Never Miss a Chance (Kellington Book Two) Page 11

  “Looks like you’re too late for that,” said Colton, as another lightskirt attached herself to him like ivy on stone. “Hear tell Riverton plans to get leg-shackled to the chit. Which seems punishment enough for the chit. Riverton’s arse has been so firmly up his…”

  Colton staggered under both the weight of the whores and the effort of finding his way in the metaphor.

  “….his own head as long as I’ve known him. Take a strong hand to the girl. But don’t sentence her to a lifetime of that tiresome twit.”

  “Colton,” said Arthur, “if you were not so deep in your cups, I’d ask you to step outside for your insults to both Lady Elizabeth and the Marquess of Riverton.”

  Colton looked him in the eye, as steadily as was possible. “So, I’m too cup shot to fight, but not too foxed to play cards with? Interesting standards you got, Kellington. Seems I have it better as an earl’s son than you do as just the brother of a duke. Come on, ladies, the night is still young. See if I can show you a thing or two you never knew before.”

  As Colton staggered off with his eager whores, Arthur threw back the rest of his drink, then slammed the glass on the table.

  “Is it true?” asked Stalford, whose color had risen. “Will Riverton offer for Elizabeth?”

  “I’m not in the habit of discussing my family’s business. And I don’t take kindly to having my sister spoken of in a hell, particularly by her Christian name. I don’t believe you’ve been asked to make free of it.” While outwardly polite, there was a definite edge of steel to Arthur’s voice.

  Stalford must’ve noticed, because his tone softened. “Forgive me. But I made myself known to Lynwood that my intentions toward Lady Elizabeth are honorable. I would like a chance to win her hand.”

  “Best take it up with Lynwood,” said Arthur, as he headed for the next hell before he got into the fight his body seemed to crave. And it didn’t seem to matter which man would bear the brunt of it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  There were some days when the sight of one’s butler – even if he was most likely spying for one’s mother – was a marked relief. This, thought Riverton, as he wearily walked through his foyer, was one of those days. There had been hours of tedious debate in the House of Lords. Stalford had pontificated on the corn laws long past the point of actually persuading any of his colleagues. He had only brought his tirade to a halt once the men from the news sheets had left the gallery.

  Then Riverton had moved on to his clubs, in hopes of bearding those colleagues who’d skipped the day’s session. He was still trying to get support for a bill to protect tenants’ rights, a cause that wasn’t exactly popular with his peers. And, truth be told, he’d been avoiding Lynwood, who was only too eager to learn how Riverton’s pursuit of Lizzie was progressing.

  Riverton was rather curious himself. The evening at the theater had been enlightening. He’d been heartened, but hardly surprised, to see that Lizzie could handle his family quite easily. There was no question of who would be the victor in any conflict, but he couldn’t see anyone volunteering to join his family after a night like that one.

  After handing his walking stick to the ever curious Jenkins, Riverton walked up the staircase, then turned down the hall to his rooms. He was greeted by a most astonishing sight. His valet Stokes was hovering in the shadows outside Riverton’s room. Before Riverton could ask what was going on, Stokes placed a finger to his lips then guided him to the opposite wall.

  “My lord, there is a rather unusual situation which should be kept quiet from the rest of the staff.”

  Riverton waited for the man to continue. Stokes looked up and down the hallway one more time, then spoke again in the faintest whisper.

  “You have a caller.”

  “Jenkins said nothing about a caller.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t know,” said Stokes with a smile.

  “I saw no one downstairs.”

  “That’s because she’s in your room.”

  To say this was surprising news was a gross understatement. Riverton hadn’t had a mistress in more than a year. And even then, he’d never brought a woman to his home. Then a terrible thought occurred.

  “It’s not my mother, is it?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Either of my sisters?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Good heavens, it’s not Lady Martin come to press her case for her daughter?” The very thought was horrifying – for many reasons. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the ton’s matrons had tried extreme means to persuade him to favor her daughter.

