Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Page 11

  He did not return her smile with his mouth, but he did with his eyes.

  And that was when she could see that he did understand what she felt this morning, perhaps even shared it. He was merely doing what he could to keep her from being embarrassed. “It will be an honor, my lady.”

  His look warmed her inside. He was not a stranger at all.

  “One other thing,” he said as he stood up to leave the room. “Since last night’s plan did not pan out, should we give it another go tonight?”

  Give it another go? Oh, yes! “Absolutely,” she said.

  And with that, he excused himself and left her to finish her breakfast alone.

  CECILY DIVIDED THE portions of bread equally and handed them out to her three friends. Today was the girls’ morning to feed the waterfowl and her turn to bring the food. Being well into the afternoon, the walk along the Serpentine was already quite populated with preening ladies and gallant gentlemen.

  Emily held up the bread and a few of the braver ducks waddled toward them. Ignoring them, Rhoda continued looking over Cecily’s shoulder at the very large, black-clad gentleman who hovered off to the side, keeping close watch of Cecily. “Who is… that, and what on earth is that animal with him?” she asked curiously.

  Cecily smiled and threw a piece of bread at one of the smaller ducks who was having difficulty wading over to shore. “They,” Cecily said with a grin, “are my bodyguards. The taller one is named Salaam, and the furry one is Chadwick.” And then she let out a bubble of giggles. “Stephen, ah… Mr. Nottingham, has arranged for Salaam to follow me whenever I am away from home. I decided myself to add Chadwick to the team. Mr. Nottingham doesn’t like that Flavion hasn’t afforded me more… protection.”

  All three friends gaped at her, ignoring the increasingly voracious ducks to instead stare at their quite-satisfied-looking friend.

  “Why, Cecily Nottingham,” Emily said, “is there something you are failing to share with us?”

  Cecily raised her shoulders and shrugged. As heady as her night had been, she suddenly didn’t want to share it with anybody — her good friends included. “He is rather kind. He made Flavion apologize to me.” And then, changing the subject, she asked, “How was the ball last night?” Cecily had not been invited. The invitation delivered to Nottinghouse had been addressed solely to the Earl of Kensington. She supposed she could have attended anyway but was growing tired of it all…

  “It was livelier than usual,” Emily said while looking rather pointedly at Sophia. “Soph, here, danced three times with Lord Harold!”

  At this statement, Sophia blushed rather profusely. Lord Harold Brooks was the second son of a duke, a pleasant fellow but somewhat standoffish.

  “Was one of them a waltz?”

  Sophia shook her head, causing her blond ringlets to dance about her shoulders. Whenever they fed the ducks, Sophia was kept busy with her little dog, Peaches, who would much have preferred to eat the ducks. But Sophia never left Peaches at home alone. Today Peaches was equally interested in Chadwick.

  After scooping the short-legged little dog up into her arms and shushing her, she tucked the pup’s head under her chin. “Not a waltz, but the first one was the supper dance. And he was very attentive and kind. He made a plate for me with all of my favorite foods. I don’t know how he knew which my favorites were, but he did.”

  Such good news heartened Cecily. Sophia needed somebody kind and gentle in her life. Lord Harold seemed to fit the bill perfectly.

  “Oh, that’s lovely,” Cecily gushed. “But why aren’t you having an at home with your mother today? What if he were to call on you, and you are away at the park with us?”

  Sophia blushed, if possible, even deeper. “He sent me the most beautiful bouquet. In the note, he invited me and my family to attend the theatre with him and his brother and parents in their private box.” Lord Harold’s father was a very powerful and wealthy gentleman. Sophia’s parents must have been in raptures over the possibility of a connection.

  “Oh! This is cause for celebration!” Cecily felt cheered as she tossed more scraps of bread toward the increasingly ravenous ducks. “So you will not be joining us tonight, I take it?” She teased her friend a little but softened it with an encouraging smile. “Rhoda and Emily, you are still planning on attending with me, aren’t you? Mr. Nottingham said he will escort us if Flavion fails to follow through with his commitment.”

