Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Read online

  Stephen had only met the one friend, Miss Babineaux, and she’d seemed harmless, quite innocuous, in fact. She was a pretty little thing but without the substance and vitality Lady Kensington possessed. Cecily Nottingham was like a shiny new instrument, begging to be tuned and played. But a murderess? Hardly.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, Flave. What you ought to be worrying about is what Thomas Findlay is going to do to you once he returns from America and discovers you’ve broken his daughter’s heart.”

  Flave waved Stephen’s words away with a flick of his hand. “What would he be upset about, Stephen? I’ve taken his daughter off his hands, right enough. Isn’t that what any father would wish for? Bloody hell, I’ve made a mere merchant’s daughter into a countess.”

  “Obviously, Flave, you don’t know Mr. Findlay as well as I do.”

  “How do you know him?” Flave looked up in surprise. Stephen was gratified to finally have his cousin’s full attention.

  “I’ve been up against him in a number of business deals, Flave. Believe me when I tell you he is unscrupulously protective of his property. You can wager his daughter merits even further consideration. It’s rumored that he’s killed men who’ve betrayed him. I think your actions can be construed thusly.”

  Flave sat down on the edge of the desk and looked thoughtful. “You think?”

  Squeezing the bridge of his nose yet again, Stephen nodded. “Yes, Flave, I think. And that leaves it up to you to do everything you can to regain Lady Kensington’s affections.”

  Flave puffed up his cheeks and then let out a long breath. In spite of being a grown man, he resembled a petulant child. “But what about Daphne? I made a vow to her that she was my one true love. I told her nothing would change between us after the transfer of Cecily’s dowry.”

  Shaking his head, Stephen dashed Flavion’s hopes. “Tell her your life depends upon it, by God. Surely, if she loves you, she won’t wish to see you laid out in the parlor. It’s imperative that you do what is necessary to repair your marriage, Flave. A man who dowers his daughter with a hundred-thousand pounds expects the groom to make an honest effort. Give it a few years, then you can have as many Daphnes on the side as you wish.” For some reason, Stephen could not see Flavion holding his wife’s interest for much longer than that. Flave was entirely too one dimensional for her. Once she discovered Flave was all flash and no substance, as charming as he could be, she’d tire of him. The thought was oddly satisfying.

  “Daphne is the one, Stephen,” Flave said, looking far too dreamy. “You’ll understand someday.”

  Stephen dismissed an intrusive memory of Flavion speaking these exact same words to him years ago — in regards to Stephen’s own betrothed.

  Not willing to let Flave ramble along on a lovesick tangent, Stephen interrupted him. “But you must set Daphne aside, Flave. You are my closest living relative, and I’m not inclined to carry on the Nottingham name alone. Do you understand?” Stephen held his cousin’s eyes unwaveringly. “You must do whatever is necessary to repair relations with Lady Kensington.”

  After holding Stephen’s eyes for a moment, Flave looked down at the floor in defeat. “You really think her old man would come after me? You’re not just being paranoid, are you?”

  “I wish I were.” And then walking around to the other side of the desk himself, Stephen sat down in the chair Flavion had vacated. Ignoring the headache that had begun to settle in, he absently began sorting through various receipts and bills in front of him. Ah, here’s what he was looking for. “Now, let’s assess these contracts to see what stipulations the old bastard has put on all that money. Best to know what we’re dealing with.” Flavion flung himself down in the sofa on the other side of the room and, with one leg hooked over the cushioned arm, looked petulantly bored as he waited.

  Like old times.

  It took Stephen less than ten minutes to realize that Thomas Findlay had most definitely not relinquished his daughter and her dowry as handily as Flavion had assumed. Flavion was already nearly in default. He’d been given one month to put together a plan in which the first third of the dowry was to be put in trust for Lady Kensington and any children, a third could be used to buttress the properties under the earldom, and the remaining third was to be invested so that the proceeds could then be used to provide his daughter and new son-in-law a small allowance.