  “It’s Lady Elizabeth Kellington, my lord.”

  Riverton’s breath caught at her name. He’d fantasized endlessly about finding her in his bed chamber, but had never thought it would actually happen.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked his valet.

  “I cannot say, my lord. She isn’t aware that I know she’s in there. I heard a noise in your room, so opened the door only slightly. She didn’t see me since her attention was elsewhere.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “I really couldn’t say.”

  “I imagine you can.”

  There was a pause before Stokes continued. And when he did, it seemed the man was blushing. “She was examining your night clothes, my lord. The ones I’d laid out.”

  Riverton cleared his suddenly clogged throat, certain that blood was rushing into his face. Although how there was any blood available to make him blush after so much of it had flooded his groin, was a mystery to him. “Examining them?”

  “And, uh, touching them.”

  This, thought Riverton, had the makings of a disaster. Lizzie in his room, at night, unaccompanied – at least he assumed she was unaccompanied, although with his luck, she probably had the redoubtable Aunt Prue or Rosalind with her – was temptation incarnate. But a Lizzie who’d been touching his night clothes would be impossible to keep his hands off.

  “I didn’t want to disturb the young lady, nor did I want anyone else to be made aware of her presence. Hence my appearance here in the hall,” said Stokes, suddenly looking like he wished to be elsewhere.

  “Thank you, Stokes. You have been of incomparable assistance, as usual.”

  “My pleasure, my lord. What would you like me to do?”

  “Keep Jenkins and the others as far away as possible, but stay near yourself. I have a feeling I may need your assistance when I escort her home.”

  “Very good my lord.”

  As Stokes bowed himself away, Riverton wondered just when he’d be escorting Lizzie home. Good sense said it should be immediately. But, for once in his life, good sense didn’t seem to have the upper hand.

  * * *

  Lizzie was fascinated. Simply fascinated. Growing up with four brothers, she’d seen a man’s bed chamber before, but never one that had been this…manly. Now, admittedly, she hadn’t spent any amount of time in her brothers’ chambers since she was a young girl and she’d been sneaking in to plant frogs, crickets and the occasional snake. She hadn’t stayed long enough to look around, and since her brothers had also been young, there hadn’t been much to see.

  But Marcus’s room was different. The furniture was heavy. The chair in front of the fireplace looked big enough to easily support Marcus twice over, which was remarkable, since he was by no means a small man. It looked like she could even sit on his lap while he was seated comfortably in the chair, although there was a thought that didn’t bear thinking about. Marcus was too dignified to ever have someone on his lap. He would most likely call for a second chair. Or allow her to sit while he remained standing. Although why she would sit and he would stand while they were both alone in his bed chamber, she couldn’t imagine.

  There was a table next to the chair, with an assortment of reading material. There was a book on agricultural practices, a history of Rome and, somewhat surprisingly, a tome of Shakespeare.

  There was a desk near the window, and while it would’ve been t
he height of impropriety to read his correspondence – which she didn’t, in large part because there wasn’t any – she felt it wouldn’t be that bad of a transgression to see the quality of his paper (which was excellent) and how neatly he mended his pens (quite well).

  There was a large four-poster bed in the room, with dark blue hangings and matching bedspread and pillows. Lizzie walked slowly toward the bed, drawn there as if by lodestone. She touched the deep velvet of the rich blue material, stroking it unconsciously, as she looked at the bed.

  That was when she heard it. A throat being cleared inside the room.

  Lizzie whipped around, afraid she’d been discovered by his valet or another servant, then was even more disconcerted to learn it was the master himself who’d arrived, shutting the door behind him.

  “I do not recall an appointment with you,” said Riverton, thankful he’d found his voice. He wasn’t sure he’d have one, after watching Lizzie stroke his very lucky bed cover.

  “This was rather an impromptu visit,” said Lizzie, quickly stepping away from the bed and unsuccessfully fighting the deepest blush. “I’ve been considering your offer.”