  Her friends nodded, but she realized they were not as exuberant as she. “What’s the matter?”

  “We missed you last night. Flavion was there, albeit late,” Rhoda said “Were you ill?”

  Her husband had told her he was not going to go to the ball that evening. And then he had attended anyway. Cecily bit her lip at this information. “Flave did not return home last night.”

  None of the girls met her eyes directly. Instead, they were all suddenly quite distracted by the ducks.

  “He was not with Miss Cunnington last night. He danced with Colonel Harris’ daughter,” Emily said in a clipped tone.

  “Twice,” Sophia added.

  “And then disappeared outside with her,” Rhoda said.

  Cecily was not surprised. Or outraged. Or even insulted by his behavior.

  He could do whatever he pleased and then go to hades for all she cared.

  “They left together,” Emily said. “Your husband snuck out of a ball with one of the Season’s incomparables, and then neither of them returned. Everyone is talking about it. The colonel was livid.”

  Cecily tossed her last chunk of bread to the rather large duck that had nudged at her skirts a few times already. “Well then,” was all she could come up with. Did Flavion have a death wish? “Perhaps, Emily,” she said, “we won’t have to kill him, after all.”

  And then feeling as though they weren’t as alone as she had thought, she looked over her shoulder and caught the piercing glare of Miss Daphne Cunnington.

  Poor Miss Cunnington.

  The lady seemed to have come to some sort of a decision and began walking purposefully toward Cecily. As she drew near, she glanced hesitantly over at Salaam and Chadwick but trudged forward nonetheless. Brave girl, Cecily thought, brushing the crumbs from her hands and turning a smiling face toward her husband’s lover.

  Peaches yelped twice at Miss Cunnington, but Sophia quickly shushed her again— not the lady, the dog. “No barking, Peaches,”

  “Miss Cunnington, this is a pleasant surprise.” Cecily turned to her husband’s mistress with a cool smile. Her expression didn’t feel as forced as it might have a few days prior. Cecily was feeling, in fact, quite magnanimously toward Miss Cunnington.

  For a few weeks following her wedding, Cecily had hoped that Flavion would recant his words from their wedding night. She had wished it was all a grand mistake, and they could begin anew. With those thoughts in mind, she had resented Miss Cunnington enormously.

  But a shift had since occurred inside of her.

  With a surprising jolt, she realized that she no longer pined for her husband. Her love for Flavion had been nothing more than an illusion.

  His mistress could have him.

  Right now, Miss Cunnington looked less than her normally confident and catty self. “Might I have a word with you… Miss Findlay?” she said, quite purposefully forgetting that Cecily was no longer a mere miss.

  Miss Cunnington was quite welcome to have Flavion, but Cecily was done being disrespected. With a lift of her chin, she sent the other woman as icy of a stare as she could muster. Emily, Rhoda, and Sophia all glared at her with equal disdain. Peaches barked sharply.

  “Pardon me?” Cecily said coldly and then raised one eyebrow and glanced toward Salaam.

  “I mean Lady Kensington.” Her eyes shifted anxiously toward Salaam as well and then back. “Could I persuade you to walk a quick turn with me? I only require a moment of your time.”

  Cecily was more curious than anything else. What would this woman possibly have to say to her? “Ve
ry well.” She looked over at her friends. “Will you ladies mind if I excuse myself for a moment?”

  Emily answered for all of them. “Not at all, my lady,” she said with barely a hint of the curiosity that Cecily knew she suppressed.

  Salaam went to fall in line behind her and Miss Cunnington, but with a gesture of her hand, Cecily indicated for him to stay back. She would hear what Miss Cunnington, had to say on this fine afternoon.

  And so, Cecily, clasping a parasol in one hand and her reticule in the other, turned and strolled casually toward the bank of the Serpentine. Miss Cunnington moved quickly to catch up with her. Once Cecily arrived at the water’s edge, she stopped and gave the other woman her full attention.

  Miss Cunnington fidgeted with her gloves, and her brow furrowed deeply. If she made this expression often, Cecily thought observantly, the pretty young miss would have wrinkles to show for it before turning thirty. Finally, Miss Cunnington spoke.

