Hell's Belle

by Annabelle Anders

  And Meggie.

  There was no child. The news ought to have given him relief. The child had never existed and yet he felt a nonsensical loss.

  Emily had casually, carelessly erased the reality of his history as easily as anyone else might wipe chalk from a blackboard. Marcus dropped his head into his hands. How had he managed to lose so much in the blink of an eye? And what had he lost?

  A memory? An illusion? Or had he lost something more recently important to him?

  She’d done nothing but manipulate him since arriving at Eden’s Court.

  A knock sounded at the door before it opened. “Dev? Ah, Marcus. There you are.”

  Stephen Nottingham was one of his best and oldest friends. They’d practically grown up together, on neighboring estates. Whereas Marcus had been the heir, however, Stephen was raised out of charity. His cousin, the Earl of Kensington, had inherited the wealth and status and then gone on to harm nearly every person who’d ever loved him.

  Stephen knew about Meggie. Had he, too, known the truth?

  “Am I interrupting anything?” Stephen frowned upon seeing the displeasure on Prescott’s face.

  Prescott looked to Marcus with one raised eyebrow.

  “No,” Marcus said with a loud sigh. He no longer cared about keeping this in the dark. What good would it do anyhow? Likely, she was spreading the news like wildfire this very instant. “How much did you know about Meggie?” He suddenly wondered if the information Emily had unearthed had not been common knowledge.

  Damn and blast, he’d feel like a bumbling idiot if that was the case.

  Stephen paused in a manner that indicated perhaps he knew something. “Why do you ask? And why now?”

  Oh, hell. Stephen was a year older than Marcus. Had the woman truly made him appear such a fool? Was that why his father had sent her away?

  “What do you know?” he demanded. He didn’t wish for his friend to soften the blow. Marcus had always considered himself astute. He’d had good judgment. Most of his acquaintances, both business and personal, would have acknowledged him as intelligent.

  Except where women were concerned. Perhaps.

  Stephen took the seat beside him and rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor in a resigned manner. “Meggie Thistlebum and her husband played you from the beginning.”

  Although this merely confirmed what Emily had told Marcus, hearing the words from Stephen stole his breath for a moment.

  “Did you know she was married? To the man she told me was her father? Was I that blinded by lust?”

  “Good God, man. You were seventeen. All of us are blinded by lust at that age. And she was an astonishingly beautiful woman. By the time you let on that you’d been seeing her, I didn’t have the heart to say anything. And you know I had troubles enough of my own. I merely assumed it would eventually come to a head, but you’d have had your enjoyment of her.” Stephen removed a pair of spectacles from his pocket and placed them on the end of his nose. “But I’m not certain any of that matters any longer. I received a letter from the steward on Flavion’s estate.”

  Marcus wondered at his friend’s abrupt change of topic.

  “Waters is in a decline. His health is failing badly.”

  Yesterday, hell, twenty minutes ago, Marcus would easily have cheered at such information.

  He presumed, anyhow.

  His father and he had lived through this icy standoff for a decade now.

  And Marcus had always considered himself to be in the right. Felt he held the higher ground. Any man who would have a man murdered and send away his son’s unborn child deserved to be hated. To be reviled. Did he not?

  He still had difficulty believing Thistlebum had been alive most of this time. When he’d disappeared, Meggie had been devastated. She’d planted the seed…

  And the God damn blighter had not been her father after all. No wonder he’d glared at Marcus with a murderous intent on those rare occasions…

  Prescott set a highball half filled with scotch in front of him.

  Marcus took the glass of amber liquid and downed it in one swallow.

  The flavor, the warmth. The comfort of it reminded him of the woman he’d had the poor judgment to marry.

  Had she ruined scotch for him as well now?

  Stephen folded his letter before breaking the silence. “Cecily and I plan on leaving tomorrow. I need to take care of some business for my cousin. Why don’t you join us at Kensington’s estate? You can see him without being obliged to reside in his home.”

