Loved by the Lyon

by Cameron, Collette

  God, but she was exquisite.

  From her delicate features and her porcelain skin to her bountiful bosom, tapered waist, and full, rounded hips, she was temptation personified. Such seductive shapeliness wasn’t common in a woman of her slight stature.

  Though he’d chosen to do penance by remaining celibate, he was still a flesh and blood man. It came as no surprise that his passion-starved body reacted predictably when present with such feminine abundance.

  Kingston’s gaze slowly traveled the inches from her face, peaceful in repose, to the swell of her breasts straining against her modest, but expensive, traveling costume. She’d opted to wear rich dark purple, the color of pansies, rather than black, and the shade did astounding things to her skin, eyes, and hair. The rest of her too.

  His attention gravitated to the slow rise and fall of her chest. Was there anything as wondrous as a woman’s breasts? As she slumbered on, he permitted the rigid restraints on his imagination to relax. Were her breasts firm and round like peaches? Plump and full? Bell-shaped? Teardrops? Would they nest snuggly within his palms, or would their bounty spill over his hands?

  His mouth alternately watered and went dry as a charred bone at the thought.

  And what about her nipples? Did they match her lips? Were they dusky rose, petal pink, or purple-brown? Full and supple or small, pebbled nubs?

  Kingston groaned and shifted on the velvet seat. Christ, at this rate, he’d have a hard as steel erection until September. How had Vanessa remained unmarried?

  Another question he’d meant put to her but hadn’t found an opportune moment to do so as yet. For certain, she’d had offers, but one didn’t simply blurt, “I’m astonished a woman your age hasn’t married yet,” or, “Surely you’ve had suitors, Vanessa. Why aren’t you married?”

  Behind them lumbered a second coach piled high with her luggage. It also transported five –God help him, five—of her most trusted servants: a housekeeper, a cook, a butler, a footman, and her lady’s maid, plus a coachman and stable hand drove each of the conveyances. She’d left the rest of her staff behind to oversee the Berkeley Square house in her absence.

  Since he hadn’t expected any servants other than her lady’s maid and a groomsman would accompany them to Quail Hollow House, he hadn’t advised her that the servants’ quarters had been neglected for years and were likely dilapidated. And coward that he was, he couldn’t bring himself to wipe the smile from her face and tell her.

  Servants accustomed to living in posh surroundings wouldn’t take well to the humble quarters if they were habitable at all. In truth, he’d rarely ventured there and certainly hadn’t since trotting off in his crimson and white uniform atop Tito with Gabriel at his side to slay the dragons of the civilized world.

  Also unbeknownst to Vanessa, Kingston retained an agent to watch her residence for any sign of Elligon. Elligon, who had mysteriously vanished. He’d not frequented his normal haunts since Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon had called for the constable. One didn’t have to wonder why.

  Guilty bastard.

  Kingston promptly hired someone to find and tail the sod too, although he still felt uncomfortable making free with the partial funds Vanessa had settled upon him, contract or not. However, when it came to the safety of his wife, he would spare no expense. If there was any possibility Elligon remained a risk to Vanessa, Kingston would know of it.

  He roved his appreciative gaze over his wife as he’d permitted himself to do with great frequency.

  My wife.

  Vanessa Becket—no Vanessa Barclay. That would take some adjusting to—was, in short, and an absolute delight. Intelligent, well-read, possessing a sunny disposition, and yet, the minx cursed.

  Don’t forget breathtakingly beautiful with that cloud of moonlit hair and those caramel eyes.

  She was everything he could’ve wanted in a wife. More than he’d ever imagined he might actually have when he’d decided to barter himself for money. If that was, he’d wanted to take a wife—wanted to raise a family and put his dark past behind him.

  Instead, he’d wed this charming, incomparable woman. A vixen he could never kiss. Never take to his bed and taste every inch of her silky soft, sweetly scented skin. Sink inside her moist, tight channel and make her his for all time.

  Instead, he’d call her his wife for six months.

