To Hell and Back: A Devilish Debutantes Novella

by Anders, Annabelle

  Eve swung her eyes back toward Mr. Waverly. “Thank you.” Oh, but she’d been going on and on about herself. Likely he contemplated far more important matters.

  “You never married, Mr. Waverly?” Before he could answer, an odd sense of envy struck her. Any wife of his would always feel safe and secure. She’d wager he’d be the most faithful, caring, and dedicated of husbands.

  He would never threaten to kill his own offspring. Yes, such a woman would be lucky, indeed.

  As he brushed his hand through that thick black hair of his, she noticed how elegant his fingers were. An interesting combination, efficiency and elegance.

  “No, ma’am.”

  She ought not to probe. Normally, she would not even think of it. And of course, it would be a shame to lose such an efficient and trusted man due to her prying.

  “With all the traveling I did as a younger man, I didn’t think it would be fair.”

  Indeed, if she’d been his wife, she’d not have been happy for him to go sailing around the world leaving her at home.

  “You could not have taken her with you?”

  A tight smile on his part.

  Of all the conversations she’d had with him, they’d never discussed personal matters. Especially not his. And now for some reason his gaze stirred unnerving thoughts in her.

  “I suppose.” His eyes darkened. Or was that her imagination? “If I’d found the right woman.”

  And what type of woman would that have been? She dismissed the question before it could escape past her lips.

  What on earth had come over her? He was her man of business. Even if her husband had not been a libertine, she was not the sort of lady who flirted.

  Lightning flashed across Mr. Waverly’s face. His nose looked as though it had been broken a time or two. Despite his present occupation, this man had obviously not spent the majority of his life sitting at a desk.

  “Do you regret it?” Eve’s daughters meant the world to her. Sometimes too much.

  He shrugged. “Can one miss what one never had?” Another roar of thunder grumbled in the distance, and he leaned to peer out the window.

  “I’m sorry.” Remorse swept through her. “For insisting we travel. If you wish, we may turn back. I just…”

  She had his full attention once again. “You just…?” he prompted.

  “I just…” She had to search for reasons that she didn’t fully understand herself. “I need to know it’s over. I feel as though I’ve been running from him forever. He’d threaten sometimes, to demand the girls remain with him.” She swallowed hard. “A part of me believes his death is too good to be true. And another part. There is another part that feels as though it’s died.” Oh, she wasn’t making sense.

  Dash it all, she would not shed tears for Jean Luc! She brushed at her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I’m being ridiculous.” She sniffed. At the same time, a handkerchief appeared in her hands.

  “No need to apologize. At one time you built your dreams around him.”

  “Which is ridiculous. It was so long ago.”

  She would not allow herself to remember what their marriage had been like before he’d changed. He’d presented her with an illusion.

  But then a sob wracked her body. “I loved him once.” She bent forward and buried her face in her hands. This was so embarrassing and yet she could do nothing to stop the waves of feelings rolling through her.

  She had loved him once! A thousand years ago! She gasped on another sob. Of all the times to break down. Likely Mr. Waverly wished he were astride his mount, riding in the rain.

  Mr. Waverly crossed to the bench beside her and then a warm and comforting arm dropped onto her shoulders. “Of course, you did.”

  Eve allowed him to pull her into the soothing warmth of his strength. Oh, to be held by another human being. To be the comforted instead of the comforter.

  Jean Luc had lain to waste so many of her dreams.

  “It was as though one day, he was a normal gentleman, a father and husband. And the next he was a stranger. And then something of a monster.” Mr. Waverly’s stoic demeanor methodically drew the nightmares out of her closet. She’d never spoken of this with anyone. He’d hold her confidence, of that she was certain. “I’m sorry to burden you with all of this.”

  “Hush.” He reached his other arm up and held her tighter as the carriage rocked rhythmically.

  So solid. So dependable. The wool of his coat felt rough against her skin. He smelled of leather and soap and that elusive scent some men carried: maleness.

