Never Miss a Chance (Kellington Book Two) Read online

  “A penniless spinster whose scapegrace brother is well on his way to squandering his inheritance? Yes. I’m surprised eligible suitors haven’t broken down the door demanding my hand.”

  “If only you saw yourself through my eyes,” said Lizzie with all the conviction of a true friend.

  “Let us focus on the task at hand,” said Rosalind as she settled her cup in the saucer. “Have you given any more thought to accepting Riverton’s offer?”

  “I’ve thought of little else. While it would solve my most obvious problems, it doesn’t seem fair to him. He shouldn’t be punished for trying to get me out of the suds.”

  Rosalind studied her friend. “Do you truly think that’s why he offered?”

  “I never thought I’d say this since I do think rather highly of myself, but the man could do better than to be married to me. While I’m well-dowered and from a good family, I’m opinionated, lamentably lacking in the gentler arts in which ladies are meant to be skilled and cannot conceive of being an obedient spouse. Or even biddable. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that I might cosh him, but only with good cause, of course.”

  “Of course. But what are your feelings toward him?”

  Lizzie busied herself with the tea tray, suddenly intent on putting it to rights.

  “He is highly intelligent. He has more than his share of common sense.”

  “Possibly even enough for the both of you,” Rosalind said with a smile.

  “Impertinent of you to mention, but true. He dresses well, but could never be described as dandyish.”

  “I should say not.”

  “He treats his servants well and somehow refrains from sending his female relations on long one-way journeys to places where Barbary pirates are in abundance. Although I should think even the pirates would give those ladies a wide berth.”

  “They can be quite trying,” admitted Rosalind as tactfully as possible, as she picked up a tea cake.

  “They are atrocious,” corrected Lizzie. “And I cannot imagine they won’t try to thwart his marriage plans once they become aware of them.”

  “But you won’t be marrying his family.”

  “True. Although I cannot imagine they wouldn’t signify at least a little. On the plus side, he is a good conversationalist, has wit and, more importantly, recognizes it in others.”

  “So he finds you interesting.”

  “And, you, too, which is of vast important since you and I are a package deal. Any husband of mine must look forward to your visits. He should also be amenable to your living with us if you choose to do so. And you should. There will be more than enough room and no matter how commendable my husband, chances are I shall feel the need to complain about him ever so often. Complaints about me from him, of course, should be properly ignored.”

  Rosalind’s eyes seemed to moisten, then she cleared her throat. “Lizzie, words cannot describe how very much I appreciate your generous offer, but I cannot consider living with you.”

  It had long been an issue of contention between them. Rosalind’s conditions at home seemed to deteriorate daily, especially now that the Duke of Fallmoor’s year of mourning was drawing to a close. Rosalind’s stepmother was pushing her out the door and into his ancient arms. Lizzie would do anything to prevent it.

  Lizzie took her friend’s hand. “I want you to know the offer will always be there. I know it is only a matter of time until you meet a gentleman you esteem, but in the meantime, I cannot countenance you making a match with anyone just to please your family.”

  “I don’t think my stepmother will give me much of a choice. But we’re not here to talk about me. We’re discussing your decision and I fear there is something troubling you about the eminently qualified Lord Riverton.”

  Lizzie looked into the eyes of her too perceptive friend. “I fear he sees me as the sister of his dearest friend and not….” She poured more tea into Rosalind’s cup.

  “And not as a woman?” asked Rosalind. “Not as a husband should look at a wife?”

  “Exactly. As unfashionable as it sounds, I want to be loved. I want my future husband to show his love…physically. One cannot help but notice that Riverton is a very handsome man, with excellent tailoring, broad shoulders and strong legs. Would you like more tea?”

  “I am quite warm enough, thank you,” said Rosalind, whose cheeks had a pale pink glow.

  “How disappointing it would be to have access to all of that fine masculine strength and never get anything more from it than a very proper kiss on the cheek or, well, a hasty tumble on a Saturday night to ensure the line of succession.”

