Never Run From Love (Kellington Book Four)

by Maureen Driscoll

  She slowly moved off him, then turned around, anxious to share the incredible moment. But his eyes were closed and he looked to be in pain.

  “Melanie, I am so incredibly sorry. I never should have done this. I know what you must think of me and I’m ashamed to have used you so. I tried to withdraw, I did. But I was too damned excited.”

  “Stop right there, Hal Kellington. And open your eyes.”

  He did both of those things most reluctantly, only to see his beautiful naked angel sternly shaking a finger at him.

  “You are ruining a beautiful experience. You’ve given me indescribable pleasure. Don’t you think I wanted to give you the same gift in return? You’re talking about this as if it were sordid. As if I should be ashamed.” Now she was embarrassed again, as she looked around for her clothes.

  “I’m making a complete hash of this,” he admitted as pulled her down to lie with him. “It was beautiful. And nothing we do could be sordid. Pray forgive me for being self-indulgent. But this is all so different for me and I didn’t want to ruin it.” He kissed the top of her head. “Of course, nothing ruins anything more quickly than earnest discussion. Which is why I try to avoid it at all costs.”

  They lay there for a moment, nestled together. And despite what they’d just done, Mel felt this was the most intimate they’d ever been. “Hal,” she said reluctantly. “We’d best dress and return downstairs before Mrs. Seton comes in search of us.”

  “Mrs. Seton can go hang, but I suppose you have the right of it.” He gave her one last lingering kiss. “Can I take you home?”

  “I had best stay for the rest of the meeting. And Richard is picking me up.”

  Mel tried not to laugh at the black look which came over Hal’s countenance.

  “Parker,” he said, as he reached for their clothes, “can go hang, too.”

  * * *

  Hal hardly knew himself as he left Mrs. Seton’s house. Leaving Mel at the meeting, when all he wanted to do was carry her off to someplace private and make love to her for months on end, had been difficult. Almost impossible.

  He couldn’t believe he’d come in her mouth. It was something he didn’t even do with prostitutes. He’d tried – really tried – to pull out. But the feeling of being with her, moving in unison, had been the most exquisite experience of his life. He couldn’t believe it when she’d first suggested it. But when she’d lowered herself on top of him and he’d seen her arse that close to him, smelled her womanly essence, he’d been half-crazed with lust. Feasting on her had been exactly what he’d needed. He’d admired her curiosity, but hadn’t expected her to follow through quite so enthusiastically. But when she’d placed his cock in her mouth and begun sucking, it had almost destroyed him. Within a moment, they’d both been close to the pinnacle and there for each other.

  There was something about her taking his seed that was both intensely erotic and, oddly enough, quite domestic. She’d accepted him without question. Had wanted it. Hell, from the look on her face, she’d enjoyed it. Would likely do it again.

  And while he was already hard as stone just thinking about a lifetime of such adventures, what was really gratifying was that she accepted him as a person just as completely.

  She felt he had a better nature. He didn’t always feel that way. But the certainty she felt, the faith she’d placed in him made him want to be a better man. He didn’t want to disappoint her and didn’t want to let himself down because of it

  His family loved him, but he wasn’t sure if they could see past his youth that had been filled with folly. Truth be told, his folly hadn’t been confined to his youth. Much of his foolishness could be traced to the past six months during his acquaintance with Francis – not that he’d ever admit that to his family.

  Before he’d left the house to see Patton, he’d received a message from Francis asking him to call at his apartments. Hal hadn’t even taken the time to send a note telling him he’d be unable to make it. He’d been ignoring most of Francis’s requests for weeks now and knew his prickly friend wouldn’t take it lightly. In some respects, Francis could be just as possessive as a lover, as if Hal owed him his companionship. Francis had been a good friend, but increasingly it seemed Francis had little taste for entertainments that didn’t involve drinking to excess, losing more blunt at the gaming tables than was advisable and whoring.

  Hal was actually enjoying waking up with a clear head. He was even beginning to appreciate mornings, although mostly the hours just before noon, rather than those just after dawn. And since Hal had lost all desire to consort with prostitutes, going to Madame Thurmond’s was out of the question. Although just the thought of that establishment reminded him of what he’d done with Mel there. And those thoughts….

  With a groan, Hal tried not to think of Melanie or he’d go straight back to Mrs. Seton’s, pull her away and make love to her for the rest of the afternoon.

  There were worse ways to spend the day.

  * * *

  It wasn’t fair to anyone to slake one’s lust with one woman while thinking of another. Not just thinking about, but lusting over. Not just lusting over but liking. If he had to be honest with himself, loving.

  William Kellington, the Duke of Lynwood, was on his way to an assignation he didn’t particularly want to go to. It wasn’t that he had a lack of passion for carnal activities. In fact, it was just the opposite. In normal times, he had a drive that meant he spent at least some part of each night relieving his own needs. Sometimes more than once.

  At the moment, he had no mistress. Lately, he’d thought about employing one on several occasions. He could certainly afford it. And it wasn’t that many years ago that he’d had a series of them. No liaison had lasted more than a year and he’d been generous when each arrangement had ended. He’d gifted them with jewelry and enough cash – via investments handled by his man of business – to ensure each woman would have sufficient funds when she was no longer able to make money from her looks.

