“My mother and sisters would like it to be so, and, I suspect, Lady Martin would not be adverse. But it is not my intention and I can discern no feelings on Lady Isabelle’s part toward me other than a friendly apathy. There is certainly no understanding between us.”
“She really is a lovely young lady, and with the right guidance, she could grow to be quite influential for the cause.”
Riverton ran both hands through his now tousled hair. “Lizzie, while I admire your devotion to your cause, I ask you to please be circumspect as to Lady Isabelle’s participation. I fear she doesn’t have the spirit to withstand the censure of others as you do.”
“But when a cause is right, why should we care what others think?”
“Because we live in the real world, Lizzie, not one of idealism and ‘should be’.”
She was now standing so close they were almost touching. She had to force herself to stop from going closer.
“You’re calling me Lizzie.”
He stepped infinitesimally closer to her.
“Should I stop?”
She shook her head. “No. I like it, Marcus.”
* * *
What madness had made him suggest the theater? And what business did Lynwood have leaving them alone? Admittedly, Riverton realized the presence of his mother and sisters was enough to drive anyone away, but he was sure the heat between Lizzie and him was visible to the entire half of the theater who’d stayed in their seats at the interval just to spy on their box. Lynwood should be there to protect his sister.
Riverton could no longer resist her appeal. He reached out his hand, only to be interrupted by the footman’s fortuitous and bedamned return with the champagne. Riverton gave her a glass, then watched as she brought it to her lips. He drank in the smooth glide of her throat as she swallowed, then ached to see the moisture on her plump bottom lip as she moved the glass away. He wanted to kiss away the droplets, bring her into his arms and press himself into her.
But, fortunately for both their reputations, his family chose that moment to re-enter the box with tales of how overjoyed his grace had been to see them, how effusive he’d been in welcoming them and how reluctant he’d been to see them go. It was only because he was concerned that they’d be hemmed in by his brothers that he’d let them return to their own box. Such a gallant man, the Duke of Lynwood.
And so very, very eligible.
Riverton returned Lizzie to her seat. His mother tried to outmaneuver him by suggesting that Lady Isabelle might like to sit in the back next to him. He was just considering how to get around that suggestion without hurting the girl’s feelings when Lizzie came to his aid. She once again offered her services as Shakespeare interpreter and Lady Isabelle gratefully accepted. It seemed she was no more eager to change seats than he.
As a visibly displeased Lady Riverton settled into her seat, Marcus sat back and resolved to at least try and watch the play, although how he could resist the lure of gazing at the elegant nape of Lizzie’s neck, he would never know.
* * *
At the end of a long evening, Lizzie settled into her favorite night rail and wrapper. After dismissing her maid, Lizzie poured a glass of the brandy she’d stolen from Lynwood weeks ago, then walked out onto her balcony to think about the developments of the day.
She’s always known she’d marry, but she’d never given much thought to the groom. There’d been various flirtations through the years, and a stolen kiss or two. But none of the gentlemen she’d known had ever become candidates for marriage in her mind. She’d pictured herself as a mother, with several – but not too many – children at her skirts. But while she knew she’d be married to their father, he’d always been a faceless cipher in her mind. The ideal gentleman, probably titled, would allow her the freedom she’d always craved, while providing a home and the physical comforts she’d grown up with. It’s not that she wanted to marry someone of great wealth, but she’d seen enough in her charitable works to know that having money was certainly more comfortable than not. And, as she took another sip of Lynwood’s rather excellent brandy, she realized she liked to be comfortable.
Could Riverton be the right man for her? She didn’t have to worry about him gambling away their funds or getting so foxed he forgot to come home. Although the thought of a slightly inebriated Riverton made her curious. Would he let down some of his reserve? Or would he be just as calm and dignified as always? It might be nice to feel a real pulse beating beneath the fashionable clothing. Just the thought of what else might lie beneath them was enough to make Lizzie take a rather unladylike gulp of her brother’s brandy.