  “Lizzie!” Rosalind’s cheeks now matched the bright pink pillow at the far end of the settee that was loathed by all the men in the family.

  “I want more than that.”

  “And you think Riverton would be incapable of giving it to you?”

  “I don’t think him ‘incapable’ as much as ‘hesitant.’ This would be much easier if he were Lynwood’s sworn enemy rather than best friend.”

  “You would never marry Liam’s – his grace’s – enemy, would you?”

  “No. But you know how protective brothers can be with sisters.”

  “Not personally, no. I think my brother would be just as happy to sell me off to those Barbary pirates.” Rosalind took another sip of tea. “Have you and Riverton kissed?”

  “No. And he hasn’t even attempted it. I say it’s Lynwood’s fault. At least I hope it is.”

  Rosalind smiled outright. “I think your marquess has more romance in him than you believe.”

  “I hope so,” said Lizzie. “Because I would hate to spend a lifetime without it. I don’t know if love is possible, but I must have passion. And a wedding night is too late to learn if it exists.”

  “What are you saying” asked Rosalind, although she was almost certain she knew the answer.

  “I’m going to seduce him.”

  “Lizzie!”

  “Don’t be so old-fashioned. It’s not unheard of for ladies to allow their fiancés to take some liberties.”

  “Perhaps a kiss would be all right,” said Rosalind hesitantly.

  “A kiss would be the absolute minimum. No, I truly believe this calls for an out and out seduction. I just have to learn how the devil to go about it.”

  “As much as I would love to continue this intriguing but entirely improper conversation…”

  “It’s intriguing because it’s improper,” said Lizzie with a broad grin.

  “Be that as it may, I must be for home.”

  “I’ll call for the carriage, but you must take my green bonnet with you.”

  “Lizzie, that’s so kind, but I cannot take your charity.”

  “But you’d be doing me a favor. I look quite sallow in it. The last time I wore it, Hal tried to call the sawbones to have me dosed.”

  “Lizzie…” Rosalind believed not a word of her story, but her friend was already out the door and no doubt taking the stairs two at a time. She was going to push the bonnet on her at all costs and had almost certainly ordered it in the first place only because it had been so long since Rosalind had had a new one.

  While Rosalind worried about her friend – and loved her like a sister – she believed the match with Riverton would be a good one. She had no real basis for her supposition, other than the way they’d looked in each other’s arms as they’d waltzed at the Tarlington ball. There had been something between them. Something she’d noticed halfway across the room. It could grow into the strongest of bonds if only given half a chance. She prayed fervently that Lizzie would find the happiness in marriage she so richly deserved. The happiness Rosalind believed she herself would never experience.

  “I had begun to think my sister was the consummate hostess,” said the deep voice at the doorway. “But while I’m not as versed in such things as I should be, I cannot believe it is proper to leave a guest unattended.”

  Rosalind tried to catch her breath at the sight of L
ynwood walking slowly into the room. While the sight of him in evening clothes in a ballroom could set even the most jaded female’s pulse racing, somehow he was even more devastatingly handsome at home. Especially in shirtsleeves.

  Perhaps guessing the direction her thoughts had taken but without, Rosalind hoped, being able to read her mind, Lynwood bowed to her.

  “Please forgive me for my casual dress. I’ve been wrestling with the agricultural reports from my steward and needed to gain at least a modicum of comfort.”

  Rosalind made her curtsy, then raised her eyes, only to have them stall on his neck. What was the man thinking to have removed his cravat? Had he no idea of the effect he had on the female sex? While inwardly grateful she hadn’t said any of that aloud, she was acutely aware she hadn’t said a word since he’d entered the room. She should say something. If nothing else, good manners dictated it.

  “Pray do not worry about your state of undress, your grace. I assure you, it does not offend me in the least. As a matter of fact, it’s quite….”

