“I’ve never heard of anything. But I don’t go to ‘certain establishments’ for gossip.”
“So, I take it the man doesn’t have a bad reputation,” said Lynwood, looking for the world like he was about to draw up marriage contracts.
“Now stop right there,” said Lizzie. “I’ll not have my husband chosen for me.”
“Of course you won’t,” said Aunt Prue. “And certainly not by your brothers tonight. Let’s all get a good night’s sleep and convene again on the morrow. For myself, Lynwood, I’m not sure that Stalford is at all the thing, but perhaps we shall think of another candidate. Riverton, thank you so much for your kind service to my niece. You’re a good man.”
Then an exuberant Aunt Prue ushered everyone out of the room, leaving Lynwood with Riverton, a slight smile on her lips and her head filled with wedding plans.
* * *
“Good God, Riverton, what am I to do?” Lynwood asked as he motioned for his friend to take the chair opposite him. “My sister has been thoroughly compromised. She must marry. Yet I cannot force a match upon her.”
Riverton had always known this day would come and he should probably be glad of it, but the thought of Lizzie married to someone else was rather like a kick to the stomach. Lizzie, another man’s wife. In another man’s bed.
The lucky bastard would get to wake up next to her every day, then take her, warm from sleep. Her beautiful hair would be spread out on the pillows and she’d smile up at him, just as he sank into her lush body. The morning lovemaking would be slow, tender and warm. Making love to her at night would be intense, hard. She’d wrap her legs around him, dig her nails into his back. He’d get her to the brink of euphoria, then pull back so he could repeat the process and arouse her again. Then just as he thrust the hardest to push her over the edge, he’d capture her scream with his mouth.
“Sound good to you?”
Riverton roused himself to look blankly at his friend. It was most certainly not the thing to have erotic thoughts about a friend’s sister, while supposedly engaged in conversation with the man about her welfare. He also thanked heaven he was seated with his legs crossed. “Does what sound good?”
“Stalford.”
Riverton blinked. “What about him?”
“What do you think of Stalford as a husband for Lizzie?”
“Absolutely not!”
Lynwood looked up from his drink, surprised by his friend’s vehemence. “What’s your objection?”
Everything. Riverton objected to everything about the match. But he needed a plausible reason to give Lynwood. He resorted to one true of most of the peerage. “He needs money.”
“And Lizzie has plenty of it. As far as I know, Stalford’s financial problems stem from aging estates, not from vice.”
“He wears entirely too much yellow.” Riverton knew exactly how asinine that sounded, but he needed time to think.
Lynwood looked at his friend. “Are you feeling all right tonight?”
Riverton looked at his drink and tried to hide his feelings. “I’m just upset about what happened.”
“You’re a good friend, Marcus. I’ll never forget how you stood by her tonight.”
Yes, thought Riverton wryly, he was such a good friend that he’d spent God knows how long fantasizing about Lizzie while drinking her brother’s brandy. They should give medals for such outstanding friendship.
“I should be going,” said Riverton as he rose. “Please don’t do anything in haste. I’ll be back tomorrow and we can think on this again.”
CHAPTER FIVE
In desperate need of fresh air, Riverton told Heskiss he’d call for his carriage himself back at the mews. As he crossed the lawn toward the back gate, he saw movement several yards away. He quickly removed his knife from his boot, then walked toward the flash of white.
When he was close enough to see what was amiss, he stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth agape in a decidedly fish-like manner. He was looking at a vision. Lizzie, in nightclothes and a wrapper, reclined on a lounge, staring up at the sky. Her hair was unbound. She wore no corset and Riverton’s hands longed to caress the curves concealed only by fine lawn and silk. Without even thinking, he reached for her.
The movement caught her attention and she turned.
“Are any of my brothers with you?” she asked wearily.
Somehow he found his voice. “No. I just left Lynwood and was on my way to my carriage.”