  He’d enjoyed the physical aspect of the arrangements. He was a man of great hunger when it came to desire. His bed partners never had any complaints, but he sometimes wondered if that was because he was paying them. One of the reasons he’d been so hesitant to marry was he feared a wife would find his attentions to be too much. Especially since he wasn’t the type to prefer a quiet bedmate who would think of marital relations as duty and obligation.

  He’d heard too many sad tales of the married bedchamber from drunken lords at White’s. The couplings that took place only frequently enough to beget heirs. The gingerly raised nightgown, the dark room, the separate bedchambers. Since he was determined to be faithful to his wife once he married, he couldn’t bear to think of such a sterile existence. What he needed was a woman whose needs matched his own. Who would want to be with him as much as he needed her.

  And he needed Rosalind.

  That was the painful truth of it. He was in love with another man’s betrothed. Rosalind Carson had been bosom bows with Elizabeth since his sister’s come-out three years earlier. Up until a few months ago, he’d looked upon Rosalind as almost a sister.

  Almost.

  She was four and twenty, of average height and average build with perfect breasts that had drawn his attention from the beginning. She had brown hair the color of a rich smoke and remarkable eyes that showed her intelligence. She might try to hide them behind spectacles, but there was no mistaking the life behind the glass.

  She was unfailingly kind, but not one to be taken advantage of. She also had a keen wit. He’d overheard her talking to Lizzie about any number of issues from politics to great works of literature. If they’d been men, Rosalind and Lizzie would’ve taken firsts at university.

  Rosalind was also a quick thinker and socially adept. She’d saved him from disaster on more than one occasion, as she helped him outwit marriage-minded mamas. If only she’d been able to avoid the same fate herself.

  Rosalind’s brother, the scapegrace Viscount Worthington, w
as a veritable genius at losing money. There were the usual ways lordlings threw away blunt – at the gaming tables, in brothels and through ludicrous wagers. But Worthington almost searched for ways to impoverish himself, whether it was through risky investments, expensive-yet-tasteless fashions from Paris or buying purebred cattle that he hadn’t the first idea how to drive. The estate he’d inherited – which hadn’t been all that hale to begin with – was being ravaged by his reckless ways, much to the displeasure of his mother. Not that she exercised a greater sense of economy than her son. She was known for throwing lavish entertainments, although even those had dwindled to only the occasional ball because, according to the gossips, she was being denied the credit she’d relied upon for her way of life.

  Rosalind seemed to be the only member of her family to show any economy. Indeed, Liam had seen her in the same ball gown on several occasions, although it was usually re-trimmed in a manner that would draw the eye. Not that his eye needed any enticement. He’d found that every time he was in the same room with her, his very being was drawn to her.

  That was especially unfortunate, since her mother had sold her in marriage to the Duke of Fallmoor, a man in his seventies who’d already buried five wives, the most recent not eleven months earlier. Having sired only daughters, the aged duke was determined to beget an heir and had been willing to bestow a great deal of money on Viscount Worthington – and his loving mama – for the privilege of doing it with Miss Rosalind.

  Liam’s Rosalind.

  Whenever Liam thought of the situation, he bloody well wanted to hit something. He should’ve moved quicker. When he’d finally realized that his feelings for Rosalind were anything but brotherly, he should have begun courting her. Simply hinting to her mother that he was interested would’ve prevented this abomination of a betrothal. He would have been happy to settle all her brother’s debts and buy her mother a house anywhere in the kingdom, provided she was far from Lynwood Manor. But he hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t been in time. And now she was lost to another man.

  At Lizzie’s wedding several weeks earlier, Rosalind had traveled to Lynwood Manor with her maid for only the day. It had been so difficult to see her in his home, with his family and know she would never be his. Just the way she graced his house, the way her laughter could be heard throughout the halls and her look of delight as the entire party had walked across his land to the chapel had touched his heart.

  He’d wanted to take her hand, to lead her away from the life that awaited her. But he was bound by honor. He couldn’t take another man’s betrothed, no matter how much he ached to do so.

  At the wedding breakfast, he’d had more champagne than was prudent. And he’d made sure the footmen kept all the glasses full. As his brothers and sisters sat in the drawing room afterward, he’d pulled Rosalind aside to show her something in the library. It was there that he’d done the most uncharacteristic thing in his life. He’d kissed a woman who belonged to someone else.

  He hadn’t planned on doing it, although as he shut the door after they entered, he’d known something would happen. And when he saw her running her fingers along the spines of the books, something inside of him snapped.

  Months of wanting came to the fore and he couldn’t wait another moment. He took her into his arms and his lips came down on hers hard. Crushing them. Devouring her. Pulling her closer to him as if to stake a claim he had no right making.

  But she was with him, an eager participant in every movement. It was apparent she’d never been kissed before. And the part of him that was pure bastard rejoiced. Fallmoor didn’t deserve to be the first man to kiss her. So Liam continued to make love to her the only way he could. She was a fast learner. She was shy at first, but quickly mimicked what he was doing, then gave up trying to kiss and simply kissed. It came from her heart. She was a natural. And she had a hunger that was as strong as his own.