She wondered if Marcus had a mistress. Most men did. She was fairly sure her brothers did, although that was the type of conversation strictly forbidden for any young ladies to engage in. She’d once asked Hal if he had one, and after he’d gotten over his shock that she even knew of such things, he cheekily informed her that some men didn’t need to pay for the favors of ladies and he was one of them. Since she knew none of her brothers would debauch an innocent, she had an idea that meant he was well acquainted with some of the ton’s notoriously lonely matrons. She knew it wasn’t uncommon for married men and women to have affairs. It was almost expected of their set. But she knew it wasn’t a life she wanted for herself. She hoped Riverton felt the same because even if their marriage wasn’t based on love, she would at least want it to be one of respect and commitment.
Passion would be nice. If he was capable of feeling it.
* * *
Riverton began to stroke harder.
Lizzie was in her gown at the theater. A deep green that brought out her eyes. It was a bold color for an unmarried woman, but she was anything but demure, especially in his fantasy.
He’d been hard at the theater, studying her as she watched the play. He’d grown harder talking to her, while briefly alone at the interval. Now in his fantasy he and Lizzie were alone again, this time in his room. She walked toward him with a subtle sway of her hips. She wasn’t shy. She didn’t back away. She was his equal as she placed her hands on his shoulders and turned her lips up to his.
He pulled her to him, letting her feel his hard length. With a hand at her back, he held her against him as his mouth took hers. His tongue boldly tasted her, while he ground himself against her.
She turned in his arms, allowing him to unlace her as he kissed the nape of her neck. She was warm and willing as his hand slid around to cup her breast. Her swift indrawn breath had an answering response in his groin.
As he pushed the dress off her shoulders, she turned again to look at him. Dressed in her chemise, her green eyes the darkest emerald, she lifted the hem to show she wore no drawers, then she walked to the bed and slowly bent over.
Riverton watched as she drew the chemise to her waist, the pale skin of her shapely arse revealed to his worship. He strode to her, unable to stay away. Unable to keep from touching her. Taking her. He placed one long-fingered hand over her bottom and stroked downward. She turned to flash him a mischievous smile, her green eyes sparkling wickedly.
“Fill me,” she said. “Fill me now.”
Never one to say to no to a lady, especially when she wasn’t acting like one, Riverton pulled at the fastenings to his breeches, releasing his stiff cock with one hand, while continuing to stroke her arse with the other. He imagined what it would look like to explode all over her. To shoot his seed up her back. He angled his fingers downward to her inner folds, finding her hot and wet. Unable to wait even another moment, he positioned himself at her opening and thrust in.
She arched her back in pleasure, undulating as he began to move. He was already close to bursting, but wanted to hold out long enough for her to reach her peak.
“Harder. Faster,” she was able to ground out in a raspy voice. “Marcus, please.”
Riverton pounded into her, his hands gripping her hips. His balls hitting the insides of her thighs. He was close to losing his mind when he felt her inner contractions begin, t
hen saw her buck as her climax hit.
She screamed his name. He threw back his head and filled her, shooting stream after stream of his seed into her. Rocked to his core by the strength of his release.
Riverton lay on his back, breathing hard. He felt the warmth of his seed on his stomach. It had been but one of the fantasies he’d been having about Lizzie on an almost constant basis. Because of them, it was harder and harder to face Lynwood. It had also become incredibly awkward to be caught anywhere other than his bed when the thoughts came upon him. The fashion of the day called for tight breeches which quickly made his thoughts apparent to anyone in the vicinity. He’d scared the downstairs maid just that morning when she happened upon him walking to his study while thinking about Lizzie stretched naked in a field at Riverton Farms in the country.
There was now the very real possibility that he would marry Lizzie and have her in his bed every night for the rest of his life. It was a dream come true in so many respects. But the challenge was whether he could restrain himself enough so that his passion wouldn’t frighten her away.
