Miss Rhododendron Mossant has given up on men, love, and worst of all, herself. Once a flirtatious beauty, the nightmares of her past have frozen her in fear. Ruined and ready to call it quits, all she can hope for is divine intervention.
Justin White, Vicar turned Earl, has the looks of an angel but the heart of a rake. He isn't prepared to marry and yet honor won't allow anything less. Which poses something of a problem... because, by God, when it comes to this vixen, a war is is waging between his body and his soul.
She’s hopeless and he’s hopelessly devoted. Together they must conquer the ton, her disgrace, and his empty pockets. With a little deviousness, and a miracle or two, is it possible this devilish match was really made in heaven?
Hell of a Lady is Book 4 in Annabelle Anders’ wildly popular Devilish Debutantes’ Series.
Hell of a Lady
Release Date: December 10, 2018
Series: Devilish Debutantes
Book Number: 4 in the series
“How then did you come by the name Rhoda?”
She sighed loudly. “Rhododendron.”
A pink flower, from what he could recall. Hearty for landscaping. “One of my favorite flowers.” He would not make a joke of it.
She chuckled. “Well done, my lord.”
Could he woo this prickly young woman? As the thought crossed his mind he brought himself up short. He was not looking for a wife. Was he? And he certainly couldn’t take on a woman in her circumstances.
God, but she was a beauty though. And she tugged at him in a visceral way. His eyes searched her face; strong, high cheekbones; delicate arching brows, and lips, full, plump, the color of a pomegranate.
She watched him back warily, as though waiting for him to chastise her for such insolence. Behind her eyes lurked that combination of defiance and fear he’d begun to recognize. He quickly searched his memory for what he knew of various flowers. “The Rhododendron is one of the heartiest of flowers, you know. It’s from the evergreen family. Why wouldn’t it be somebody’s favorite flowers?”
She looked for a moment as though she might soften, but then straightened her spine. “You haven’t studied the language of flowers, have you?”
He hadn’t. He’d heard of it but considered it something frivolous – something suited for lovesick swain with nothing better to do with their time. “I’m afraid not. Feel free to enlighten me.”
“But of course.” She pinched her lips and narrowed her eyes. “The Rhododendron isn’t exactly a romantic flower. Whereas most flowers signify beauty, or devotion or other such nonsense.” She bit her lip and twisted her mouth into that brittle smile once again. “The Rhododendron leans more toward the macabre side of human nature. When you see a rhododendron, you ought to consider it a warning. In the language of flowers, it means caution. Beware. Danger.”
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful.” He nearly whispered the words. He’d not meant to say them out loud.