  It wasn’t nearly long enough.

  Kingston had instinctively known that irrefutable and gut-wrenching truth the moment they’d been declared husband and wife, and he’d placed a brotherly peck upon her forehead instead of capturing her mouth beneath his. Her verbena and jasmine perfume had snaked around him, tangling his thoughts and sending a powerful burst of lust to his cock.

  A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough with this incomparable woman, and ten minutes with her as his wife had him wondering if he mightn’t bed her, after all.

  Kingston knew the answer.

  No. A thousand times, no.

  He’d vowed to never let lust, desire, or passion rule him again.

  For the thousandth time, Kingston cursed himself for a fool for agreeing to Vanessa’s scheme.

  Better to have wed a bucktoothed, on-the-shelf spinster, or a lady with a tainted reputation than the living, breathing temptation across the coach, sleeping mere inches from him.

  How in God’s holy name was he to keep his hands off of her for six months? Six-and-twenty weeks? Almost one hundred and eighty-three days?

  Think of Gabriel.

  A groan throttled up Kingston’s throat, and he pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, pinching it.

  Vanessa’s notion of separate residences was logical, especially to substantiate grounds for an annulment. Individual homes would make the situation more bearable, as well. Perhaps after introducing her to his siblings, he could consider different abodes. Especially with the entourage of servants she’d towed along.

  Mayhap he’d take rooms in Canterbury.

  No. No.

  Kingston needed, wanted to be with his brothers and sisters. They’d been alone and neglected far too long as it was.

  Vanessa must be the one persuaded to take rooms in town. After all, she’d not even wanted his family to know they were married. She’d likely be grateful for the reprieve.

  And subject her to speculation and gossip?

  But what if she did so because Quail Hollow House wasn’t up to par and he, in good conscience, couldn’t ask his future duchess to reside there?

  A slow grin spread across his face.

  It was the perfect solution.

  Quail Hollow House wasn’t a hovel by any means, but an heiress accustomed to the very best money could afford her would undoubtedly be uncomfortable in the humble house. A house that hadn’t seen any maintenance in close to a decade.

  Now, truth be told, he was quite glad no improvements had been made yet. The rundown house would only substantiate the case he meant to present her.

  Decision made, Kingston felt as if a great weight had been removed. Without her about all day long and sleeping beneath the same roof, they might actually pull this temporary marriage off. Renovations were notoriously lengthy, and a six-month refurbishing was quite feasible.

  Indeed, it was probable.

  He’d make sure of it and thereby grant her wish for separate residences while saving himself a permanent cockstand.

  Vanessa stirred and sighed before her lashes fluttered, and she opened those brandy colored eyes. Her gaze collided with his, and a shy smile swept her petal-soft lips upward. “Did I sleep long?”

  Covering a dainty yawn, she leveled upright.

  “A couple of hours. We’re nearly there.”

  She bent forward and glanced out the window. “I see the township.” She cut him a sideways glance around the brim of her practical, unadorned bonnet before returning to her scrutiny of the landscape. “I’ve missed Canterbury.”

  The Becket-Elligon family had never returned to the country after Vanessa’s mother had rem
arried.

  “I thought you favored town life.”

  At that, she flopped back into her seat and wrinkled her nose. “I suppose it’s all right, but Patrick Elligon is the one who insisted we move to London. That’s where most of his businesses were. However, I’ve always preferred the clean air and more relaxed pace of country life. I enjoy hearing roosters crowing, cows mooing, and sheep bleating.”

  He made a noncommittal sound, hoping she didn’t become so accustomed to country life, she elected to stay on after their vows were annulled. In point of fact, he didn’t know anyone who’d been divorced or had vows annulled. Both were rarities and not easily achieved.

  Would it be so bad to remain married to her?

  “Kingston?”

  Pulling himself from his musings, he slid her a distracted glance. “Hmm?”

  “I have a favor to ask.”

