Never Wager Against Love (Kellington Book Three)

by Driscoll, Maureen

  He slowly inserted one finger into her sheath. Then he almost came by doing so. She was hot, wet and incredibly tight. If his instincts were correct and she wasn’t a virgin, it had certainly been quite some time since she’d had relations. He moved a second finger into her and she moaned. She was holding his head to her breast, running her fingers through his hair in a way that was driving him mad.

  He pulled his fingers out of her and she whimpered in protest.

  “Don’t worry, love. I’ll take care of you yet,” he said as he gave one last kiss to her beautiful breasts, then began moving his way down her body, finding new places to worship as he went. She writhed beneath him. He paused at her ankle to run his tongue lightly over her arch, then began kissing his way back up her lovely long legs. Arthur explored with lips, tongue and hands. He discovered the back of her knees was a ticklish spot, so he gave an extra lick there when she wasn’t expecting it and was rewarded with her bucking toward him. Somehow he knew he’d pay for that. And would enjoy every minute of it.

  From the tensing of her body, he could tell she was a bit uncertain as he kissed his way up her inner thighs. Right before he reached his destination, she grabbed his shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a husky voice.

  “Don’t worry love,” he said, as he placed another kiss on her thigh. “I remember my promise. We won’t go too far tonight.”

  “We’ve already gone well past the park, Arthur. And just what are you doing down…there?”

  He smiled against her leg. “Has no one ever done this to you before?”

  “Of course not!” she said. “I’m not entirely sure to what you’re referring, but no one has ever lodged himself where you are now.”

  “Then I am quite honored to be your first lodger. Lie back and let me attend to this. I promise to stop for the night in just a few moments, but there is something I really must do first.”

  He didn’t think she’d comply, but then she warily lay back on the pillow. The first swipe of his tongue against her curls had her sitting bolt upright in bed again.

  “Arthur!”

  “Quiet love. You wouldn’t want the neighbors to complain.”

  “But you can’t…it’s not right…it’s…oh!”

  Vanessa sank back to her pillow as she gave in to Arthur’s sensual ministrations. Knowing he was between her legs and intent on bringing her pleasure was heightening her arousal. She felt herself losing control as he licked the lips which lay before him. As his tongue lapped the core of her, she raised her hips to press against his mouth. He grabbed her arse to keep her there. She was unable to do anything other than submit to the incredible sensation he was lavishing upon her. He was feasting on her. Allowing her to feel everything she’d kept suppressed for so long. Then he slid two fingers into her as he sucked her most sensitive part.

  She exploded with passion, felt herself fracture into pieces. Her every muscle felt drained of life. She lay there, savoring the lingering sensations, but afraid of what she’d see when she looked at him again. This was too raw. Much too real. She felt his soft kiss on her thigh then was vaguely aware of his moving up the bed. She had no energy to protest as he lay on his back and pulled her against him to pillow her head on his chest. She also had no desire to protest. It was the most comfortable she’d been on their entire journey.

  “That was….that was…” she couldn’t find words to complete the statement.

  He stroked her hair, then kissed her temple. “I will take that as an enormous compliment, sweetheart. But feel free to fill in the sentence at some later point when your power of speech returns.”

  “How do you know I wasn’t going to say ‘that was uneventful’?” she somehow found the strength to ask.

  “Because, love, I witnessed the event. Now, it’s probably time to get some rest, especially now that Alfie and his friend have retired for the night. At least I hope they have and it’s not just the interval.”

  Vanessa sat up halfway. It was as far as his arms would allow her to go. “But what about you? You haven’t had any…release.”

  Arthur pulled her back to him and kissed her forehead. “Tonight was eventful for me, as well, just not in the way you think. I reveled in the taste of you, the smell of you and how very responsive you are. But, my dear, I have reached the limits of my control. If you were to help me with ‘my release,’ I’m afraid we wouldn’t just be dealing with a trip to the continent, but one to the end of the world. Remind me to use a better analogy the next time we discuss our lovemaking. Now, close your eyes like a good girl and don’t move from this position. It’s the only way either of us will sleep through the night on what is surely England’s smallest bed.”