  For a moment, Riverton couldn’t figure out what offer she could possibly be referring to. Had he in some moment of temporary madness made her an improper offer? It would’ve been unforgivable of him, but if the result was her standing in his bedchamber, then he couldn’t think of it as anything other than his very finest idea.

  If she was referring to his marriage proposal, which hadn’t been a proposal, then he was uncertain why that would bring her to his bed chamber. He was just glad it had.

  “Do you mean my suggestion that we marry?”

  “Yes, your very unromantic, business-like ‘suggestion that we marry.’ I’m here to say I haven’t yet made up my mind.”

  “So you decided the best way to let me know you’re still thinking about it was to come to my bed chamber alone at night, then spend time fondling my night clothes.”

  “I wasn’t fondling your night clothes!” said Lizzie, whose blush was spreading down her neck to parts unseen, but surely delightful.

  “You were running your hand up and down my bed hangings,” said Riverton, hopeful the dim light was at least partially obscuring his raging erection.

  “I was only ascertaining the quality of the furnishings. If I am to be mistress of this house – and that’s a very big ‘if,’ mind you – I want to make sure the linens are up to acceptable standards. The sheets must be soft, the pillows and quilts plush, the bed hangings...why are you looking at me like that?”

  Just the thought of what he could do with Lizzie between those soft sheets with her hair spread out on the plush pillows was enough to make Riverton near to bursting. He closed the distance between them without thinking. “And did you find anything wanting?” he asked, just inches away from her.

  She looked into his eyes and slowly shook her head. “Your linens are satisfactory.”

  “Does that mean you’ll accept the position of being my lady and mistress of this house?”

  Her lips were so near, he need only lean in a bit to taste them.

  She turned away.

  “I have yet to hear a proposal, which is quite vexing, you know. I can hardly answer a question that has not been asked.” Lizzie continued her tour of the room.

  “And I can hardly be expected to pose the question when you’ve just told me you’re undecided. There’s quite a bit of pressure, you know, in proposing to a lady.”

  Lizzie rolled her eyes, then turned to run her fingers along the marble mantle. “As if anyone would refuse you. You’re one of the best prizes on the marriage mart, as you well know.” She looked back at him. “Lady Isabelle would almost certainly accept your proposal.”

  “That might interest me if I had any desire to propose to her, which I most certainly do not. Only one woman sparks my interest. There’s only one woman I want for my wife.”

  Lizzie stilled in the process of caressing a small marble statue. “Why do you want me for your wife, Marcus? Why have you chosen me?”

  Riverton was at a loss for words. How could he confess his deepest feelings to this woman who thought of him more as a brother than a lover? How could he tell her how much he lusted after her without frightening her away? With his luck, she’d be married to Stalford within a fortnight if he gave her an honest answer. Just the very thought was enough to make him want to smash the statue she still caressed, especially if it left her hand free to find something else to stroke.

  He said the one thing that was true and wouldn’t scare her. “You’re not like the others. You’re not like anyone else.”

  Something flashed in her eyes for a moment, then was quickly gone. “What do you mean?” she asked quietly.

  “You’re intelligent and never hide it.”

  “Only a simpleton would.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Your sense of justice is highly developed, although it sometimes takes a lamentable turn.”

  “I believe you just took a swipe at my treatise, which I’ll ignore since the first thing you admired about me was my intelligence and not my eyes, or some other part of my person.”

  Riverton’s eyes raked her appreciatively. “Did I not say these were in no particular order?”

  Lizzie suppressed a smile. “You did not. Which is a mark against you for not being more organized with your thoughts. And you the great orator.”

  “Let’s just say that with you in my bed chamber, talking isn’t one of my priorities.”

  Color flooded Lizzie’s face, but she didn’t look away. “How else am I not like the others?”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you discuss the weather.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, but I did talk about it the winter the Thames froze over, though I’m not sure I’ve mentioned it since.”

