Never Miss a Chance (Kellington Book Two)

by Maureen Driscoll

  Her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted, she let out a soft moan that went straight to Riverton’s groin. His mind already had her in his bed, writhing beneath him. He was poised between her legs, ready to sink into bliss. He had to make her his. Tonight. Damn the consequences with Lynwood. It would be worth an appointment at dawn just to feel her long legs wrapped around him.

  “My lord!” came Stokes’s voice in the hall, accompanied by an urgent knock. “My lord!”

  It couldn’t be happening, thought Riverton. It had to be a nightmare in progress. Lizzie, warm and willing in his arms, didn’t seem to even be aware of the valet’s knock, which could only mean pending disaster. Riverton’s fingers were coated in Lizzie’s arousal and a part of him didn’t care what scandal was brought down upon their heads as long as he could continue this course of action.

  But just as he was deciding to press on, Lizzie slowly became aware of the urgent knocking at the door. From her rising color, it was obvious she’d also just realized where his fingers were.

  “Oh!” she said. “Oh.”

  “Indeed. Just one moment, love,” he said as he gently removed his fingers, kissed her lightly, then set her away from him, ensuring she was out of sight of the door, which he then turned to answer.

  There were many thoughts running haphazardly through Lizzie’s head, or, rather, floating, since she still felt dazed from the remarkable things Marcus had been doing to her. But at the forefront of those thoughts was the realization he’d just called her “love.” Most extraordinary, that.

  She looked up to find him standing in front of her once more, looking chagrined.

  “That was my man Stokes.”

  “He knows I’m here?” Her languid and pleasant thoughts turned to panic.

  “He is extremely discreet and will ensure no one else knows of your presence. However, the distraction he put into place is nearing an end, and while it pains me to say this, we must get you out of here now.”

  “Of course,” said Lizzie as she walked toward the balcony, her cheeks flooded with color.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going out as I came in,” she said, as she gathered her skirts around her in preparation for the climb down.

  Riverton looked as if he didn’t trust his ears. “You came in through the balcony?”

  “Of course. It’s not like I could simply enter through the front door. Think of the scandal. I might’ve tried the library or the servants’ entrance, but the timing on such a thing could be tricky. Climbing the tree was the only logical choice. Going down will be a bit trickier, but…”

  Riverton found himself torn between the horror of what might have happened had she fallen and complete admiration for her daring. Not to mention the implication that she’d been highly motivated to come to his room. His already hard cock stiffened again. Pushing aside his lust momentarily, his protectiveness rose to the fore. “You are not climbing out my balcony. And you will most assuredly never climb back up it, either.”

  “You haven’t enjoyed my visit?” Lizzie asked, her eyes sparkling.

  “I think you know exactly how much I enjoyed it,” he said, unable to resist pulling her into his arms and kissing her again. But as the embrace turned heated, he reluctantly let her go.

  “Stokes has arranged for a carriage to meet us down the block.”

  “Won’t your coachman talk of this to the other servants?”

  “My coachman is also the height of discretion.”

  “It gives me pause to think why you value discretion in your servants so highly. Are you often visited in your bed chamber by ladies who must remain hidden?”

  “Not nearly often enough. But I suggest we don’t repeat the experience if you expect to remain a maid much longer,” he said, as his hand slid down her back. “Stay close to me. We’ll take the stairs to the library.”

  Lizzie followed him into the hall, where she could barely meet his valet’s eyes. For his part, Stokes gave her a quick bow and, Riverton was surprised to see, a slight smile, then preceded them to the main stairs. As Stokes looked out onto the foyer, he signaled for them to stay back, as he surveyed the scene down below.

  “Stokes!” Lizzie could hear a very irritated Jenkins reprimand the valet from the entryway at the front of the house. “What is the meaning of this? Come down at once!”

  Stokes motioned them to the servants’ stairs before walking down the main staircase himself, presumably to address the diversion he’d previously set in motion.