He was a very private man, so few knew of the occasional mistresses he’d kept through the years. And they’d been compensated well enough to ensure discretion when their liaisons ended. He’d enjoyed very energetic relationships with them, even if they’d had little in common outside of the bedroom. With Lizzie, he knew there was potential for explosive passion.
The thought intrigued and disconcerted him.
He didn’t want a ton marriage of separate bedrooms and separate lives. He wondered if he could do away with the marchioness’s chambers all together, so she wouldn’t have a choice of where to sleep. He wanted Lizzie in his bed every night. All night.
In the morning, he hoped to be awakened by her lips on his, kissing her way down his body. Putting her lips around his cock, sucking until he was close to bursting.
He was hard again. How could it have happened so quickly after his last release? He knew exactly how. By imagining her lips on his cock. Thinking of any part of her near his cock was enough to do it. How could he ever control himself if she shared his bed? Perhaps separate bed chambers was a good idea. It was the only way he could keep from frightening her. It was the only way he’d ever get any sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
Ultimately, Lizzie’s decision to marry had less to do with society’s censure than with the unexpected rejection from a wholly surprising source: the women’s reform groups she’d worked so closely with.
At the first meeting following the publication of her pamphlet, the other ladies offered perfunctory congratulations. She hadn’t been expecting a full-fledged fete with flowers and a string quartet. Although it wouldn’t have gone amiss, either. But the tepid response was surprising. Some ladies barely met her eyes. Others touched fingers so briefly it was if she were a hot poker and they were afraid of being singed, then bludgeoned.
A few ladies had seemed downright hostile, as if Lizzie had been expounding the very opposite of their views, instead of spelling out what they’d all agreed upon privately. The key, it seemed, was that Lizzie went public.
“Might I remind you, Beverly,” Aunt Prue had crooned to the dowager Countess of Thorndike, “that Lady Elizabeth brought this discussion into the ballrooms and sitting rooms of the ton, which will influence how it is discussed in Parliament. She has done the cause a great service.”
“And might I remind you, Prudence, that there were young girls in attendance at the Tarlington ball who should’ve been sheltered from the very notion of divorce and other such distasteful subjects. Why, my own granddaughter asked what recourse a wife might have if her husband beat her. She shouldn’t even know of such things, nor should she question them. Especially since none of the noblemen we know would ever effect such cruelty upon their wives. Even if it were deserved. Such unpleasantness is the curse of the lower classes, and if they could but contain it, we would never have our senses offended by its discussion.”
At that, the dowager countess looked quite pointedly at Lizzie. Aunt Prue took her niece’s hand to forestall the explosion she knew was forthcoming. Truthfully, she might join in the fireworks herself, finally giving the Dowager Countess of Thorndike the setdown that was so long overdue. But before either could respond, Mariah stepped in, surprising everyone since she rarely spoke at these meetings.
“One never knows what a so-called nobleman is like in private,” she said, swallowing nervously. “I pray your granddaughter never needs to learn the answer to her question, especially since there isn’t a good one. A wife is her husband’s property, to be done with as he sees fit. There is no recourse for her.”
Mariah fell silent, staring intently at the pattern in the carpet. Aunt Prue placed her hand on hers, a motion that also earned a speaking glance from the dowager countess. Lizzie knew very little of Mariah’s life before she’d become Aunt Prue’s companion some twenty years earlier. But she’d long suspected it hadn’t been a happy one.
“I’m quite proud of Lady Elizabeth,” said Rosalind. “She has shown great courage and endured the scorn of the less enlightened. We should all be so brave.”
Rosalind raised her tea cup in salute, encouraging others to follow her example. Most of them did, but a more half-hearted exercise had rarely been witnessed.
The next meeting of the reform group went even worse. Attendance was less than half of usual. And most of the women present were from the merchant class. Lizzie was hardly a snob, but even she knew the best chance they had for parliamentary reform was the influence the upper class women exerted on their husbands and peers.
