.

  His bored eyes flicked up and down the woman knowingly before he bent to retrieve the effective wisp of fabric. With a flourish, he bowed and presented it to the raven-haired beauty. A subtle twinkle in his smoky gray eyes revealed his interest in what the widow offered.

  Emily hated him at that moment.

  Nearly as much as she hated herself for feeling sentimental emotions for such a rake in the first place.

  Since their first meeting at a formal dinner party, when Emily had stuck her foot in her mouth more than once, she’d never failed to devolve into a graceless idiot in his presence. Not that she was graceful to begin with… but she floundered with unusual flare on such occasions.

  Why continue torturing herself? Emily glanced down at her dance card. A few gentlemen who’d approached her friend Rhoda had charitably scribbled their names beside some of the livelier dances on her own. Those sets would not come up until much later in the evening.

  Mrs. Cromwell tilted her head back in laughter and then gazed at him from beneath fluttering eyelashes.

  How did ladybirds do it? What gave them the confidence to flirt so outrageously?

  Emily peeked from beneath her lashes in the direction of the couple. Lord Blakely was smiling roguishly at the daring woman. He lifted Mrs. Cromwell’s hand and pressed his lips to the back of it for longer than was appropriate. As the voluptuous woman giggled and looked away, he turned his face slightly toward Emily. As though he knew her every thought, he dropped one eyelid in an insolent wink.

  Oh, the rotter!

  Heat crawled up Emily’s neck and into her face. Of course, now she would appear blotched and bothered. Drat, the swine.

  She turned her legs firmly and stared intently in the opposite direction.

  She missed Cecily and Sophia.

  Cecily had married a bounder but then managed to find true love after all, and how could any man not have fallen in love with sweet, blond, lovely Sophia? Good heavens, Sophia was a duchess now, of all things! Of the four wallflowers, Emily and Rhoda remained unattached.

  Normally Rhoda would be sitting beside her.

  Rhoda, with her chestnut hair, sultry eyes, and complete lack of nervousness around gentlemen. Surely, Rhoda would be the next to become betrothed. In fact, last summer she’d practically landed an eminently eligible husband… the heir to a duke. But it had not been meant to
be. The heir had died in a tragic accident.

  Poor Rhoda.

  Poor Rhoda indeed! Every single dance on her card had been claimed this evening. Seeing her squired about by a marquess last Season had apparently opened the eyes of the fickle gentlemen of the ton. Tonight, at the first ball of the Season, she seemed the most sought-after lady of them all.

  The sudden onslaught of attention was uncanny, really.

  “Sitting alone this evening, Miss Goodnight?” Emily’s heart jumped at Lord Blakely’s voice. At the same time, his cock-sure attitude set her teeth on edge. “Has Miss Mossant abandoned you?” If he requested a dance, Emily thought she might scream. She refused to accept charity in any form.

  “She is quite popular this evening, my lord.” Emily stared at his neck cloth. If she stared into his eyes, her brain would cease to function. He would test her, however, by dropping into an exaggerated bow, one foot pointed in her direction.

  “Have you been claimed for this set, or will you make me the happiest of men and allow me the pleasure?” A pang shot through her at the words. They almost sounded like a proposal.

  Idiot. Fool!

  She glanced around, making certain he was, in fact, asking her before rising somewhat haltingly. So much for her pride.

  “I will dance with you, my lord, if that is what you are asking.” She continued to avoid his gaze and in doing so caught Mrs. Cromwell watching the two of them with a snide expression.

  Had he told the lady he would dance with poor Miss Goodnight, a lowly wallflower, in order to prove his gallantry? “Unless you’d prefer to dance with Mrs. Cromwell again. It’s really not necessary, you know, dancing with me, just because we are both well acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Nottingham…”

  Was she to make a cake of herself, after all?

  She sounded as bitter as she felt.

  At last, she forced herself to meet his gaze. He’d raised one brow but extended his arm for her to take, nonetheless.

  “You should know by now that I lack such manners, Miss Goodnight. Have you not considered I might be seeking your conversation to liven my evening? If I remember correctly, you have a habit of… saying the most fascinating things.”

  Oh, so not charity. He sought to be entertained by her unfortunate habit of failing to maintain her dignity in most social situations. “Very well.” What else could she say? He was an earl, after all. And Cecily’s husband’s closest friend.

  Pretending this wasn’t the Earl of Blakely, her Earl of Blakely, she tucked her hand into his arm and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. Oh, but the other dancers weren’t lining up for a country dance.

  It was to be a waltz!

  She gulped.

  Her stomach did a quick flip as he placed one hand upon her waist. “So, I’m fascinating.” She snorted. “Ought I to be flattered?”

  Her hand shook as she placed it on his shoulder. Surely, he would feel her trembling when he clasped her other hand in his. If he held her even half as inappropriately as he’d held Mrs. Cromwell, he’d feel… everything.

  “Absolutely.” The music began, and he stepped boldly into the dance.

  Backward, she was to go backward. She struggled to match her feet to his until he paused. “Don’t watch your feet.” He released her side for a moment and tipped her chin up to look at him. “I promise I won’t dance you into a table or a plant.” His eyes laughed. At least he wasn’t condescending. If he’d been condescending, she would have abandoned him then and there.

  Although she’d learned to waltz years ago, she didn’t get much practice.

  Oh, but now she had the perfect excuse to lose herself in his eyes.

  His hand once again settled upon her side, exerting just the right amount of pressure for her to know which foot to move.