  “What’s the fuss Jenkins?” he asked.

  “It’s Mr. Jenkins to you. And I demand that in the future…”

  The rest of the officious butler’s lecture was lost on Lizzie as Riverton pulled her toward the servants’ stairs, then ushered her down them. They passed through a hallway and Lizzie thought they were in the clear until they literally ran into a rather large older woman who smiled at Riverton and curtsied.

  “My lord, I’m making your favorite custard tomorrow…”

  The woman trailed off as she saw Lizzie behind him, then turned as if the picture she’d just passed was the most fascinating piece of art she’d ever seen, despite having walked past it thousands of times during her employ. “Good night, milord,” she said to the picture.

  “Good night, Mrs. Grantham. I shall look forward to the custard.”

  Lizzie, by now a fiery shade of red, hurried past the back of the woman, which was a tight fit in the narrow corridor. After a few more steps they passed into another hallway, thankfully unoccupied, then slipped into the library, where Riverton shut the door.

  “That was Mrs. Grantham, my very excellent cook. She’s been with the family for years.”

  “I shall be too embarrassed to ever look the good woman in the eyes.”

  “You, embarrassed? I shall believe it when I see it. And you have nothing to fear from Granthy. Unlike many of the other servants who served my mother, she’s fiercely devoted to me and would never say a word, especially since she knows Jenkins would delight in bringing this news directly to Mama.”

  “That’s terrible. Why would you keep a butler who carries tales?”

  “In part because he’s a useful conduit in spreading disinformation, as well, although he doesn’t know I’ve ever used him for such purposes. And, truthfully, not much of note generally happens here, tonight being the obvious exception.” They were standing at the French doors. “We’ll slip out the back, then hurry through the garden to the back gate, followed by a quick trip through the mews and out onto the street.”

  Still holding her hand, Riverton escorted her through the escape route, finally reaching his carriage moments later. He ushered her in, murmured directions to the coachman whose gaze had been carefully averted, then climbed in and took the seat opposite her.

  It was dark in the carriage, but there was enough moonlight for Lizzie to see his eyes locked on hers. He seemed even more intense than he’d been in his bed chamber.

  “Why did you come tonight, Lizzie?”

  She swallowed, but held his gaze. “I know you offered marriage out of obligation.”

  “That is what you think.”

  “That is what I know. You’d never shown any interest in me other than polite deference for your friend’s younger sister. You thought of me as a child until not long ago.”

  His eyes held hers. “I assure you I no longer think that way.”

  “I accept that my political actions – which I still stand behind – have made marriage a necessity. And, quite frankly, you’re as good of a candidate as any and better than most.”

  A bemused Riverton brushed an invisible piece of lint off his jacket. “I fear the phrase ‘beggars can’t be choosers’ is about to issue forth from your rather delightful lips, but I must ask you to have some care for my ego.”

  That drew a smile from her rather delighted lips. “I would never say such a thing, not just out of deference to your ego, but because I cannot bear to think of myself as a beggar.
What I meant to say was that the reason I went to your home was to learn if there’s even the potential for passion, or whether I shall forever remain a…”

  Lizzie found herself unable to go on. Unable to risk finding out if her worst fears were warranted.

  “A what?” asked Riverton gently.

  “A burden.”

  There was a moment of silence as he looked at her. It was almost unbearably quiet and the drive home seemed interminable.

  Finally, he spoke.

  “You would never be a burden. I have no doubt you’ll be a challenge. But I also know you’ll be a delight. A partner. And, I believe, my salvation. My proposal, when it comes, will not be proffered out of obligation or in service to a friend. It will be because you would make any man a wonderful wife. And you will make me a very happy man. Finally, please consider this, my dear Lizzie: a burden would have her own bed chamber. You shall not. Ever.”

  The carriage drew to a halt. Lizzie glanced out the window to see they’d stopped a block away from Kellington House. She turned to Riverton.