  “I spent a few years with the army. Would it help you to know that after a battle, a battle won, we not only mourned the loss of our own men, but those of our enemies? For each of them once represented a lifetime of potential. It is natural for you to mourn your husband. And I imagine you feel a good deal of relief.”

  She’d not realized he’d fought in any wars. His words gave her pause to wonder. The idea that one would mourn the death of one’s enemy. It made sense. And all the lost potential of their marriage.

  And so much relief.

  Another sob took hold of her.

  * * *

  She would be mortified later, Niles presumed. That she’d allowed herself such an outburst in his company.

  She must not have wept the night before. She would have busied herself preparing for the journey. He wondered if the woman had allowed herself to shed a single tear over the last decade.

  He held her and shushed her occasional words of apology as the carriage rumbled away from the bustle of London. She’d grow calm for a few moments, only to be overcome again a few minutes later, with a fresh bout of sorrow.

  Most men would feel all sorts of awkwardness to find themselves in such a situation. He, himself, might feel quite uncomfortable if it was any other woman. But this was Mrs. Mossant, and he felt an odd gratification that she trusted him to such an extent.

  * * *

  He’d never expected to experience physical closeness with her. He’d imagined it, ah, yes, under quite different circumstances.

  As her personal storm subsided, the gale outside did as well. Nigel made himself comfortable when he realized she’d fallen asleep. Emotional outbursts must be exhausting.

  Feminine scents swarmed his senses. He focused on identifying them rather than the effect they had on his libido.

  Lavender. Yes. And lemon. When he tilted his head forward, silken strands of hair tickled his chin and lips.

  Careful not to awaken her, he turned both of them and raised one foot onto the upholstered bench, supporting them both with his other on the floor.

  He would not sleep, but she seemed to need it.

  Eve snuggled deeper against his chest.

  Ah, yes, she would be quite mortified when she awoke.

  Chapter 3

  Mud

  * * *

  At first she thought she was sliding off of her bed. She gripped tightly to her pillow. Except this wasn’t her pillow.

  Much more solid than a pillow.

  “Eve. Mrs. Mossant.” Her pillow shifted and then gripped her arms tightly. “Oh, hell!”

  And then the world tipped, shifted, and rolled. And rolled some more. Eve’s eyes widened in time to remember she was not in her bed, but in the carriage. Her stomach lurched and her breath stalled in her lungs as the world turned into a chaotic nightmare.

  * * *

  Not the entire world, but her world, she corrected herself ironically as she watched her valise and then Mr. Waverly’s hat bouncing off the ceiling of the carriage.

  Crashing sounds, and the horses! Oh dear God, What of the driver?

  She had nothing to grab hold of except for Mr. Waverly, who seemed to be doing his best to brace them from being tossed about any more than necessary.

  By the time she was awake enough to gain her bearings, the carriage came to an abrupt halt. She vaguely heard the sound of horses running in the distance, and water trickling… Trickling right through t
he carriage.

  “Mrs. Mossant?” The sound of Mr. Waverly’s voice brought with it some reassurance. “Are you hurt?

  Ah, her head rested on his chest. And they both seemed to be lying on the ceiling of the carriage. “I am unhurt, but what of you?” He’d taken the brunt of the impact.

  She was afraid to move. What if they dangled over the side of a cliff? What if the carriage were to begin sliding again? Or rolling?

  “I believe I shall live.” Mr. Waverly moved gingerly. “Be careful, there’s broken glass all around.”

  Pushing off of his solid chest, Eve did her best to free him without shuffling about too much.

  “Umph.”

  “I’m sorry. Oh, dear.” She’d planted her knee in a most unfortunate place. He groaned and then gripped her hips when she went to push herself off again.

  “Hold on, woman. Not there.”