  A cold chill ran down his spine as he began adding up bills and receipts the couple had accumulated over the past few weeks since their wedding. Holy hell, between the two of them, they’d managed to spend nearly twenty-thousand pounds! And that was just what he could see from the haphazard pile of receipts in front of him. When he looked up to address Flavion with the bad news, he wasn’t surprised to see that Flave had nodded off.

  It seemed that his cousin was going to need some financial assistance, after all. Stephen poured himself a few fingers of scotch and then sat down again to process and absorb the situation before him. A part of him was of a mind to walk away and leave Flave to face the music alone for once in his life. In the past, on more occasions than Stephen could remember, either he or Uncle Leo had dug Flavion out of holes he’d gotten himself into. Unfortunately, in this instance, the repercussions were too dire for Stephen to abandon his cousin. As much of a wastrel as Flave could be, Stephen did not wish to see him dead.

  Flogged, perhaps, but not dead.

  So.

  First things first. Hopefully, Flave would heed Stephen’s advice and patch things up with Lady Kensington. A remote possibility existed that the lady might be willing to make another go at the marriage. Perhaps it was true that love and hate were opposite sides of the same coin, for Flavion’s sake anyhow. Because last night it had seemed as though Lady Kensington hated her new husband. Passionately. And yet she wanted to learn how to seduce him.

  Tomorrow, Stephen decided, he would spend a bit of time telling Cecily Nottingham what she could do to entice her husband. Under no circumstances, he’d decided firmly, would he show her anything. Perhaps he could find a book… Although…

  Leaning back, with closed eyes, he inadvertently remembered the feel of her, soft and warm, in his arms as they’d danced. Without being petite, she was delicate nonetheless. She had an enticing coloring, what with hair the color of a sunset and eyes that flashed her every emotion. Made a man wonder…

  If it were his task to unlock her carnal sensuality, he’d not find it an unpleasant one. She was a tantalizing minx, nearly bursting with simmering passions. For the thousandth time that evening, the words, “Flave’s a fool,” danced through his mind.

  But this type of thinking was all to no avail. After a few moments of searching, he found several steward reports and unopened bills in the top drawer. He spent much of the night addressing estate problems and making notes about where Flave needed to begin buttressing the earldom. A good deal of the money from the dowry was going to be required to pay off old bills. Hells bells. Flavion was going to need every penny of that dowry. He’d damn well better begin earning it.

  WHEN CECILY AWOKE the next morning, she groaned and then buried her face back under the covers. Her head hurt, her mouth felt like cotton, and her stomach was queasy. The gloom that had settled on her every morning since her wedding, though, wasn’t quite as heavy as it had been before. No, it was now replaced with an onslaught of embarrassment and shame for the way she’d spoken to Flavion’s cousin. Last night’s decision to seduce him, seemed laughable this morning. She hoped he would ignore her request, and that neither of them would ever have to discuss the subject again.

  Except that her enthusiastic friends would not let her get away with any such thing.

  Argh! What had her life come to? She needed to pull herself together.

  After sitting up, she reached for the tea that would have been brought in earlier. It must have been over an hour ago, as it was not even slightly warm.

  She drank the liquid anyway and then climbed out of bed. Ignoring her dressing gown,
she reached for the bell pull to summon her maid. She wanted to look her best before facing Mr. Stephen Nottingham again. Flavion had always spoken of his cousin with a sort of hero worship. Apparently, the man held considerable sway with her husband. She was curious what he planned to do with it.

  All thoughts fled from her mind at that moment, however, when a loud shout and a thumping and crashing sound broke the peaceful quiet of the morning. Startled into action, she flew out the door of her room in her nightdress and came to stand at the top of the long stairway looking down.

  Flavion lay on the polished marble floor at the bottom with a large gash on his forehead, drops of splattered blood staining the lace at his wrists.

  He was not moving.