  “What’s ailing him? Did Kensington’s man give specifics?” Marcus stared off at one of the bookshelves.

  Books.

  Something else which brought to mind the manipulating minx he’d married.

  Stephen opened the letter again and scanned the writing. “Ah… Here it is. ‘I feel it pertinent to note that rumors about Waters’ early return from London indicate that the duke’s health has fallen into a swift decline. Likely consumption as it is old age, although I’ve heard tales of Cholera. Either way, it appears as though the devil’s catching up with that one for certain.’” With an unapologetic shrug, his friend folded the letter again and stuffed it back into one of his pockets.

  Marcus expelled a deep breath, an odd and unexpected calm settling upon him. He’d meet with his father. His mother would need him.

  And he’d speak with his sister, too.

  After all these years of silence. Wasted years?

  Perhaps he could discover some answers of his own.

  After he’d discovered the questions, that was.

  “You are leaving tomorrow?” Marcus confirmed.

  Stephen Nottingham nodded.

  “I’ll join you, then.” He hoped this wouldn’t result in a giant mistake. He’d meet with his family, but he wouldn’t reside there. The Kensington estate was less than three miles from Candlewood Park. From the home of his youth.

  He wondered if a great deal had changed. Would the same servants be there? The horses?

  But it was time. God help him. It was time.

  “And Blakely.” Prescott poured another two fingers of scotch into Marcus’ glass.

  “Yes.” Marcus lifted his glass to take another drink.

  “Don’t forget to take your wife.”

  Marcus nearly choked. He supposed Prescott had a point.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Choose Your Battles

  Everyone’s plans were changing.

  Sophia and Prescott were to return to London. Something to do with Carlisle and Rhoda. Sophia mentioned that Prescott wished to lend support to his cousin.

  Cecily and Mr. Nottingham needed to return to Surry. Cecily’s husband oversaw his cousin, the Earl of Kensington’s, estates and needed to address urgent issues that had arisen there.

  Emily and Marcus were to accompany them.

  Apparently, the Duke of Waters’ estate sat conveniently nearby.

  And Mr. Nottingham had received news in a letter that Marcus’ father ailed. She only learned the details when Sophia dropped in to see that she was comfortable.

  Emily had yet to speak with her husband since the unfortunate turn of events earlier in their suite and Crandall had removed her husband’s possessions from the adjoining dressing room. Whether he’d loaded them into a carriage or simply moved them to another room, she didn’t know.

  Would he come to her tonight? Since they’d exchanged rings, they’d made love every night. Emily hated the notion that they’d done so for the last time.

  She shuddered inside upon recalling the animosity in his final glance. She’d been reminded of his demeanor in the Crabtrees’ library. Disgust. Distrust. And worst of all, apathy.

  It hurt but it also scared her. She’d had something wonderful only to have it yanked away due to her own stupidity.

  Reluctant to discuss this unfortunate turn of events with Sophia and Cecily, Emily begged off dinner. She wouldn’t talk about it with anybody. She wallowed in too mu
ch pity on her own. Not to mention shame.

  She had no idea where Marcus was now. She’d been tempted to ask the maid who delivered her tray if Lord Blakely had been present at dinner, but she’d been too embarrassed.

  She’d opened herself up to this. He’d been completely honest with her that he’d no desire for a wife. She should not have lulled herself into believing his touch meant more than his words.

  For one amazing week, she’d felt like a complete woman. As though her bookish ways and mousy looks didn’t mean she must expect less from life.

  She must be grateful for having experienced it.

  She wondered again if he would come to her tonight. She knew already that Marcus didn’t require affection in order to perform the act.

  How would she respond if he presented himself to her for relations?

  The prospect alone sent heat swirling between her legs. Ah, her traitorous body craved the heady ministrations of her husband regardless of his demeanor.

  An image of him hovering above her in anger stirred unsettling thoughts even further.

  She changed into her night rail, again, one Marcus had purchased for her, and then located a horticulture book on tulips, hoping it would help her fall asleep.