  “Ask me.”

  “When?”

  She sat on the edge of her seat, their knees almost touching. “Here. Now.”

  Riverton was surprised. “I don’t have any type of speech prepared.”

  She smiled at him. “This isn’t Parliament, and you’ve already said everything you need to. But I want to hear the question.”

  Riverton took a deep breath, kneeled and placed her hand in his.

  “Will you marry me, Lizzie?”

  “Yes, Marcus, I will.”

  For one moment he forgot how to breathe. In the next, he wanted them to return to his house. Back to his bed chamber. Into his bed. Their bed. He smiled, then leaned in to kiss her. A gentle, tender kiss, sealing the moment.

  “You’d better go, love. I’ll watch from here to make sure you get home safely, unless you’d rather I escorted you to the door.”

  “There’s no sense in letting my brothers get the wrong idea.”

  “I’m afraid they’d have the correct idea.”

  “And I’d have a dead fiancé.”

  The house was unusually well lit for that time of night as Lizzie walked up to the front door. Heskiss didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at her returning home alone late at night. She hoped she’d experience a similar lack of curiosity if she encountered any of her brothers. But she’d barely cleared the doorway when a small human projectile hurtled toward her.

  “Aunt Lizzie!” said the little girl, just moments before she threw herself around Lizzie’s waist. “They told me to go to bed and I was really tired but I said I couldn’t go to sleep until I saw you and now here you are!”

  Violet, known to all as Vi, was Lizzie’s six-year-old niece. Right before the Battle of Waterloo, Lizzie’s brother Ned, who was working as an operative with the Foreign Office, had been trapped with Jane, who was a nurse for the British. One thing had led to another – none of it explained to Lizzie, of course – and Vi was conceived. Before either of them was aware of it, Ned and Jane parted ways and didn’t see each other for another seven years. They were now married and deliriously happy.

  “We’ve missed you so,” said Jane as she gave her sister-in-law a hug. “Vi has been ever so excited to see you – as have we all. She’s been able to talk of little else other than coming to see her Aunt and Uncles. But Vi, now that you’ve seen Lizzie, I think it’s time for bed.”

  “But I want to show her my drawings and tell her about Merry Man and we have to play,” said Vi, stifling a yawn.

  “You can do all of that tomorrow, sweetling.”

  “But Mama, I missed Lizzie.”

  “What about if you get some sleep now, then we can all go to Gunter’s tomorrow,” said Ned as he gently pulled one of her braids.

  Lizzie considered the marked difference in Ned’s life since he’d found his family. Gone was the restlessness that even the Foreign Office had been unable to quell. In its place was a contentment and love for his wife and child that brought Lizzie to the verge of tears. If only her marriage had a chance to be that happy.

  “Oh Papa, I would love to go for an ice, as long as Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Liam and Uncle Arthur and Uncle Hal come too!” said Vi, this time not even trying to hide her yawn. “Will you come up and kiss me good-night?”

  “I’ve never missed a kiss yet, have I?” Ned replied. “Miss Hill will take you to the nursery. Your mama and I will be up directly.”

  Lizzie gave one more squeeze to Vi, then let the governess take her up to the nursery. Jane and Ned looked on, their arms around each other.

  As soon as Vi was out of earshot, Ned turned back to Lizzie.

  “We came as soon as we could get away.”

  “I’m afraid I was the delay,” said Jane. “One of our tenants was due to deliver and she’d had a very difficult pregnancy. I didn’t feel I could leave her.” Jane served as the primary midwife and de facto surgeon in their village of Marston Vale.

  “Now how can we help?” asked Ned.

  “You might start,” said Lynwood, who’d just joined them in the foyer, “by telling our sister how unwise it is to go out unaccompanied at night.”

  Lizzie should’ve known she wasn’t going to get away with it.

  “What the devil are you talking about, Liam? Lizzie, you wouldn’t go out alone, would you?” asked Ned, using his best military tone.