  “He is mine. He has always been mine, and he will be mine forever.” The words came out in a rush. “He doesn’t want you. You can try to keep him at home in your bed but I promise you, he’ll never love you.”

  “I presume you are referring to my husband,” Cecily said and then waited. Quite often, the best way to procure information from another person was to simply wait patiently. This was an elementary rule of confrontation. She was of a guess that Miss Cunnington would not disappoint.

  “Keep your hands off him. Do you understand?”

  Good Lord! Cecily wondered at the lady’s impudence. She refused to answer her, however. Instead, she lifted one eyebrow sardonically. She had worked diligently to affect this talent at the age of twelve after seeing one of her father’s business associates utilize such a contrivance quite effectively with an impertinent client.

  “You should never have come on the marriage mart. All the money in the world doesn’t a lady make.” Miss Cunnington was beginning to look rather pinched in the face. “You should return to your father’s home. You would do well for yourself to leave London before the Season is over.”

  Cecily narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Are you threatening me, Miss Cunnington?” She was not afraid. Even if not for Salaam and Chadwick, Cecily would not be frightened by this little harpy.

  Miss Cunnington pulled her shoulders back and looked Cecily directly in the eyes. “Why don’t you consider it a promise? One way or another, you will not be the countess for much longer. Mark my words, Miss Findlay.” And with those words, she sent Cecily one last scathing glance and then pivoted in haste to take her leave.

  Unfortunately, the placement of her foot was on a slimy patch of the shore, and before anybody could do anything to stop her, Miss Cunnington slipped and, with arms flailing, went sliding into the water with a significant splash.

  Oh, this was delightful! Utterly delightful!

  But Cecily only enjoyed it for a moment. Although it was early summer, the lake would be freezing. Stepping forward cautiously, Cecily crept down to the water’s edge and offered help in the form of one end of her parasol. She would assist her husband’s mistress out of the murky soup.

  It was rather satisfying to behold the dear lady, legs outstretched, unable to regain even an ounce of dignity. Splashes of murky water dappled her hair and face.

  Miss Cunnington glared up at Cecily with what could only be thought of as murderous rage. “Are you laughing at me, Cecily Findlay?” she shouted. “How dare you! Why, you’re not fit to polish my shoes!” And then, in anger and frustration, Miss Cunnington grasped the parasol and gave it an extraordinarily powerful tug.

  What with Cecily holding tightly to her end of it, she was launched unsuspecting into the lake as well.

  Cecily hit the surface, head first.

  She had been right. The water was freezing! And in spite of being an excellent swimmer, it took a moment for her to find her bearings as she clutched at the muddied lake bottom. Crawling to her knees, Cecily threw back her head, sputtered and wiped at her eyes.

  Had Daphne Cunnington really done that? Had that woman actually pulled her into the water? What had Cecily ever done to her?

  The other woman reclined placidly in the muck, closer to the shore with a rather smug look on her face.

  Miss Cunnington had landed bottom first and therefore hadn’t experienced the pleasure of her face going underwater, unlike Cecily. In fact, with only a little water and mud splashed above her waist, the lady’s coiffure remained intact.

  Cecily would remedy that situation without any further ado. Not stopping to think of what all the ton would say about her tomorrow, she grasped a handful of muck and lobbed it as hard as she could so that it hit Miss Cunnington right between the eyes.

  Things deteriorated significantly after that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  STEPHEN WAS SOMEWHAT reassured knowing that Lady Kensington would not be gallivanting around Mayfair without protection. He would have afforded it for her, himself, but perhaps extended time in that particular lady’s proximity wasn’t the best idea.

  Unfamiliar with such conflicting emotions, he methodically organized various estate reports and contracts that required Flavion’s signature. The first pile was urgent, the second less so, and the third could be disposed of if necessary. Just as he thought he ought to go out and see if he could find his conspicuously absent cousin, sounds of the front door being thrown open, and then slammed, interrupted his musing.

  “Patterson!” Flavion bellowed loudly for his valet. Stephen closed his eyes. “Patterson, prepare me a hot bath immediately! And bring me some laudanum!”

