Loved by the Lyon

by Cameron, Collette

  Kingston nodded his agreement. “We’ll make do for tonight, and tomorrow I’ll determine what needs to be done first to make everyone comfortable.”

  No doubt, he thought to bundle her and her servants back to Canterbury.

  In short order, everyone had been shown to their rooms, and the servants were busily preparing the evening meal, unpacking, or attending to the horseflesh.

  Vanessa stood in the center of the chamber she would share with Kingston. She’d removed her outerwear and instructed Daisy to wait to unpack her trunks before sending her below to assist with supper.

  Thank God, she’d thought to bring foodstuffs, for from what Daisy had relayed to her, there wasn’t enough in the larder to feed two people, let alone sixteen. No wonder the Barclay brood looked half-starved.

  Kingston indeed was in dire financial straits.

  She eyed the tidy bed placed beneath a window, matching bed tables on either side. It was the same size as her Berkeley Square bed, yet when she contemplated sharing it with Kingston, the thing seemed much, much too small.

  Or was it, at two inches over six feet, he was much, much too large compared to her five-foot-three stature?

  But, how could she selfishly demand her own room when everyone was sleeping two or three to a bedchamber? She couldn’t, of course.

  How can you hope to convince anyone your marriage has not been consummated if you’re sharing a room with your husband?

  A single, soft knock echoed at the door.

  “Come in,” she called, hoping it was anyone other than her husband. She wasn’t quite ready to face him yet. To suggest they move everyone to Helmstead Gate, post haste.

  He poked his head inside, a grin teasing one side of his mouth and a shock of blond hair falling boyishly over his brow. His eyes, however, held a gravity that made her nervous. “May I come in?”

  Damnation.

  “It’s your chamber too.” Filling her lungs with fortifying air, she waved her hand.

  He advanced inside and closed the door.

  “Kingston,” she blurted the same moment he said, “Vanessa.”

  “Please. Go on.” He gestured for her to continue.

  Summoning her courage, she clasped her hands and put forth what had been tormenting her for the past hour. “How will we convince anyone our marriage has not been consummated if we share a chamber?”

  He cupped his nape and gave her a long, contemplative look then veered his gaze to the bed, which dominated the chamber.

  “Vanessa. May I speak plainly?”

  “Of course.” She nodded. “I’d prefer you always do so.”

  “Yes, well…” He cleared his throat. “My parents always shared a chamber. My siblings will also expect that we do so. If we don’t, their suspicions will be raised. That is one reason I suggested you stay at Woolpack Inn.”

  So it hadn’t been to only hide her away.

  Or was it to protect her or protect his brothers and sisters?

  “But they would’ve thought me pompous and haughty and that I believed myself above them had I done so.” Likely, they already thought as much. “Kingston, you know what I’m saying is true.”

  “I’ll concede there may be a degree of truth in what you say.” His smile turned rueful as he skimmed that blue gaze over her appreciatively. “As for your worries about the annulment, a physician’s examination can determine if your maidenhead is intact.”

  Flames scorched dual paths up her cheeks. “Oh.”

  “Forgive me for speaking bluntly, but there really is no delicate way to say it.”

  “I did ask you to.” Vanessa hadn’t expected that intimate revelation, however. Brushing a strand of hair off her forehead, she wandered to the room’s other window.

  “Vanessa, there is another reason I’m against us sharing a bedchamber.”

  “Oh?” She cocked her head, trying to discern what that might be.

  Kingston’s clear, penetrating blue, blue gaze revealed nothing.

  He’d moved to stand directly before her, and Vanessa couldn’t break eye contact with him. A current hummed between them, scintillating and mesmerizing, much like it had that first night.

  “You see, wife,” he said, drawing her slowly into the iron circle of his embrace, “I feared I’d do exactly what I’m doing now. You are a temptation I cannot resist.”

  He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

  Vanessa wasn’t sure what to expect, never having been kissed before. But it wasn’t the spiral of heat and want swirling through her.

  She clutched at his bulging arms and kissed him back. She wasn’t sure if she was doing it correctly, but from his throaty groan and the way he gathered her closer to his chest, pressing his palms between her shoulder blades and at the small of her back, she must’ve done something right.

  He teased the seam of her mouth with his tongue, seeking entrance. She parted her lips to his exploration, and every bone in her body turned to pudding. Or custard. Or jelly. Or some other malleable substance.

  Loud, youthful, male laughter boomed farther down the corridor, and Vanessa sprang away from him, holding her fingers across her swollen mouth.

  Good God, what was she doing?

  Kissing Kingston?

  This wasn’t part of the arrangement.

  He tucked another wayward curl behind her ear.

  She caught a whiff of his masculine scent, as tempting as any aphrodisiac, damn his eyes.

  “You see why we cannot reside under the same roof, Nessa?”

  Had he kissed her to make a point?

  That she was so easily seduced or such a malleable ninny that all he had to do was look at her with that roguish grin tipping his mouth and his blue eyes smoldering, and she’d fall into his arms?

  His bed?

  Disappointment with herself at her weakness, and also with him for playing rakish tricks, wrapped around her heart. Anger licked her bruised pride no small amount too.

  Kingston had deliberately used their mutual attraction to prove their shared attraction.

  It made Vanessa feel naive and stupid. And hurt.

  She’d played right into his scheme, drat him.

  Spinning away, she presented her back, afraid she’d say or do something imprudent.

  Such as kiss him again?