She nodded, then looked back up at the stars. He knew he should leave her in peace. But his feet remained firmly rooted to the ground.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said.
She turned to him in surprise. “Why should you be sorry? You came to my rescue. And you’re not the one determined to make me marry where there is no love.”
“Is that important to you? To marry for love?” It was something he himself longed for, but never expected to find. “You must admit it’s uncommon.”
“When have I ever cared for convention?” she asked wryly. “I know it must seem odd to someone as practical as you to think a marriage based on love would have any chance of lasting into the future with both parties still enamored of each other. But I have no desire to live my life in a marriage arranged solely for bloodlines or, in this case, to save my reputation. Yes, you must think me very silly indeed.”
“I think, in spite of everything which happened tonight, that you must be one of the luckiest people in England. If not the world.”
Lizzie looked at him, a hint of a smile on her lovely lips. “And how would you figure that?”
“You dare to hope, Lady Elizabeth. You see the inequities of society and hope you can change them. You see marriages built on a business contract formalized in a church and hope you can find love. You’re too intelligent not to know the odds are stacked against you in both social change and the nature of marriage – but you dare to hope. I find it quite remarkable.”
Lizzie stared at the marquess, really looked at him as if for the first time. The moonlight gave everything an ephemeral quality, as if they were in a land of fairies. She was in a place not quite real, as she discussed the nature of marriage with the previously cold and aloof Marquess of Riverton. But this moment seemed to be the only genuine one in her whole existence.
She knew she should say something, but didn’t want to break the spell. To go back to the world where her troubles were real. Finally, she spoke. “You surprise me, my lord. I didn’t realize you had the soul of a poet.”
Riverton was both touched and taken aback by the compliment. “You’re not going to expect me to start spouting Shakespeare, are you?” He looked around them, at the moonlit garden. “Although the setting wouldn’t be out of place in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“Would you be surprised if Titania were to appear?” asked Lizzie, truly smiling for the first time in hours.
Riverton caught his breath at the very beauty of it. “I think,” he said quietly, “that the Queen of the Fairies would pale in comparison to the vision before me.”
There was a moment of complete silence, with Riverton kicking himself mentally for giving so much away. He tried to lighten the mood.
“I wish you luck in searching for love in your marriage. I shall count myself lucky to find a woman who shares my joy of reading and is not too dreadfully disappointed by my avoidance of cats.”
“You don’t like cats?”
“I like cats. But they make me sneeze and, on occasion, give me welts. They seem to sense this, because they go out of their way to make my acquaintance.”
“Then I shall dislike cats on your behalf. But it cannot be too terribly difficult to find a bookish lady devoid of cats,” said Lizzie, as she made a point of straightening her wrapper, unintentionally drawing Riverton’s eyes to where the material stretched across her breasts. “Why haven’t you married? Or have you simply been unable to find an unattached Lady Willoughby?”
“Lady Willoughby?” He was completely surpri
sed by the question. He hadn’t given the lady any thought since leaving her at the end of their dance to go find Lizzie. Struth, he hadn’t given her much thought during the dance, either.
“You seemed most enamored of her attention earlier this evening.”
“I assure you there is nothing between Lady Willoughby and myself other than a shared interest in literature.” There had been at one point, but that was when Lady Willoughby had been between husbands, and based almost solely upon mutual physical pleasure. But he felt no need to expound upon the subject and ruin what was becoming a very good evening.
“Yes, I’m sure she’d like to show you her library,” drawled Lizzie.
“You are not supposed to know about such things,” said Riverton with a slow smile, warmed by the hint of jealousy in her remark.
“I’m not that innocent,” said Lizzie, then immediately blushed with the implication. “I mean, in practice I am. But I do hear things, you know. And I have enough of a brain in my head to understand at least some of the world around me. Oh, please don’t tell Liam about this conversation or he’ll send me off to a nunnery.”