  Rosalind stopped herself just in time, for she was fairly certain she was about to end that sentence with the word “pleasant.” Even though that seemed an absurdly tame way to describe how she felt in the pit of her stomach – or somewhere in that region – as she looked at Lynwood in his shirtsleeves, with that fascinating patch of bared skin at his neck. Just the thought of it was quite capable of keeping her awake all night, as she had been a few weeks earlier when she’d almost waltzed with him.

  She finally looked up to see he was standing directly in front of her.

  “It’s quite what?” he asked softly, a hint of a smile on his lips.

  “It’s quite….” She moistened her suddenly dry lips. “It’s quite unobjectionable.”

  “That is good to hear, although not quite as reassuring as a man might wish,” said Lynwood as his lips curved even more. “However…”

  He took another step toward her, but Rosalind couldn’t for the life of her imagine why. This was a man she’d admired from afar for years, even before she and Lizzie had become friends. He’d barely acknowledged her existence before that time and in the years since he’d treated her like a sister. But it was almost as if…

  “Liam, what are you doing in here?” asked Lizzie as she re-entered the room carrying a hatbox. “Heskiss said you were holed up in your study with estate reports.”

  Lynwood and Rosalind both took a step away from each other.

  “I needed a distraction,” he said, as he walked to a table and picked up a news sheet.

  A distraction, thought Rosalind. A bit of amusement. There was nothing behind his words. Only the flirtation of a man trying to divert his mind before going back to work.

  Heskiss entered the room. “The carriage is ready, Miss Rosalind.”

  “Thank you,” said Rosalind, as Lizzie took her arm and they walked to the door. At the last minute, she turned to see Lynwood looking at her, an odd expression on his face. Rosalind curtsied and forced a carefree smile. “Good day, your grace. I hope you can find another distraction.”

  She was out the door before Lynwood had a chance to respond. But as he thought about the extraordinary last few minutes when he’d been surprised by Rosalind’s awareness of him as a man, a slow smile curved his lips. And, as he thought about her further, he had an even more surprising reaction as his breeches tightened. It seemed at first to be a wholly inappropriate response to one of Lizzie’s friends. But as he thought about the fully grown woman in spectacles, with the ready wit and beautiful smile, he realized his thoughts toward her were anything but brotherly.

  Strange, that. But he looked forward to learning exactly where those feelings would take him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Arthur was tired. Not because of the hour. It was only half past two in the morning and he rarely returned home before dawn. As someone whose livelihood depended at least in part on his skill with cards, midnight to dawn could be described as his working hours, although no true gentleman would ever do anything so lowering as “work.”

  His state of fatigue, which seemed to plague him almost continually as of late, could be attributed at least in part to the company he kept. It varied nightly. It often changed hourly. But it usually involved three or more peers he’d been drinking and gambling with since university, if not Eton, a comely lightskirt perched on his knee and a glass of spirits he nursed, never getting quite as foxed as others thought him and never, ever imbibing as much as the fellows around him.

  You couldn’t control chance, but you could make sure you had your wits about you when your luck changed – for good or bad. Alcohol rarely, if ever, made a man more alert. It might be thought of as courage in a bottle, but more often it simply lubricated the path to ruin. Arthur had seen it destroy too many men to allow it to take him down.

  Although at times he flirted perilously close to the edge.

  Tonight, he was playing whist. His partner was the Earl of Stalford, an excellent player who never let his emotions get the better of him at the table. Which was why it was always wise to play with the man and not against him. Arthur and Stalford had played as a team many times over the years, winning much more than they lost. But despite their success at the tables, they didn’t have much of a friendship. Arthur didn’t hold anything against Stalford. But he found that after spending hour upon hour in smoky rooms redolent with the stench of body odor and desperation, he preferred to socialize with those who had no association with gaming. That ruled out most gentlemen of his acquaintance and more than a few ladies.

  Arthur spent a lot of time by himself.