  Of all things. She was grateful for the semi-darkness so that he couldn’t see the heat rising to her face. If she could only move her knee. “I’m— Mr. Waverly—”

  Before she could finish, he’d efficiently released her from her skirts and moved her leg to one side.

  Only now, she straddled him.

  Her breath hitched. They lay on the brink of death and she was most certain that he’d become aroused.

  Or perhaps it was merely his coat folded up awkwardly.

  “Do you think we are in danger of falling farther?” She whispered the words, almost as though the sound of her voice, in and of itself, might send the carriage careening farther down the hill.

  Mr. Waverly stretched his neck in order to examine their situation. As best he could, anyhow, what with her pinning him to the ceiling of this blasted contraption.

  A tree branch protruded into the interior, the culprit that broke the window, no doubt, but the other was intact.

  “I think we have quite safely landed at the bottom.” His voice sounded tight. In that moment, she realized his hands remained upon her hips.

  But moving was going to be a tricky endeavor, indeed, what with all the broken glass and what not.

  “Don’t move yet. If I can get my coat opened up, it might protect you from crawling on the glass.”

  “Oh, yes.” And then, “You’re bleeding.” He must have hit his head in their fall. Dark red oozed onto his face from the top of his head.

  “I’m fine.” But he grimaced as though in pain, and for the first time since she’d known him, he sounded annoyed as he tugged his coat out from beneath him.

  In doing so, the fabric of his pants met with the naked skin of her inner thigh. Somehow her skirts had tangled up in his coat. While purposefully avoiding his eyes, she struggled to ignore the very solid part of him protruding from behind his woolen pants.

  “If you can climb over there…” He indicated the safe mound he’d arranged with his coat. “Perhaps I can open the door.”

  “Oh, yes.” A solid idea indeed.

  This time she moved with extreme care as she shifted her weight off him to kneel.

  “Can you get up now?”

  She stared intently at his hat, which had landed in the corner near one of her gloves. A tremor ran through her. “I hope the driver isn’t hurt! And the horses!” This was all her fault. If only she hadn’t insisted on leaving today.

  “I believe he cut the tether when we started sliding.” Mr. Waverly didn’t sound overly concerned as he crawled toward the exit. Noises erupted outside. Shouts and scuffling.

  “You two all right in there?” The driver tugged on the door at the same time Mr. Waverly gave it a solid push, sending them both tumbling into the mud.

  Which drew a burst of laughter from Eve. Unconscionable of her to do so.

  The two men scowled at her.

  “I’m sorry.” She covered her mouth. There was nothing remotely funny about their situation. She must be in shock. How was it that she’d contained her emotions so well for the past twenty or so odd years, and yet today she had unleashed a torrent of tears on poor Mr. Waverly and was now finding amusement at his expense? He was bleeding! They all could have been killed!

  The terror of their accident was likely settling on her now, otherwise she would never have found merriment at the expense of others. The driver had landed on his bottom in the mud, and brown splatter dotted Mr. Waverly’s face and coat. Her hands shook when she reached for her glove. She stifled another inappropriate giggle when she glanced back up.

  Balanced on all fours in order to climb out, Mr. Waverly’s backside jutted alarmingly close to her face. Before she could avert her gaze, she inadvertently noticed sinewy muscles stretching the gray woolen material of his pants.

  Once the doorway cleared, he crouched outside and beckoned for her to follow. They must not be sitting on a cliff then.

  Careful to avoid the shards of glass, she crawled across his coat to the door, peeked out, and met Mr. Waverly’s gaze. “At least it’s no longer raining.”

  “There is that,” he responded grimly, and then he added, “No one is injured, but the horses have bolted.”

  “What should we do?” He’d have already developed a plan. He was an efficient, take charge sort of man.

  He offered his hand and practically pulled her the rest of the way out the door. “Not sure how safe it is right here. More of the mud could come down at any moment. Best we find a way back up to the road.” Wincing, he jerked his head towards a steep incline.