“God help the nunnery. You’d probably have them organized and appealing for the rights of women within the week.”
“I hope it wouldn’t take me that long,” said Lizzie as she rose to return to the house.
They walked in companionable silence as he escorted her to the door. She turned to him as they reached it. “You never did answer my question. Would you prefer to marry for love if you could find a woman who admired books and kept cats at bay?”
He gave the matter some serious thought.
“I would prefer to marry for love. But I’m not one to love indiscriminately. Once my affections are engaged, I cannot see them transferring to another. So, if the woman I love isn’t available, I believe I would eventually marry for convenience, but….”
He looked into her eyes. She was so close. All he would have to do is reach out to touch her.
“But…” she asked softly.
“But I cannot think I would be fortunate enough to meet another woman her equal.”
Without seeming to realize it, she leaned in toward him, making Riverton catch his breath. She was so close. He might never have another chance to kiss her. And it looked like she wanted to be kissed. Very badly. He moved closer.
Then they heard the clearing of a throat, followed by a very proper “Lady Elizabeth?”
Heskiss stood a few feet away, with his eyes slightly averted. It was enough to break the spell.
Lizzie pulled back from Riverton and blinked. Then without taking her eyes off him, she answered the butler. “Yes, Heskiss?”
“Your aunt would like to speak to you before she departs. Shall I tell her to meet you here?”
“No, I shall be in directly.”
“Very good, my lady,” replied Heskiss, who did not immediately turn and walk back to the house, as both Riverton and Lizzie would wish it.
“That will be all, Heskiss,” said Lizzie, still confused by what exactly had changed between her and Riverton, but not wanting to have an audience while she figured it out.
Heskiss remained rooted to the spot.
“Thank you, Heskiss,” said Riverton, politely, yet firmly, when all he really wanted to do was throw the man into the house, via closed window if necessary.
“Shall I tell his grace you wish to see him, my lord?” asked Heskiss.
Riverton drew a long breath, praying for patience. That kiss was not going to happen tonight. If ever.
“No, Heskiss, I shall call upon his grace on the morrow. Good night, Lady Elizabeth. Pleasant dreams,” he said as he bowed and brought her hand to his lips. It was everything he could do to keep from kissing all the way up her arm.
But he was somehow able to pull away and continue toward the mews.
* * *
Riverton arrived home to find his ever efficient butler Jenkins waiting with a message from his mother. That was never a good sign. And he knew what it would be about. The Marchioness of Riverton’s cronies were only too happy to report on his every indiscretion. And she had spies everywhere. He was remarkably discreet, yet his mother usually knew exactly where he’d been and with whom. He suspected she had a pretty good idea what he’d been doing with them, as well.
And while she hadn’t attended the Tarlington ball, he had no doubt she’d already heard of his defense of Lizzie. After taking the note from Jenkins, Riverton went into his study, closing the door as he entered. Correspondence from his mother was almost never pleasant. He didn’t need a spy in attendance as he read this particular missive.
It had been a mistake to let his mother convince him to take Jenkins when he moved out of Riverton house, leaving it to his mother and two sisters. He had long suspected that Jenkins was feeding information back to the marchioness, but since so little of any note ever occurred at his home, he’d always felt it didn’t really matter what got back to his mother.
Until now.
Riverton poured himself a drink, then opened the letter. The marchioness had indeed heard of the night’s events and was quite upset. That might’ve explained the hint of smugness on his butler’s face when he’d given the note to Riverton. Not that Jenkins would’ve read it. There was no need for him to read the mail when the servants’ gossip grapevine was so incredibly efficient. By now, every household in Mayfair – above stairs and below – would’ve heard about Lizzie, as well as his part in the evening.
The letter was much as he predicted. His mother was overwrought, a state she tended to wallow in. She worried the evening’s events would hurt his efforts to woo Lady Isabelle Brockett, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Martin. Riverton could only hope she was right.