  Tonight, he and Stalford were playing opposite Reginald Colton, the reckless third son of the Earl of Blakemore. His father’s pockets apparently ran deep, because Colton always paid up promptly and, given his rather abysmal skill, often. It made him an ideal opponent. Some gamesters wanted to play only those partners who could truly challenge them. As the third son of a duke, Arthur had a greater appreciation for the sums to be made.

  Colton’s partner was Geoffrey Slauson, Viscount Carrington, a man of too much unentailed property and an equally large opium habit. Arthur never began play against someone who was so inebriated he didn’t know what he was doing. However, if an opponent chose to become thoroughly foxed during the course of the game, Arthur felt no obligation to stop playing.

  The four of them had just concluded a game. Arthur and Stalford were well ahead for the evening, which was fortuitous, since Arthur was slightly down for the week.

  “I say,” said the good-natured Colton as he opened his sizable purse to pay his losses. “The two of you are tough to beat. I thought we had you earlier on. But it seemed like after a spell of bad luck at the beginning, the devil himself was on your side. Most extraordinary. I’d like to admire it myself, if I didn’t have to pay up so bloody much.”

  Colton meant nothing by his rambling words, punctuated by generous sips of his port. But Arthur, too, had noticed how dreadful their luck had been at first, then how it had almost miraculously turned around. Part of it had been attributable to Colton and Carrington falling deeper into their cups. But the luck seemed just a bit too good for simply that. He glanced at Stalford, who was watching Colton count out his money. There’d never been any allegations of Stalford cheating. But, thinking back on the past several times they’d played, luck had seemed to favor the earl more than normal.

  Funny that.

  “Wait until I tell my friends about this evening,” continued Colton, happily placing his money on the table. “It isn’t often a man gets that close to winning against Kellington and Stalford. Ain’t that right, Carrington?”

  Carrington was barely conscious and probably had little idea of whether he’d won or lost. He probably had little idea, mused Arthur, of which hell they were in, or in which country they resided. Arthur’s conscience nagged at him a bit for taking advantage of someone so heavily under the influence, but if it hadn’t been him, someone else would’ve sa
t in his chair and done it. As it was, Stalford had been irritated when Arthur cut the play short once it became apparent Carrington was slowly sliding out of his chair.

  “How’s that sister of yours?” Colton asked Arthur. He was only slightly more sober than Carrington as he put away his purse. He was avidly watched by half a dozen whores and twice as many nearby men, most of whom looked like they were planning the best way of separating Colton from his money, whether through cards or in the alley.

  “Lady Elizabeth is well,” said Arthur, as he gave a few coins to the lightskirt who’d brought him luck, while letting her know with a kind smile he wasn’t interested in any other entertainment that evening. Disappointed for almost a full ten seconds, she turned her attention to Colton.

  “Don’t know what Lynwood was thinking, letting her print that rubbish,” Colton said as he tried to maneuver his hand up his new companion’s skirt. The woman was willing, but Colton’s aim was off. “Would’ve taken a strip to her backside, had it been a female of mine.”

  Colton was too drunk to recognize the change in Arthur’s usual affability, as he turned to look at the man.

  “His grace was thinking how remarkable it is to have a sister of such compassion and intelligence that she wished to effect change. It is only to her disadvantage that she lives in a society which allows drunkenness, reckless behavior and debauchery to go unremarked upon when engaged in by men, but political activity to be abhorred when practiced by women.” Arthur briefly considered punctuating his point by driving his fist into Colton’s jaw. But he had a feeling someone else would end up doing it later that evening, so he might as well protect his knuckles.

  “Hear, hear,” said Stalford, tucking his share of the winnings into his purse. “I admire Lady Elizabeth’s spirit and verve, as I made plain to Lynwood the morning after that rather unseemly incident at the Tarlington ball. I made my intentions known and plan to call on her once the scandal dies down. Just think, Kellington. You and I may end up as more than whist partners.”