  That’s when things escalated.

  Without thinking, he unbuttoned her dress, pulling it off her shoulders. She groaned, then looked embarrassed. He smiled and kissed her again, even as he reached one hand slowly down her neck to her shoulder, to the swell off her breasts. He stroked them with the fingers of one hand. Lightly, back and forth. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, exposing her neck to his lips.

  As one hand eased beneath her chemise to touch one perfect breast, she bit her lip to keep from moaning again. He squeezed her nipple because he needed to hear her sighs, almost as much as he needed his next breath. Her reaction was everything he could have hoped for.

  He ruched up her skirts, then lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him and he pressed the mound of her cunny against his erection still encased in his breeches. Her eyes opened wide and the shock was evident. He thought he might’ve gone too far, but then she tentatively moved against him and he was lost.

  He pressed against her while holding her. She rode him with a raw instinct that excited him beyond belief. He encouraged her with whispers and kisses and she continued to rock against him. It was torture for him when all he wanted to do was pull out his cock and thrust it deep within her.

  But she was another man’s betrothed. The knowledge hit him just as she climaxed in his arms. As she rode out the waves, shuddering against him, he stroked her back, hoping she hadn’t been too shocked by what he’d coaxed her into doing. She hadn’t seemed shocked. She was warm and passionate and loving. She fit into his arms like she was meant to be there.

  Perhaps at one point, she had been. But no longer.

  As she regained her senses, he gently disengaged from her and lowered her to the ground. She wobbled just a bit and he reached out his hand to steady her. He didn’t want to remove it. He wanted to go on touching Rosalind as long as there was breath left in his body. He wanted her in his bed, by his side and in his life. Forever. But it simply wasn’t meant to be.

  As she set her clothing to rights with a dazed look upon her flushed face, he adjusted himself and hoped his erection would disappear before he had to see his family again. Before he pulled Rosalind into his arms again. Because this time there would be no stopping.

  He looked at her, and noted that her face was suffused with the glow of their exertions. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but as they stood in the library where generations of Kellingtons had been with their damnable honor, he did what he had to do. “Pray forgive me, Rosalind,” he said at last. “I fear I forgot myself.”

  For one long painful moment, she looked at him with confusion which turned to hurt. She obviously thought he was rejecting her, when nothing could be further from the truth. He wanted her more than any woman he’d ever known. But he’d been raised with a strong code of honor. A code he’d instilled in his brothers and sister. A code that he was supposed to live by as the Duke of Lynwood. He couldn’t forsake it. And, even more importantly, he couldn’t subject Rosalind to the shame and scandal of a broken engagement. She had made her choice. He must abide by it.

  But, oh, how hard it would be to see her married to that old roué, especially after what they’d just shared.

  She looked at him for one moment more, then tried to school her emotions. She turned away from him, ostensibly to check her appearance in the looking glass. “There is no need to apologize, your grace. I was just as much at fault as you.”

  He closed the distance between them in an instant. “Don’t ‘your grace’ me. I cannot abide that from you. Especially after what we just shared.”

  She blushed most becomingly and he ached to take her in his arms once again, but this time to truly make her his own. He wanted to cross the line that would make it impossible for her to return to her betrothed, to marry another. He wanted to, but couldn’t.

  They returned to his family shortly thereafter, then she travelled back to London with Stapleton as her escort. All Liam could do was hand her up into the carriage. Even now, he felt the light touch of her fingers. Even now he cursed Fallmoor for his extraordinary good fortune.

  He’d reac
hed his destination, the library doors of Lady Elling. She’d left them unlocked, just as she’d said she would. Lady Valencia Elling was a widow with a reputation for discretion. Her much older husband had died two years earlier, leaving her two sons who were now at Harrow and a sizable fortune.

  She was only three years older than Liam and the two had known each other since he’d come to town a year after assuming his title. They’d had a mild flirtation before she married. After the birth of her second son, she’d hinted at a willingness to have an affair. But Liam would never cuckold another man.

  But he had almost ravished another’s betrothed.

  He pushed that bothersome detail from his conscience and thought again of Lady Elling. Quite frankly he didn’t trust a woman who’d betray her husband, but she was no longer married yet was still a gorgeous blonde with the figure of a debutante. She was known for being a witty conversationalist and he’d enjoyed talking to her at recent ton events. When she’d lightly touched his hand, then brushed her breasts against his arm at a rout two nights previous, he had a feeling she would be amenable to a liaison.

  He did wonder if she had her sights on his title. It was a consideration he had whenever he knew a lady was interested in him. She’d never expressed as much to him, but then she would likely be too wise to do so. He just had to be careful – both by using French letters to prevent conception and to exercise discretion so the two of them would not create a scandal. It’s not that he had anything against Lady Elling. He just wasn’t ready for marriage.

  Well, he wasn’t ready for marriage with anyone but Rosalind. He wasn’t sure he ever would be, though he knew he eventually had to marry for duty’s sake.