He had nothing against Lady Isabelle. She was perfect in every way. Beautiful, talented at singing and playing the pianoforte, a member of an old and distinguished family, and famous for never putting a foot wrong socially. She was much sought after, but Riverton had never seriously considered her as a bride candidate. Yet the match was pushed at every opportunity by both his mother and Lady Isabelle’s parents. The only reason Riverton was saved from an understanding from birth with Lady Isabelle was because his father had found such alliances distasteful, believing his son should make his own choice. Riverton had often wondered if that was because his parents’ own arranged marriage had been such a cool and distant union.
The type of marriage Riverton so desperately wanted to avoid.
His head began to ache as he read the marchioness’s letter. She was, unsurprisingly, most displeased that he’d made a scene, instead of distancing himself from that gel – Riverton could hear his mother’s disdain as she wrote the word – who’d brought disgrace to the house of Lynwood. His mother had never liked Lizzie because she couldn’t abide any woman who spoke her mind, especially when it conflicted with the marchioness’s own beliefs. The letter went on to list Lizzie’s unpleasant traits, all of which he admired, before reminding Riverton of his obligations to his mother, his deceased father, his two living sisters and a host of dead ancestors who would be rolling around in their crypts if he didn’t immediately bring a sense of duty and decorum back to his existence.
He was just about to reach for another drink when he heard a commotion in the foyer. The door to his study opened and Inspector Joseph Stapleton entered, with a dour Jenkins on his heels.
“My lord,” said the butler. “I told this person you were not receiving, yet he persisted in entering anyway.”
“How odd that you would say I’m not receiving when you didn’t ask if I was,” said Riverton, well aware of – and completely fed up with – Jenkins’s interfering ways.
“Well,” said the butler drawing himself up, “the hour is late and no gentleman would’ve called unexpectedly.”
Jenkins emphasized the word “gentleman,” because, strictly speaking, Stapleton wasn’t one. He was a well-respected inspector at Bow Street whom Riverton had met through Lynwood. T
all, powerfully built and with a keen intellect, the Inspector was near their age. He was a friend to both the duke and Riverton, despite the difference in the men’s stations.
Riverton turned cool eyes on his butler. “To make matters clear in the future, this gentleman, like his grace, the Duke of Lynwood, will have full and immediate access to me at all times. And there will be no need for him to be announced.”
Jenkins blanched at the rebuke, then quickly turned an alarming shade of red to think that someone like a Bow Street Runner should even be mentioned in the same breath as a duke, even if it was the half-civilized Lynwood.
“I apologize for calling at such a late hour,” said Stapleton to Riverton, quite ignoring the officious butler. “But I was hoping I might have a word.”
“Of course,” said Riverton. “Would you like something to drink?”
“A brandy would be nice.”
“Excellent. Jenkins,” said Riverton to the retreating butler, “do be so good as to fix the Inspector a drink, then you can retire for the evening.”
A clearly reluctant Jenkins moved to the sideboard, where he poured the stingiest brandy on record, then after a look from his employer grudgingly added more to the glass before handing it to a clearly amused Stapleton. He departed with an audible sniff.
“That was poorly done of you,” said Stapleton to the marquess as he savored his first sip.
“It was rather, wasn’t it?” said Riverton, as he settled into a chair and motioned for Stapleton to do the same. “Now what can I do for you?”
“I heard about the events at the Tarlington ball,” said Stapleton, serious once again. “Has Lady Elizabeth been harmed?”
“Thank the Lord, no. At least not physically. The social implications, as you might imagine, will be disastrous. How did you hear?”
“Surely you know how quickly news like that travels. I was investigating a break-in nearby and heard the servants speaking of it. I didn’t want to intrude at Lynwood House until I’d spoken to you.”
“They won’t have need of Bow Street. And you needn’t worry. Lynwood told his brothers to leave the lord in question in peace.”
Never Miss a Chance (Kellington Book Two) Page 5