  THE SHRILL OF a female scream awoke Stephen from the brief slumber he’d eventually given in to near dawn. Rather than wake up his valet, he had decided to sleep, instead, on the leather couch in the study. Instantly alert, he leapt up and followed the alarming sound. As he arrived in the foyer, he was met with the sight of his cousin, unmoving at the bottom of the stairs and his cousin’s blushing bride peering down from the balustrade above, looking terrified — and perhaps a little guilty.

  Had she pushed Flavion down the stairs? Had he been wrong in advising Flave to ignore Daphne’s warning? Stephen rushed forward, bent down, and touched his hand to the side of Flavion’s neck.

  With relief, he found a pulse rather quickly. At the same time, Flave began stirring.

  “Is he all right?” Lady Kensington called anxiously from above. Her voice echoed in the large foyer. She sounded more curious than concerned, as in Was I successful? He glanced up to assess her demeanor visually.

  Aggravated with his baser urges, Stephen ignored the stirring he felt at seeing the woman in a somewhat transparent scarlet negligée. The gown, obviously from her wedding trousseau, would have been purchased before she’d learned of her husband’s betrayal. It was most definitely not designed for a debutante. The bodice of the gown was comprised of more lace than fabric, and the flimsy skirt caressed and hinted at the lovely curves beneath. Much of her reddish gold hair had escaped the long braid she’d obviously worn to bed and now softly framed her pale face. Her green eyes looked darker this morning as she gazed down at her motionless husband.

  “Flave? Are you injured?” Without waiting for an answer, with one hand on the polished balustrade, she ran, barefoot, down the stairs to join Stephen. The silky material of her gown floated around both gentlemen as she knelt on the floor. When Lady Kensington leaned forward to look into Flavion’s face and hold his head, Stephen couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to the gap at her bodice. In a somewhat detached observation, he decided that her bosom was perhaps the perfect size; not too small, but pert and firm. Her skin, creamy and flawless.

  “Daphne?” Flavion said. “Daphne, love?” In his dazed confusion, he reached up, grasped the countess, and went to pull her down towards him. “Come here, darling, and give us a kiss.”

  Stephen groaned.

  As though burned, Lady Kensington recoiled and allowed Flavion’s head to drop with a thud on the hard floor. At that, his eyes flew open, apparently realizing he’d been attempting to fondle the wrong woman. Well, not the wrong woman, in truth, but not the one he’d hoped for. The countess sprung up and stepped back.

  She didn’t look hurt or even angry. She mostly looked disgusted. Had she jumped back because Flavion had spoken another woman’s name or because he’d spoken at all? Had she been hoping her husband was dead? That would certainly have been an effective revenge.

  Stephen looked over at her suspiciously, annoyed again with himself for feeling even slightly aroused by the sight of her.

  “Blazing bollocks!” Flavion grunted. “What in damnation happened?”

  Stephen frowned. “Language, Flave. There is a lady present.”

  “You must have tripped on that carpet at the top of the stairs, my lord. The corner is beginning to unravel. I nearly did the same thing a few days ago.” Suddenly looking contrite, Lady Kensington added, “I ought to have had one of the footman roll it up and move it. I didn’t think…” She bit her lip anxiously. “I’m sorry, Flave. I really am.”

  Stephen, more confused than ever, was going to have to rethink his opinion of Lady Kensington. He wasn’t quite sure what he thought of her. Had she left the tattered carpet intentionally? Was she pretending remorse? If so, she was a damned good little actress.

  Stephen helped Flave to his feet, who then stretched and flexed his arms and legs as though testing their functionality. Except for the blood dripping from his nostrils, he seemed mostly unharmed. He must have banged his nose into something when he’d taken his tumble. Yes, a large bump was already beginning to appear.

  Flave eyed his wife suspiciously. “I’m quite all right, Cecily. You are speaking with me again, then?”

  Stephen watched in wonder as Cecily’s countenance changed from compassion and concerned to defensive and haughty. Again, he sensed the sizzling that burned just beneath her outward calm.

  “Only for a moment, to make sure you weren’t dead,” she said in a clipped voice. “Now, if you’d both excuse me, I’ll return to my chambers.” With that, she deliberately lifted her nightgown and carefully ascended the stairs, the transparent crimson material wrapped tightly around her slim thighs and backside.