  She didn’t want to obey him, but fell asleep almost immediately.

  Despite his throbbing erection, Arthur found peace with her in his arms. He fell asleep shortly thereafter.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Nottingham, while not quite as big as Norwich, was still the largest town in its shire, its population swollen by mill workers and those who’d been dispossessed from the land. As Dumbarton’s carriage rolled through the streets, Vanessa watched as orange sellers competed with each other for sales and children in little more than rags clung to their mothers.

  “They’re so terribly thin,” said Vanessa.

  Arthur grimly nodded. “Unfortunately, as more and more families are forced off the land, they come to the cities, only to find little work and even less hope. In Nottingham, things are worse than average.”

  “But why?” asked Vanessa as she turned to him. “Surely a town such as this would offer more opportunities than a small village.”

  “Much of the blame can be laid at the feet of the man we’ve come to see, the Duke of Newcastle. He’s the major landholder in this area and has been supporting his lifestyle on the backs of his laborers. Each year, he raises the rents to a level that drives his tenants to the breaking point. When they’re no longer able to pay, he evicts them then lures others onto the land with promises of eventual ownership – if they can pay his rents. Few manage to do so.”

  “I take it you disagree with his methods?”

  “I abhor them. Our parents raised us to respect the families who worked our lands. We were from different classes, but that had nothing to do with the real worth of a person.”

  “Your parents sound rather radical in their beliefs, especially for a duke and duchess.”

  “My parents were the very best of people. They treated others fairly because it was the right thing to do. And it turns out there are also financial rewards, although they tended to give away more money to various charities than they spent. If you treat a man with respect, he’s likely to give you his very best work. I’m not sure if you noticed,” he said as he smiled wryly, “but men have a certain amount of pride.”

  Vanessa returned the smile. “I have, from time to time, been made aware of it.”

  “When you treat a man as a man and not a worker beneath your notice, he tends to live up to the faith you’ve placed in him. And, most importantly, it’s the decent thing to do. I may not have paid a great deal of attention to the many church services I attended as a child, but I do recall the importance of treating others as you’d wish to be treated yourself. My point is that the Duke of Newcastle isn’t well liked here with reason. Lynwood certainly doesn’t care for his policies in the House of Lords. Newcastle is half a dozen years older than Liam, but they couldn’t be further apart in their positions. Whereas Lynwood is quite liberal in his policies...”

  “Lady Elizabeth doesn’t seem to think so.”

  “Yes, well, my sister has some peculiar ideas.”

  “I think her ideas are quite forward-thinking and I admire her work.”

  Arthur shuddered theatrically. “You may want to keep that thought to yourself when we meet Newcastle. Speaking of which, we’ll need to get you a few new gowns.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my gown. It is perfectly serv
iceable clothing for an agent of the Crown.”

  “While your gown is, indeed, quite ‘serviceable’ for your position, Newcastle isn’t used to treating females – of any class – as anything other than objects to be used for his needs. He won’t see you as an agent of the Home Office. He’ll only see you as female. You’ll want to look your very best when you meet him and that means a new gown. Preferably one that doesn’t feature more buttons than there are grains of sand on the beach. Doesn’t your neck grow overly warm with your gown buttoned to your ears?”

  “My neck is none of your concern,” she said, as she brought her hand self-consciously to her too-warm neck. “And are you suggesting I try to seduce the duke into giving us the cup?”

  “Absolutely not!” The forceful denial was out of Arthur’s mouth immediately. The very thought of Newcastle even kissing Vanessa’s hand was beyond the pale. He would never allow the two of them to be alone. He didn’t even want her to accompany him to Newcastle’s home, but he had no choice in the matter. He didn’t believe this was the place she’d be shot, but there were other dangers where Newcastle was concerned. The man was a bully to his people and, from what Lynwood had said, to his peers in the House of Lords. Lynwood had relished taking the man down a few pegs during the past few years. At the time, Arthur, Ned, Hal and Lizzie had all laughed at the tales. Now he wondered how much more difficult the mission would be because of his family.