  “Arthur and Hal stay out all the night and it’s perfectly acceptable for them. Why shouldn’t I be granted an hour or two of freedom?”

  “An hour or two…what are you…?” Ned, usually the calm brother, couldn’t quite get the sentence out. “Liam, why are you letting the girl go anywhere? Obviously, she should be under lock and key.”

  “Dearest, this isn’t helping,” said Jane to her husband as she put her arm around Lizzie’s waist. “No one likes to feel under siege.”

  “Just as no one likes to fear for his sister’s safety, as I did tonight,” said Lynwood.

  “I’m sorry,” said Lizzie with genuine contrition, even if it was laced with some irritation. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

  “Lynwood not notice a missing family member?” asked Ned, with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “He probably knows what I’m doing at any moment of the day and I don’t even live here.”

  “I did worry,” said Lynwood to Lizzie, “until our coachman told me where you were.”

  “He told? You knew?” Lizzie wasn’t sure which was worse. Being betrayed by the servant or the fact that Lynwood knew she’d been with Marcus. On further contemplation, she knew which was worse. Much worse.

  “It put my mind at ease about your safety. I knew Riverton would never let any harm come to you. But it did raise other concerns, almost as troubling.”

  Lizzie forced a yawn. “I’d like to kiss Vi good-night before she falls asleep.”

  “Why were you with Riverton?” asked Ned, having missed out on some family developments.

  “A question I’ll ask him first thing on the morrow,” said Lynwood.

  That wasn’t a conversation Lizzie wanted to take place. While she knew he would never actually challenge Riverton to a duel, she had no doubt any – or all – of her brothers were perfectly capable of getting into a brawl with him. She had to do something to prevent it, so she might as well tell her news. “I told him yes. I’m going to marry him.”

  “You’re marrying Riverton?” asked Ned, incredulously. “I didn’t even know he was courting you.”

  “Congratulations!” said Jane, as she hugged Lizzie. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

  “Yes,” said Lynwood with a thoughtful look. “Congratulations. I must remember to congratulate Riverton tomorrow, right after I plant him a facer for meeting with you in secret at night in his home.”

  Damn. Lizzie could only hope Marcus knew how to protect his face. She was beginning to grow quite fond of it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lady Charlo
tte Redmond rarely rose before noon. It wasn’t unusual for her to remain in her bed at Riverton House until two of the o’clock. On one or more occasions, she’d been known to sleep until three. But that was followed by such a rush to get ready for the afternoon drive in the park that it was too stressful for the constitution she told everyone was frail but could likely withstand a cannon blast.

  It was, however, almost impossible to sleep with such banging on her bed chamber door. She was mentally preparing the speech that would discharge on the spot – with no character – the lackwit servant who was waking her up, when the door burst open and her sister Edith charged in.

  “Get out!” hissed Charlotte.

  “Don’t take that tone with me,” said Edith, looking even more frightful than usual. “I’m hardly the help.”

  “I don’t care if you’re the King. No one disturbs me from my rest. I value my beauty sleep. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

  A direct hit, if the look on Edith’s rather plain face was any indication.

  “Don’t waste your ire on me. You’re going to want to hear this.”

  “I’m sure whatever you have to say can wait,” said Charlotte as she turned in such a way to block out the sun peeking past the curtains.

  “Shut it, Charlotte,” said Edith as she plopped down on the foot of the bed. “Our brother has got himself betrothed to Elizabeth Kellington.”

  Charlotte sat up remarkably quickly for someone just awakening.

  “That means I’ll see Lynwood on a daily basis. We’ll be family. Marcus can put in a good word and I’ll be a duchess.”

  Edith watched her beautiful, vain, dullard of a sister for exactly half a minute before picking up the latest copy of La Belle Assemble from the floor and hurling it at her head.

  “Since when has Marcus ever put in a good word for either of us where Lynwood’s concerned?”