  Suspicion reared its ugly head. Was the vixen going to attempt to manipulate him even though the specifics of their contract said he’d repay her with interest? She’d objected to that particular, but he’d insisted it wasn’t negotiable, else the whole deal was impossible.

  “What sort of favor?”

  She peeped at him from beneath her lashes, then raised her gaze to meet his eyes directly. “Might I have a pet?”

  “A pet?”

  Bloody damned parrot.

  That was what she wanted?

  “Yes.” She fiddled with the satin ribbon of her reticule. “Owen quite disliked cats and dogs. He was cruel to them, you see. For her sake, I gave my cat Moonbeam to our prior housekeeper when we moved to London. I’d actually contemplated acquiring a dog and a cat the day we met at the Lyon’s Den.”

  Because the enchanting minx was lonely?

  How could Kingston deny her something so trivial?

  Vanessa could always take her pet with her when she left.

  He gave a sharp nod and recrossed his ankles, heartily sick of sitting. “Perhaps after things have settled. I don’t think now is the right time,” he said, brusquer than he’d intended.

  “Of course.” Folding her hands neatly in her lap, she turned her profile to the window, but not before he saw a stricken expression whisk across her features. She brought her emotions under control so swiftly, he almost doubted what he’d seen.

  Damn his sharp tongue.

  Kingston opened his mouth to apologize then closed it.

  But perhaps it was better this way. If she became too comfortable with him, their parting would be that much more difficult.

  Then why not deny her a blasted pet from the start then?

  Drive a wedge between them from the beginning? Because, as he’d told himself a thousand times since seeing her home from the Lyon’s Den, he was a bloody damn fool.

  Instead of apologizing, he raised his hand and rapped a knuckle on the small door near his head.

  At once, the panel slid open.

  “Sir?” the coachman inquired.

  “Please stop at Woolpack Inn.”

  “Yes, sir.” The panel clicked shut.

  Tapping the toe of her left foot, her head cocked, Vanessa examined him. “Might I inquire why we are stopping at the inn? I assumed we’d drive straight through to Quail Hollow House.”

  Kingston fingered the edge of his hat, sitting on the seat beside him. He scratched his nose, searching for the right words.

  “That bad, is it?” she bantered.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Vanessa looked pointedly at his hand. “You scratch your nose when you’re discomfited or unnerved.”

  “I most assuredly do not.”

  Did he?

  He lowered his hand to his lap.

  Two perfectly winged brows soared high on her alabaster forehead.

  He decided a tactile retreat was in order. “I think it best if I secure rooms for you at the inn. Quail Hollow only has five bedrooms, and the state of the house isn’t acceptable for someone of your…position.” He deliberately left out mention of the deplorable condition of the long-neglected servants’ quarters.

  His home’s leaky roof, sagging shutters, worn-out furniture, draperies, and rugs, scuffed floors, and overgrown lawns and gardens intruded upon his musings. Madeline and the others kept the house clean and tidy and tended the vegetable garden, but the irrefutable pall of poverty still hovered about the place.

  “In other words, Kingston, you believe I’m too spoiled and accustomed to my comforts to stay in a home that you deem perfectly acceptable for my new brothers and sisters to live in?”

  “I think no such thing. Besides, you are the one who wanted separate residences.”

  “Well, I changed my mind,” she said on a peeved little huff.

  Wait.

  What had Vanessa said?

  Brothers and sisters?

  Damnation.

  She couldn’t think of them like that. Far too dangerous. Attachments might be formed that would have to be broken in September. However, rather than state the obvious and risk offending her again, Kingston chose a distraction.

  “I don’t recall which of my siblings you know, Vanessa.” They’d been neighbors in Canterbury for years before her mother married Patrick Elligon. He scratched his nose, and at her knowing smile, immediately stopped.

  He’d been an only child for almost eight years before Madeline came along, which was why he’d become so close to Gabriel. Then his other four siblings came into the world, in rapid succession, filling the house to overflowing with laughter and love.