  He turned his attention back to the gown. “Among Newcastle’s many faults, is the belief that those who are beneath him – a category which, in his mind, encompasses most of the known world – are subject to his whims. All of his whims. And the further beneath him, the greater his right to do as he wishes. If you go in there dressed as a servant, he will not hesitate to try to have his way with you.”

  “I’m an agent of the Crown!”

  Arthur took a deep breath and continued. “And as a duke he doesn’t believe he is answerable to man’s laws. The only thing that might protect you is if you are dressed like…” Here, Arthur paused, trying to find a delicate way to describe it.

  “Your mistress?” asked Vanessa, who’d been only too quick to understand where Arthur was going.

  “Yes. If he believes you’re under my protection, he may leave you be. Although you are never to be alone with him. I’m afraid the technique you used on Sir John might not work on Newcastle.”

  “I’ve found it effective on most men.”

  “I shall keep that in mind, should I ever venture where I’m not wanted. But Newcastle has a home filled with servants paid to do his bidding, who could work in concert to subdue you.” And Arthur would surely kill the bastard if he so much as tried.

  “I don’t like this at all.”

  “I would be quite surprised if you did.” Arthur rapped on the roof of the carriage. “I believe that is the inn to which Dumbarton directed us. Perhaps the innkeeper will know of a good modiste.”

  An hour later, after taking one room for the night, Arthur escorted Vanessa to a dressmaker’s shop. Having dismissed out of hand her suggestion to go to a shop selling second-hand clothing, he ushered her into a somewhat rundown establishment operated by a Mrs. Draper.

  Mrs. Draper was short and almost equally round. She was assisted by her equally short and round daughter-in-law, but most of the work seemed to fall to a tall, extremely thin assistant. As the elder Mrs. Draper strode into the room to greet her potential customers, she sized them both up with knowing eyes. She dismissed Vanessa with one look at her gown, but once she caught sight of Arthur’s clothes – the quality of which was evident despite the toll of their travels – she broke into a wide grin that stopped well before her eyes, but did extend to her cash box.

  She and her daughter-in-law, known as Mrs. Robert Draper, bowed deeply. “Good day, my lord,” said the elder Mrs. Draper. “What can we do for you today?”

  “I need to buy a few gowns for my wife.”

  Both of the Mrs. Drapers eyed Vanessa from head to toe and made it clear from their expressions they didn’t for one moment believe the “wife” portion of his introduction. Just as Vanessa was about to deny the claim, Arthur put his arm around her waist then lowered it unobtrusively to her backside.

  From her indrawn gasp, it was a successful diversionary tactic.

  “My wife.” Arthur emphasized the term because he hadn’t missed Draper and Draper’s insulting looks. No London merchant would dare cross a Kellington. Not just for fear of their social power, but because they were one of the few families of the ton who made it a habit to pay their bills in full and on time. If Arthur had walked into a Bond Street establishment and declared himself married to Merlin, the shopkeeper would offer to make the horse a superlative set of wedding clothes by day’s end. But here in Nottingham, with a limited selection of shops and time in short supply, he had to tolerate the Drapers. “My wife’s trunks were lost en route, so she was forced to make do with a gown she borrowed from a governess. However, it is imperative that we have three new gowns, as soon as possible.”

  “Of course, my lord,” purred Mrs. Draper, not letting her opinion of a mistress masquerading as a wife get in the way of how much she could increase her prices commensurate with the term “as soon as possible.” “Perhaps you’d like to look through our fashion plates while my girl takes your wife’s measurements.” She snapped her fingers at the thin assistant, who took Vanessa behind a curtained area. “I am sure we can deliver something suitable within the week.”

  “A week will simply not be acceptable,” said Arthur. “We will need one gown delivered by day’s end. We shall expect the others tomorrow.”