The third meeting wasn’t actually even a meeting, since a quorum was unable to be met. There were only five women in attendance, one of whom had just returned from the country and was unaware of what had transpired. Once she was brought up to speed she had a quick case of the vapors, then cited a previous engagement which necessitated her immediate exit.
The whole unpleasantness finally came to a halt when the honorable Judith Eagleton, chairwoman of their little group and the eldest daughter of Viscount Bleeker, called on Lizzie at Lynwood House, asking her to formally withdraw from the organization.
“I’m sure you know how much this pains me personally,” said Miss Eagleton, between bites of her third tea cake. “While you and I have never been especially close, I’ve always had a great deal of respect for your brothers, and, of course, have some admiration for certain characteristics of your personality. Where are they?”
“My characteristics?” asked a bemused Elizabeth, who couldn’t help but notice that Judith was a bit overdressed for a simple call on someone she’d never been especially close to. One might say she looked like a hopeful duchess-in-waiting. A wait that Elizabeth knew would be lifelong, if the duke she was hoping to bag was Lynwood. She’d once overheard him describe Judith to their brothers as mean-spirited and duller than the sharp edge of mud.
“Your brothers. I was hoping they’d be able to explain how your actions have in fact impeded the cause you claim to support. Your pamphlet was so scandalous that undue attention has been paid to our group. Husbands, fathers, brothers and mamas have forbidden various young ladies from associating with the group while you are still a member. Therefore, we must ask you to resign. For the good of the cause.”
“For the good of the cause. Tell me, Judith, whom do you believe will fund your works, now that I’ve been uninvited?”
“It is gauche to discuss funds,” chided Miss Eagleton as she attacked her fourth cake.
“It is equally gauche to run out of blunt. I was, by far, the largest investor in our group’s activities, including the various charities we supported.”
“You may, of course, continue your financial support,” said Judith. “No one is stopping you from that. We would just prefer that it be handled quietly, if not anonymously. Or, as an even better suggestion, his grace could give us the funds. I’m sure no one could object to his participation. I could even speak to him p
ersonally, since I’m here and all.”
Judith rose, as if her presence in Lynwood’s study had just been commanded by the great man himself.
“You could speak to him, Judith, except I’m afraid I’m kicking you out of my house,” said Lizzie as she, too, rose to her feet.
“What?”
“I won’t be the one to physically turn you out, much as it pains me to pass up such an opportunity. I’m sure Heskiss has any number of footmen available to do the job, but I am the one who must ask you to leave – without speaking to his grace.”
“This is incredibly rude,” said Miss Eagleton, even as the ever efficient Heskiss entered the room, ready to escort the lady out.
“It was rather rude of you to so unceremoniously kick me out of the group I formed and pretty much solely funded. But good luck in your future efforts. Heskiss, if you please.”
With that, Lizzie had the chance to see one of her least favorite people whisked from her presence. She thought of sending along a few tea cakes by throwing them at the woman, but thought better of it. Cook would be most offended.
Lizzie would almost certainly continue funding the group – especially the charities. She still believed in the cause, she thought glumly. Even if the cause had given up on her.
Twenty minutes later, Lizzie had another visitor, this one much more welcome.
“I would’ve taken great joy in physically escorting Judith from the house. Possibly even giving her a discreet shove down the steps,” said Rosalind, as she sipped her tea. “I shall be pleased to resign from the group after expressing in great detail just why I’m leaving.”
“Too bad you can’t announce your engagement to Liam at the same time,” joked Lizzie. “The only reason half of them joined was to get access to my brother.”
Rosalind choked on her tea.
“I’m sorry Rosalind,” said Lizzie with a laugh. “I know you have no designs on any of my brothers. It would be lovely if you did, for all our sakes. Especially theirs. I can’t imagine any of them marrying better than you.”
Never Miss a Chance (Kellington Book Two) Page 9