  “Madeline and I played together if you recall. Rebecca was a trifle too young to join in our games, though she tried.” She scrunched her nose, her eyes narrowed in reflection. “And your Mama had just delivered another girl before we left, but I confess I don’t recall her name.”

  “Dorena,” Kingston supplied. “She’s sixteen.” He shook his head. “My sisters are all young ladies now.” Who’d not had any of the luxuries most gently-bred women claimed as their right. No dance lessons, finishing schools, fine gowns and slippers, assemblies, or even hair ribbons.

  “And your brothers?” Vanessa asked, her interest genuine.

  Kingston chuckled and uncrossed his ankles, bracing his hands on his knees. “Well, the lads, Gareth and Paxton, are every bit the precocious whelps your brother and I were.”

  “I should like to meet them, Kingston. I truly would. I swear I’ll not swoon at the house’s condition. I’m not a snob.”

  “I meant no offense, Vanessa. I’ve only been home once since leaving the hospital, and I—”

  “Hospital?” She bolted upright. “You were in the hospital?”

  Hell’s bells.

  He hadn’t meant to reveal that. When she was around, his damnable tongue seemed to have a mind of its own.

  “Why? Were you injured during a battle?” She peppered him with questions. “Are you completely recovered? Come to think of it, I did think you were a bit wan but presumed it was because of the distasteful task you’d set before yourself. Has the journey from London been too much of a strain?”

  Kingston assuredly did not want to explain why he’d been in the hospital.

  Yet, she gazed at him, expectation and concern shining in her innocent gaze.

  “I was burned after an explosion.”

  A deliberately set explosion, meant to kill as many officers and soldiers as possible, but more importantly, to destroy the information Gabriel delivered to Pountney.

  Her hand fluttered to the neck of her violet spencer. She fidgeted with the clasp there, face pale as milk. “Gabriel…he…he died in an explosion.”

  I know, my sweet. I know.

  Her eyes silently asked the question Kingston hoped never to have to answer. A mixture of pain and guilt and regret impaled him.

  “I know he did, Nessa,” he said, sympathetically, forcing the words from his too-tight throat. Bile, bitter and hot, burned there as well, and he swallowed, hating himself. Hating the sadness and grief in her stunning eyes, that
distress had darkened to liquid umber.

  “Was it…?” She closed her eyes for one long blink, the slender column of her throat working convulsively. “Was it the same blast that killed him?” she asked on a tortured whisper.

  “It was.” Kingston leaned forward and took her trembling hands in his. “I tried to save him. Vanessa.” Tears blurred his eyes as the memories that tormented him rose to the surface once more. “I repeatedly went into the burning building and dragged soldiers out.”

  “That’s how you were injured,” she said, clinging to his fingers. “Were you burned?”

  “Yes.”

  Her gaze searched over him, looking for those scars.

  “Mostly on my back and arms.” When a timber had fallen on him.

  Tears swimming in her eyes, Vanessa swallowed again. “I’m sure you would’ve saved him if you could have.”

  Shame and guilt pummeled Kingston.

  He couldn’t tell her the truth.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  Coward. Poltroon. Weakling.

  Not all of the funds had been transferred to him yet, and he felt certain if she knew the unforgivable details, she’d order the coach back to London in a heartbeat and begin the process of annulling their vows.

  He was a despicable, mercenary bastard.

  What I do, I do for my family, he argued.

  Only your family?

  Firmly disregarding the irritating voice taunting him, Kingston, instead, settled on another truth. Not the one she deserved, but it would have to do.

  “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret I couldn’t trade places with him.”

  Her wide caramel-brown eyes rounded impossibly more enormous, and she astounded him by shaking his hands gently in hers. How had he not noticed the ring of forest green around the outside of her iris before? Or the flecks of gold shimmering in those mesmerizing depths?

  “Never, ever say that, Kingston.” Vanessa gave his hands a small shake for emphasis. “Who would care for your family? True, I’ve grieved terribly, but my future is secure. Without you, your sisters and brothers would’ve suffered greatly.”