  Marcus did not come. She kept the candles burning in vain.

  The room remained empty. Her hope diminished. And with each tick of the clock, reality set in. Emily Goodnight, now Emily Roberts, Lady Blakely, must never allow herself to hope.

  Because for a person such as herself, hope led to disappointment. Best to expect the worse. At least that way, nothing ever surprised her.

  Cecily and Emily rode in the carriage, along with Cecily’s son, Finn, not yet a year old but considerably bigger than Sophia’s baby.

  Mr. Nottingham, Mr. Findlay, and Marcus rode outside upon mounts.

  It felt oddly familiar to the ride she’d shared with Sophia less than two weeks ago.

  Perhaps it would rain, and Marcus, Mr. Findlay, and Mr. Nottingham would be forced to ride inside. Would Marcus speak to her?

  He’d ignored her to this point. If he accidentally met her eyes, his gaze turned hard and then shifted elsewhere.

  Emily knew Cecily suspected something had gone awry. Anyone with half a brain could not help but notice Marcus’ cold demeanor, the fact that her husband of less than one week avoided touching, looking at, or even acknowledging her.

  Emily must have set some sort of record. Repelling one’s husband within four days of wedded bliss.

  “I don’t understand.” Emily couldn’t help but break the silence. At this point, she was more than ready to answer Cecily’s unasked questions.

  Cecily sent her a meaningful look and nodded. “You and I know that your type of meddling was done with the best of intentions, but Blakely’s a proud man. You’ve stuck your nose into his life without permission in more than one instance recently.”

  Emily knew this. She tried telling herself she ought not to have done so, and yet… She’d been right!

  It appeared the Duke of Waters hadn’t been so cruel as Marcus had thought. What if the duke had died without Marcus ever knowing the truth?

  “If I did not, then who would have? For such an intelligent man under most circumstances, Lord Blakely has been a stubborn fool where this woman was concerned. She hoodwinked him. He’d idolized her in his mind and hated his father for it.” Emily hated the green streak of emotion that shot through her. “He might as well have married her for the barrier she’s wedged between him and his family.”

  Would Emily be that barrier now?

  Cecily raised her brows, willing to play the part of devil’s advocate, apparently. “I know, Em. And I know you did all of this with the best of intentions, but I think you might do well to try to think of some way to apologize for… invading his privacy. Of course, the future will reveal whether your decision was for the best, but for now, you need to do something to recapture Lord Blakely’s goodwill. You don’t wish to go on like this indefinitely, do you?”

  “Are you practicing marital wisdom based on your experience with me, Cece?” In the past, Emily had always been more of the teacher. To all of them.

  When had the tables turned?

  She did not need to look far to see her answer. All she needed to do was peek out the carriage window, at her husband’s proud back. Such confidence with horses. She allowed her gaze to linger on the corded muscles of his thighs, stretching the material of his breeches. As she studied the width and strength in his shoulders, she remembered how comforted she’d felt when he embraced her. Warm. Safe.

  Good enough.

  “I don’t know if he’ll accept a heartfelt apology.” Although she didn’t think she ought to have to apologize for discovering the truth, there were other things she’d done that she regretted. She’d heedlessly stormed past the boundaries of caring into outright manipulation. Which was apparently not a trait he found attractive in his wife. Emily winced. Exercising restraint would have driven her to Bedlam.

  Exercising restraint might very well have been worth the effort, though.

  Watching her husband sit atop his horse… So proud. So familiar and yet distant. Her throat thickened, and her heart ached. Being at odds with him provoked an entirely different sort of insanity.

  “The longer this goes on, the worse it will get,” Cecily said in all seriousness. “Mr. Nottingham and I got ourselves into a horrible fight when we’d only been married a few weeks. I know that you, Sophia, and Rhoda assume I’m living happily ever after with my husband, and I love him with all of my heart, I always will, but a marriage requires effort. And sacrifice. A woman must learn to choose her battles wisely.”