  She was naked beneath her gown.

  Both men’s eyes trailed her every step until she reached the top and disappeared down the hallway. Afterward, they each glanced over at the other. But whereas Stephen had been admiring the sight of Cecily climbing the staircase, Flavion’s eyes were narrowed with an expression of blatant distrust.

  “I think she pushed me,” he said suddenly. “Damn, Stephen. Daphne was right.”

  CECILY, EAGER TO avoid a meeting with either Flavion or his cousin, donned one of her new day dresses and arranged to meet Rhoda and Sophia for some shopping. She was buttoning the top of a pelisse that had been delivered earlier that morning just as Mr. Nottingham stepped into the foyer from the study.

  He’d obviously spent some time with his valet since she’d seen him earlier this morning. Although not elaborate, his cravat had been neatly tied and his face freshly shaven. His eyes were shadowed though, as if he hadn’t much sleep the night before. His jacket was clean and pressed but well worn. He wore no lace, and his waistcoat was a solid color — no golden embroidery as Flave always insisted upon.

  Suddenly nervous and more than a little embarrassed, Cecily gave a great deal of attention to sliding her fingers into the matching kid gloves she’d purchased the day before. “Your cousin is not suffering any lingering discomfort from his fall this morning?” she asked casually, concerned for Flavion’s health despite herself.

  Mr. Nottingham stood with his legs firmly planted, his hands behind his back, and watched her intently. He seemed to lack any of the nervousness that had attacked Cecily. “He appears to be the same as ever. I can’t imagine a knock on the head doing much damage to Flave,” he said with a vacuous expression on his face.

  Cecily was uncertain as to whether or not he was taking a jab at Flave again. She liked when he did that.

  Nonetheless, she had been after a quick escape, and his rather imposing personage blocked her way effectively. “If you will excuse me, sir, I have an appointment this afternoon, and I do not wish to be late. I won’t be here to hold tea for you, but I shall return for dinner. Do you have plans to go out this evening?” she asked hopefully.

  He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to what she was saying; rather, he was looking her over from head to toe. “Is that a new ensemble, Lady Kensington?” His expression did not bode good tidings.

  “It is,” she said proudly, “and my appointment, in fact, is with my modiste, who happens to be much sought after, and very dear. So again, if you’ll excuse me, I must be leaving now. Madam Chantal holds appointments open for no one.” She took a step toward the door, but he still refused to move. Sud
denly she stood very close to him and was forced to look up in order to see his expression.

  “I’m afraid, my lady,” he said in a dreadfully serious voice, “that you’ll have to allow another customer your allotted time, after all. Would you spare me a moment and come into the study? I’d like to discuss a rather worrisome situation with you.”

  Without her consent, Mr. Nottingham took her arm and steered her through the large double doors that led into the study. Cecily was too stunned to do anything but traipse alongside him.

  “Please have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair that sat across from the desk. Then he seized a large stack of papers from a nearby shelf and returned to stand directly in front of her. Seated as she was, he appeared somewhat menacing. She jumped, startled, as he dropped the entire bundle of them into her lap. Without saying a word, he strode away from her toward the empty hearth and stood stiffly, hands behind his back. Giving her some time, apparently, to glance at what he’d given her, he waited a few moments to speak.

  “I assume you can read, and I assume you can add,” he said caustically before pivoting around to face her again. “But I won’t force you to do the math, as I’ve already taken care to do so myself.” He then walked back behind the desk and sat down in Flavion’s chair as though he were the Grand Earl himself.

  Cecily shrugged, indicating a nonchalance she did not feel. “As have I,” she said. “I believe it is right around 12,672 pounds.”

  Mr. Nottingham stilled. “Ah, so you are your father’s daughter, after all.” An uncomfortable silence fell as their eyes locked. His changed slowly from admiration to accusation. Had he thought she was just another empty-headed dimwit?