  And then they were dancing.

  “You see?” he teased. “I’ve only run down a few other couples.”

  In addition to being extraordinarily good looking, mysterious, and heroic, he also had a delightful sense of humor.

  No wonder she’d fallen in love with him!

  “I must say,” she admitted without thinking, “I was surprised to see you in attendance. Your father is here, you know. As are Lord and Lady Hartley. Have you reconciled with the duke then?”

  His jaw had tightened at the mention of his father. He and the Duke of Waters had been estranged for nearly ten years. Rumor was that Lord Blakely had refused to honor a betrothal made by the duke when Lord Blakely was much younger. In an effort to bring him up to snuff, the duke had cut him off. Luckily for the earl, he’d experienced success in trade… although members of the ton did not speak of such. The funds he’d amassed, however, kept Lord Blakely from having to kowtow to his father’s wishes.

  According to Cecily’s letters, Lord Blakely was far from destitute.

  “I won’t be chased away from anything by my father.” A steely edge crept into his voice.

  “Ah, so you have not reconciled then.”

  He spun her and then pulled her back into his arms. “No.”

  “What of your sister? And your mother? Do you speak to them?”

  She kept herself from flinching as his grip tightened on her hand. “They have been instructed to steer themselves well clear of my rebellious ways.” Did he not realize he was nearly breaking her poor fingers with his tightening grip?

  “So, you remain steadfast in your refusal of the girl, then?” Emily knew this was not something she ought to have brought up, but somehow, her mouth voiced the words of its own accord. Was this what he meant by her fascinating conversation? Perhaps it was fascinating when some other poor soul stood in her crosshairs… but not nearly as fascinating when he was the subject of her ineptness.

  At least no one else could overhear their discussion.

  “How do you know so much of my personal affairs?” And then he shook his head. “Your dear friend Cecily must have shared them with you.”

  “Well, of course. Do you think ladies don’t speak of such matters?” Her fingers had grown numb by now. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

  “I suppose this interrogation is my own fault, eh, Miss Goodnight? You are showing me exactly how entertaining you can be?”

  His comment surprised her. She wished she’d thought of the idea herself. “I’m merely curious. That is all, my lord.”

  His eyes no longer danced. She’d made him angry. Why couldn’t she find something light and pleasing to converse about? What sort of topics would be pleasing, anyhow? “Er… did you have your hair shorn recently?” She could have groaned. Did men ever talk about their hair? And with ladies, no less?”

  He threw his head back and laughed. Perhaps it was her awkwardness he found fascinating. She scowled at the thought.

  “As a matter of fact, I have. Do you think I’ve left the sideburns long enough, Miss Goodnight? Ought my valet utilize more pomade?”

  Oh, no. “They’re perfect enough, my lord.” And then his grip on her fingers lightened. She nearly stumbled and thought to look down at her feet. She forced herself to look into his gaze instead.

  “As usual, you have not disappointed.”

  “So, it is my social incompetence you find fascinating.” She made the statement dully. It felt rather like something of a set down.

  “Would you not rather be considered fascinating than a veritable bore? If I were to dance with any other debutante here, I would most certainly find myself subject to the same conversation repeatedly. The weather… the food… the latest styles… I much prefer your forthright manner, as provoking as it can be at times.” His smile was warm.

  Much as a man might bestow upon his sister or a much younger niece…

  The music came to an end, and most of the couples stepped apart. Another dance would begin momentarily, as most sets contained at least three.

  He did not release her.

  “I do not intend to provoke, my lord,” Emily said softly. Although a good deal of chatter rose up around them
, she did not wish to be overheard.

  He leaned down. “Pardon?” His ear was only inches from her mouth. He smelled of some subtly exotic spice and cigar. It was not unpleasant. She cleared her throat before speaking around the lump that had suddenly formed there. “I do not intend to provoke, my lord.”

  He chuckled. “You would not be my dear Miss Goodnight if you acted any differently.” And then the second dance began. She determined to keep her mouth clamped firmly shut throughout this one. She’d already provided him with enough entertainment.

  “I will not make good on my father’s promise,” he said out of nowhere. “If he wishes to remain the obstinate fool that he is, then so be it.” It was almost as though he were speaking to himself. His eyes were pinned upon something behind her. When they spun around, she could see he’d been watching the Duke and Duchess of Waters as well as his sister, Lady Hartley. A few others mingled around the lofty family, including the girl Emily was certain had caused the falling out.

  “She is beautiful,” Emily stated baldly.

  “She is,” he agreed. “But she is not my choice.”

  Emily snorted again. Lovely sound, really. It was no wonder all the men didn’t drop to one knee and propose to her on the spot.

  “You think I ought not to have an opinion regarding whom I might marry?” Most men would be annoyed that a lady had laughed at them. He didn’t sound indignant, merely curious.

  “I think you have refused to allow yourself to form an opinion of the girl. I think you are finding fault with her to thwart your father.”

  Again, he turned her and then twirled her. The sensation was dizzying in more than one way. Physically, as the spinning affected her balance, but in her heart as well. When he led her around the floor so confidently, she felt feminine… and pretty. Despite her dull brown hair. Despite her plain figure.

  Despite her blasted spectacles.

  “Perhaps there is some truth in your words.” He smiled down at her. “Do you hope to heal the wound between Waters and myself? Is that it? You will convince me that I ought to woo her? Court her?” He laughed. He was teasing her once again.