  At these words, Stephen opened his eyes, pushed himself away from the desk, and went to intercept his cousin before he could disappear again.

  Stephen was shocked at the sight that met him. “Flave! What happened?”

  Flavion was a mere shadow of the man who’d disappeared the day before. His normally impeccable clothing was soiled with blood, dirt and, if one were to apply all of one’s senses, other unmentionable bodily fluids. In addition to that insult, Flave looked to have suffered two blackened eyes to go along with his recently broken nose. His matted hair was unrecognizable, and he held his right arm as though it pained him greatly.

  “Who did this to you, Flave?” Images of irate papas as well as vindictive women arose in Stephen’s imagination as he comprehended that his cousin had been quite thoroughly roughed up.

  Flave stumbled over to the large looking glass in the foyer and moaned tragically at the rather unimpressive reflection gazing back at him. “Oh, Stephen. What have I ever done to deserve treatment such as this? It was Cecily. I am certain of it. One of her father’s thugs, most likely. I think you were spot-on in your prediction that her father would come after me.”

  Stephen wrapped an arm around Flavion’s waist and proceeded to assist him up the long flight of stairs.

  Patterson stood at the top of the landing and fretted as he watched his master. “I’ve a bath being prepared for you, my lord.” And to Stephen, “Should I call a doctor?”

  “I think that would be in Lord Kensington’s best interest, Patterson. Thank you.”

  Flave groaned as Stephen urged him to keep moving.

  “A few more steps, Flave,” he said, feeling some renewed affection for the man who was for all intents and purposes a brother to him. “You’ll be right as rain in no time at all. You know I’ll help you sort this out. Haven’t I always?”

  “You’re the only one, Stephen,” Flave said in a somewhat-hoarse voice. “I knew I could always count on you.”

  “Of course you can.” Stephen felt hollow as his conscience reminded him that he’d spent the previous night fondling his cousin’s wife.

  By the time they reached Flavion’s room, the footmen were pouring the last few buckets of heated water into the tub. When Patterson returned, looking flustered, Stephen sent him to await the doctor and locate some laudanum. Stephen thought that perhaps Flavion might be somewhat more forthcoming if there w
eren’t any servants present for his interrogation.

  Playing valet to his cousin, Stephen supported Flave as he climbed into the large copper tub. After handing over a cloth for washing, Stephen pulled up a stool and sighed heavily.

  “Tell me what happened last night,” he said as Flave lay back and rested his head.

  Opening his eyes only slightly, his cousin looked sideways at Stephen a bit warily. “Well, after I left the dining room last night, Daphne was waiting for me, in the corridor… but she was…”

  “Yes?” Stephen urged. Good lord, the chit had shown up on Flave’s doorstep!

  “She’s quite displeased at your mandate. She started crying and begging me to run away with her. What is a man to do when a chit gets all demanding and hysterical like that? I tell you, Stephen, if you ever had a mind to marry and settle down with one woman, I would advise you to reconsider. Women are trouble.”

  The irony of Flavion’s words was nearly enough to cause Stephen to laugh, but with his cousin all bloodied and bruised, he did not have the heart.

  “So, what did you tell Miss Cunnington?” he asked instead, although he already knew the answer.

  “Well, I told her I’d think it over, promised I would come to her later and then I escorted her outside to her carriage. Good God, I started to believe she might actually go to her father!”

  Stephen would discuss the details of the baron’s visit with Flavion when he was in better spirits. For now, he merely asked, “And then where did you go?”

  “I decided that since Cecily was at home, I might as well attend the Chattering’s ball. Met a lovely little deb by the way. A colonel’s daughter.”

  At this, all Stephen could do was raise his eyebrows somewhat incredulously.

  “She was not your typical deb, Stephen. Let me tell you. She could be a showgirl if she chose to do so. Legs that go on forever and the perfect hourglass shape.” Flavion tipped his head back, closed his eyes again, and continued the recitation of his most recent conquest’s charms. “Thick red hair and the most gorgeous cherry-red lips. I think I’m in love.”