  “But, but, but…” stammered the elder Mrs. Draper. “What you ask is simply impossible. Even if the gel works all night, which I can assure you she is only too willing to do, we cannot produce gowns worthy of the Draper name in so short a time.”

  “I don’t think we should work this poor woman that hard,” called Vanessa from the other side of the curtain, surely to the relief of the beleaguered assistant.

  “Perhaps,” said Arthur to the elder Mrs. Draper, “you might have gowns that are waiting for other customers, which could be altered to fit my wife.”

  Mrs. Draper looked conflicted. She clearly didn’t approve of Vanessa, but was loath to pass up the fortune she knew she could charge if she produced the gowns in time. Apparently, Mrs. Robert Draper had no such conflict.

  “Of course we can alter some of the gowns we have. But they will not come cheaply,” she said as she disappeared into the back of the shop.

  “I expected they wouldn’t,” drawled Arthur, who approached the curtained area. “How are things progressing in there?”

  “Quite well,” came Vanessa’s voice from the other side of the divide. “But I really don’t find it necessary to buy so many clothes.”

  “But I’m a man who loves spoiling my wife, dearest. You should know that by now.”

  A bit of under-her-breath muttering was the only response he received.

  Mrs. Robert Draper reappeared holding a gown quite suitable to morning calls, in a shade of green that would compliment Vanessa’s hair quite well. Arthur imagined her in the gown, as he slid the fabric between his fingers. Then he thought about her taking it off. Suddenly, he was in a hurry to go back to the inn.

  “That is one of my finest gowns,” said Mrs. Draper, “but it is promised to another customer. One of my most loyal.”

  “I am certain you can unpromise it for the right incentive, can you not?” asked Arthur as he showed her his Kellington family signet ring, causing the younger Mrs. Draper’s eyes to fairly bulge from her face.

  Her mother-in-law wasn’t swayed so easily. “I would hate to disappoint a customer of long-standing,” she said. “It would take a great deal of incentive.”

  Arthur then named a price that would be expensive by even London standards. Both Draper ladies looked close to fainting. The poor assistant audibly gasped. Vanessa turned to him as if he’d gone
Bedlamite.

  “I will expect the first gown to be ready in four hours because my wife and I shall be calling on the Duke of Newcastle tomorrow. My brother, the Duke of Lynwood, will be most appreciative of your efforts. I daresay he might even be persuaded to send you a note of thanks suitable for framing.”

  The younger Mrs. Draper was all aflutter. The elder, more suspicious Mrs. Draper took a look at the family crest on Arthur’s signet ring. Apparently, she knew her Burke’s peerage because she was quickly convinced of its authenticity.

  Arthur continued. “Now let us see what other gowns you have that might be suitable – in these emergency circumstances – for my wife.”

  Vanessa stifled a laugh. By his clipped tones, Arthur was making it clear he didn’t believe Mrs. Draper’s gowns would pass muster in normal circumstances and certainly not in London. But if the lady was offended she didn’t show it. The two Mrs. Drapers brought out gown after gown, hoping to entice Arthur into additional purchases and evidently not giving a whit about the inconvenience to their intended owners. While the gowns might not be of the quality Arthur was used to with the women he usually associated with – which didn’t merit thinking about – the dresses would be the finest Vanessa had ever owned. There hadn’t been much call for fine gowns in her work with the Home Office, and she certainly couldn’t afford them as part of her personal life. She was reluctant to accept them as a gift from Arthur. But, oh, how wonderful it would be to have new clothes.

  When their business with the Drapers was finally concluded, Arthur and Vanessa talked strategy on their way back to the inn. Arthur sent off a note to Newcastle, explaining their mission and saying they would call on him the next day in the early afternoon. While Vanessa would’ve liked to call earlier to complete this leg of the mission as soon as possible, she knew it wasn’t considered good ton to call earlier than nuncheon. And from what Arthur had said, Newcastle was definitely someone who wouldn’t look kindly on bad manners.