  “What would you and Mr. Nottingham quarrel over?” Cecily was right. She and the others did all rather assume Cecily lived something of a fairy tale, tucked away with her handsome hero.

  “Don’t share this with Sophia and Rhoda. I’m only telling you so that you can better understand marriage.” Cecily turned and fussed with little Finn’s blankets on the bench seat beside her. “Flavion. We fight over Flavion.”

  “The man who married you for money? The man who put an adder in your bed? The man who’s never spoken a sincere word in his life? Whatever could your husband find to quarrel about in regards to that rotter?”

  “Flavion is his cousin.” Cecily shrugged. “And although Stephen sees most of the earl’s flaws now, old habits die hard. Stephen still takes on a great deal of Flave’s responsibilities. I think he’ll always feel guilty about not being here when his uncle died.”

  Emily pondered Cecily’s words. “And you’ve fought over this?”

  Cecily nodded. “At first, I wanted to tear my husband’s hair out. I resented that he could continue to feel any sort of affection for Flavion after everything he did to me. We yelled. I gave him the silent treatment. It was the worst forty-eight hours of my life. Every part of my soul hurt while we fought. And then it hit me.”

  “What?” Emily leaned forward.

  “I should never try to control this man. I should never try to tell him who to love, or who to hate. He is the man I fell in love with. Why would I want to change anything about him? Why would I wish to keep him from being the wonderful person who attracted me from the very beginning?”

  Emily’s conscience pricked her. Had she been trying to change Marcus?

  Perhaps she hadn’t tried to change him, per se, but she’d tried to control him. By exposing his first love, she’d become the same villain his father had been all these years. It didn’t matter that she’d in truth done nothing wrong having the situation investigated, and she’d maintain this until the day she died. But…

  Marcus must make his own decisions.

  Perhaps she could give him her opinion on occasion. Perhaps nudge him in the correct direction. But…

  Yes. Perhaps she’d gone too far.

  Hope and fear settled into her heart at the exact time. Hope that she might be able to win back his affections with an
apology. And fear that she might not be able to.

  Her emotions could not be locked away. Feelings were as much a part of her as her skin, hair, and blood. They kept her alive as much as the beating of her heart. Perhaps even more so.

  She hoped he didn’t batter them too violently.

  “Any suggestions?” Emily winced. Marcus had been infuriated with her when he’d left their suite yesterday. No. He’d been inflamed.

  And today he’d turned into stone.

  Cecily tapped her lower lip as she contemplated Emily’s question. “I think you need to get him alone. We’ll be stopping for nuncheon soon. Sophia’s housekeeper sent along a giant basket so that we might have a picnic. Ask him to walk with you in front of Stephen and me. Make it nearly impossible for him to decline. And once you get him alone, don’t be afraid to… well. Use your imagination, Emily.” She smiled impishly.

  “I’ve missed you.” What had she done without Cecily all these months? “If nothing else, at least I’ll know you’re nearby.”

  Cecily nodded. “We’re going to hope for the best. Now.” She folded her arms over her bosom. “Practice what you’re going to say on me.”

  “I’m going to apologize?” Why on earth would she need to practice?

  “I know you, Emily. You need to penetrate through the wall he’s put up against you. A simple apology won’t do it. Now, tell me how you will begin.”

  Emily pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, Marcus.”

  She bit her lip when Cecily shook her head.

  “I’m sorry I asked Prescott…” Emily hated this. “To…” Oh, this was ridiculous. “Investigate?”

  Cecily laughed. “Because?”

  “Because…” Emily had to remember why again. “Because it ought to have been your own decision?”

  “Oh, fabulous. That’s fabulous. Now don’t forget that end part.” Cecily twisted her mouth. “But add in something like ‘and I’ll never do it again.’ Except, of course, you being you won’t be able to keep such a promise. But as long as he knows you are trying.”

  Emily smiled unconvincingly. “What if he doesn’t come around?”