  “Dear heavens? Did we come down that?” The sliding grooves and crushed greenery created by the carriage revealed how lucky they were to have emerged unscathed. She could barely see the top, where the road must be.

  If it still existed.

  “The climb isn’t as steep over here.” The driver was already scampering out of harm’s way.

  “My valise!” At least her trunks were on the luggage carriage, safely parked back in London. “And my hat.”

  She shouldn’t bother herself with such trifles, but… a lady required certain accoutrements.

  Pausing only the barest of seconds, Mr. Waverly dropped to his knees once again, and partially disappeared back into the carriage, allowing her another accidental glimpse of his fine—

  “Anything else?” He’d backed up warily, in order to avoid the glass shards, no doubt. He’d retrieved her valise as well as her now crushed, velvet hat. He’d also recovered his great coat. Yes, that might come in handy at some point.

  “No, that’s everything.” She took the handle of her small case and did her best to return her hat to its former shape before placing it upon her head.

  Now. To find their way back to the road, the driver already having disappeared.

  Standing, Mr. Waverly sent a somewhat puzzled glance in her direction. “Take my hand and have a care, the hill is slippery.”

  For an independent lady, she most certainly was relying a great deal on her man of business. If only she could strike her early bout of weeping from his memory forever.

  Warmth flooded her cheeks as he wrapped his fingers around hers.

  “I’m sorry about earlier.” She didn’t wish to remind him of her weakness, but mortification forced the words past her lips. “I hope you’ll accept my apology. It’s not like me at all. I’m normally quite…”

  “No need.” He gave her a not so gentle tug. “We really shouldn’t dawdle here.”

  “Of course.” She managed a few steps before realizing something dreadful had happened. “Wait!”

  What in the world? “The mud has eaten my slippers!” They were nowhere in sight. But they had been on her feet initially and she now stood in the mud, wearing only her stockings.

  “It ate your slippers? Are you certain?”

  “Mr. Waverly.” She lifted one foot. “I’d hardly say so if I was not. Well, perhaps it didn’t eat them, but it has consumed them.”

  For the very first time since becoming acquainted, Mr. Waverly seemed slightly amused by her.

  She feigned annoyance with him.

&n
bsp; She hoped this business relationship that had worked so well in the past endured this journey.

  “Do you have anything serviceable in there?” He pointed toward her valise.

  Oh, yes! “My half boots!” Except mud surrounded her completely and the stockings on her feet were soaked through and through. If she could manage to change into her other pair of stockings…

  Mr. Waverly surprised her then, by dropping to one knee. What in the world?

  “Sit on my leg, Mrs. Mossant. You can hardly lace up your boots while standing in the mud.”

  She paused only a moment. “That is very… gentlemanly of you. But would you mind closing your eyes?”

  “Close my eyes? I do assure you that I’ve seen ladies’ feet before.”

  “I intend on changing my stockings, if you don’t mind.”

  “You—” He stopped himself. “Do hurry, though, we don’t want—”

  “I know, I know. We need to get out of here. But I can hardly walk with mud in my boots and I can hardly remove my stockings with you looking on.”

  A glimmer of a smile danced wickedly across his lips.

  “Really, Mr. Waverly, I would imagine you might be more understanding.”

  She lowered herself gingerly onto the seat he’d created for her and reached beneath her skirts.

  “These were one of my favorite pairs,” she mumbled more to herself than to him.

  Chapter 4

  And More Mud

  * * *

  Niles steadied Mrs. Mossant as she shifted and squirmed, her bum balanced precariously on his thigh. He tried not to imagine her hands skimming the length of her leg, touching feathery skin, in order to unfasten her garters.

  Instead, he kept one hand at her back and the other ready to right them, lest her manipulations toppled them both over.

  He dared not conceive the pain that might invoke. While tumbling down the hill, he must have slammed into something hard, bruising a rib.

  Or two.

  Or a perhaps all of them.