  “We shall classify that lapse as inspired by an Act of God and, therefore, forgiven. You will never bore me, and you care very little for my title or income, the latter of which is substantial.”

  “Is it enough to replace those dreadful bed hangings?” asked Lizzie with a smile. “Or perhaps the ones in my bed chamber will be more to my liking.”

  “You won’t have a bed chamber.” The words were out of his mouth before he could consider their effect. And now he’d probably mucked it all up.

  “I won’t have a bed chamber?” The words were barely a whisper, as she looked at him. Her eyes were so dark he could barely see the green of her irises.

  “I hadn’t thought that far….if you insist, you could always…” Riverton breathed her in, the scent of lemon and freesia enveloping him. “No. You’ll be in this bed, every night, all night. Lying next to me, beneath me, around me.”

  For a split second Riverton wondered if he’d gone too far, but then somehow she was in his arms and he didn’t know who had embraced the other first. It didn’t matter. They were kissing and his hands were roaming over her body and, more importantly, hers were roaming over his.

  Riverton didn’t know what had brought Lizzie to his bed chamber, nor did he particularly care. All he could think about was the feel of her pressed down his length kissing him with artless skill and an enthusiasm that boded quite well for marriage.

  She tasted like mint. And when he pressed further into her mouth and let his tongue caress hers, she sighed. It was enough to undo a lesser man. But while visions of bedding Lizzie filled his mind, the thought of what Lynwood would do to him if he learned the current location of his sister was enough to make Riverton reluctantly break the kiss.

  “Lizzie, this is neither the time nor the place,” he said, unable to resist giving her another kiss. Briefer than the other, but with undiminished intensity.

  “It’s your bed chamber Marcus. I can hardly think of a more appropriate place for intimacy. Would you rather we did this on Rotten Row?”

  “Actually, yes, because it would provide less of a chance of forgetting myself.”


  “But that’s what I want you to do. I want you to forget everything except this moment.”

  “You don’t know what you ask.”

  “No,” she whispered, moving closer. “But I would like to learn.”

  He hesitated only a moment, then pulled her to him with one arm around her waist and another caressing her side. He tried to stay in control, knew he had to retain some semblance of caution. But the woman in his arms, with the soft curves and the warm sighs shattered his resolve.

  Though slim, she was nicely curved, and as his fingers skirted the side of one firm, round breast, he discovered how little of her shape was due to fashion and how much was the woman he’d dreamed of.

  He cupped her breast as he deepened the kiss, feeling her surprise as he did so. After a moment’s hesitation, she melted further into his arms and pressed her breast into the palm of his hand. And with those moves, he lost all hope of keeping the state of his arousal a secret as his pelvis involuntarily pressed into hers.

  He caught her gasp, and just as he was about to ask if she was all right, she pressed into him further. He found her nipple pebbling against the silk of her dress. He teased the taut peak through her clothing, then moved his hand up to caress the tops of her breasts at the neckline.

  With his other hand, he swept her skirts up inch by inch. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the two of them on their feet, but Riverton retained at least enough common sense to realize moving to the bed would not be beneficial to keeping their interlude to a preliminary stage.

  His hand glided along her silk stockings, then rose above her knee. It slipped over the garter and he felt the smooth delicate skin of her inner thigh. His fingers continued to move steadily upward until they found the slit in her drawers. Lizzie tensed and pulled back from their kiss, her lips an inch away from his, her breathing rapid.

  “Shall I stop?” he asked, wondering how he found the fortitude to pose the question.

  She shook her head just the slightest bit. “No,” she said, as her eyes looked into his own. “Please don’t.”

  With his other arm secure around her waist to prevent her from falling, his fingers pushed past the slit and through her soft, wet curls. She was coated in moisture and Riverton was as close to coming at this light contact as he’d ever been. He brushed past the curls and found the moist folds, slick with her desire. He gently pushed past to find the nubbin he’d been seeking.