  No. No!

  She’d not lose her head again. She would not.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll arrange rooms at the Woolpack Inn for you,” he said quietly, a trace of defeat and regret in his rasping tone. “You can send your staff back to London.”

  Hugging her arms about herself, she stared out the window. “No.”

  “What?”

  Vanessa faced him once more and shook her head. “I said, no, Kingston. I’m not staying at the inn.”

  She wasn’t some biddable servant or hireling to be shuffled off and sequestered away.

  “I beg your pardon?” Thunder flashed in his blue eyes.

  Vanessa filled her lungs and plunged onward, putting forth the suggestion that would solve all of their problems. “Instead, I propose we move the entire household to Helmstead Gate.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Helmstead Gate?” Kingston echoed, sounding like a damned parrot again. Why did he do that with her? Turn into a witless cod pate?

  “Yes.” Vanessa eagerly nodded, an excited sparkle in her eyes.

  Because she found Quail Hollow so lacking and couldn’t wait to depart for her childhood home?

  “There is plenty of room for everyone, including the servants.” Her enthusiasm was a palatable thing. “And the refurbishing and renovating of Quail Hollow would commence much swifter if the house is unoccupied. Plus, there is a ballroom and music room, and I presume you’ll want your siblings to, at the very least, learn to dance. And, quite naturally, there are other necessities. Their educations for one.”

  That mark hit home, an arrow straight to his heart, though he knew she hadn’t intended to wound him.

  Absorb
ed in her planning, Vanessa tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Of course, we’ll need room for seamstresses and tailors for sewing and fittings. Then there will be the various craftsmen and textile merchants, and they’ll require room to display their wares. I’ll have to send to London for paint and wallpaper samples too.”

  Blast her for being so intrepid and logical.

  Helmstead would be far better than Quail Hollow for all of the reasons she mentioned and more.

  She slid him a contemplative glance, a hint of hesitancy in her gaze. “Although, Kingston, I don’t think there is any way we can avoid multiple trips to London for the larger household purchases and completion of your siblings’ wardrobes.”

  They’d only just arrived, and she was talking of returning to London?

  He nearly shuddered at the abhorrent thought.

  She was far braver than he, by God.

  A journey to the city meant facing the gossips, tittering about his and Vanessa’s rushed nuptials. He’d already heard there were bets on the books at the Lyon’s Den and White’s that she was with child—not his child, the nasty chinwags—and had employed Mrs. Dove-Lyon to find her a husband. The gossip rags had labeled him a skirt-snuffling fortune hunter, too.

  But wasn’t that precisely what Kingston was being?

  Only he’d had the colossal good fortune of stumbling upon Vanessa—impossibly beautiful and innocent—at the Lyon’s Den, and like the selfish bastard he was, he’d seized the opportunity to spare himself humiliation and an undesirable stranger for a wife.

  And yes, he’d do it again without a jot of hesitation for his family. Pride didn’t put food on the table or a new roof on the house. Pride didn’t make amends for his neglect and selfishness the years since his parents’ deaths.

  “Your sisters and brothers can consider it a holiday of sorts.”

  They hadn’t had a holiday since he’d put on his soldier’s uniform and gallivanted off with a roguish wave and grin to prove himself a man. Then failed when it mattered the most.

  He would not fail those he loved again.

  Vanessa’s exuberant prattling brought Kingston back to himself. Already, she’d shown herself kindly and caring to his brothers and sisters, even when her welcome had been less than cordial.

  “And,” she continued without missing a beat, her voice rising slightly as she warmed to the topic, “when Quail Hollow is restored, they’ll return to a completely refurbished and finished house. As I’m sure you know, Kingston, construction and remodeling are trying, under the best of circumstances.”

  Which this most definitely was not. Not by any overreach of the imagination.

  “I believe residing at Helmstead would ease much tension, Kingston. It would also solve our bedchamber issue.”

  Of course, she was right, blast it all.

  Kingston’s concentration had been on the lands: planting crops and establishing a herd of prime cattle. Well, and assuring the roof was repaired before winter set in. Wardrobes, lessons, and furnishings hadn’t been his top priorities, though he conceded their importance.

  Vanessa, however, had promptly identified the need for so much more than he had. If she was willing to oversee those things, that left him more time to focus on the estate becoming self-supportive. There were new farming methods he wanted to implement, though God knew he lacked any experience for such matters.

  There were numerous books to read on the subjects—he’d acquired several while in London—and other landed gentry had successfully introduced modern techniques.

  Nonetheless, one uncomfortable thought niggled, wriggling around in his mind like an earthworm upon hot pavement. Just how much of his borrowed funds did Vanessa intend to spend on the other items she deemed necessities?

  That was a discussion they must have, sooner rather than later.

  A mouse streaked across the floor before squeezing itself into a coin-sized hole between the wall and floor. So absorbed in her planning, Vanessa hadn’t noticed the terrified creature’s hasty escape.

  Kingston made a mental note. Ridding the place of rodents was also a priority.

  “It makes sense, Kingston. Helmstead is only half a mile away. We can renovate the entire house at once rather than room by room, which is what we’d have to do if Quail Hollow is occupied during the renovation. And it will save money too. The laborers’ work won’t be interrupted, which means they’ll finish quicker.”

  She’d done it again. Faced facts straight on and made the most of the situation.

  Just like at the Lyon’s Den.

  There’d be no need for them to share a chamber either, thus removing the temptress standing a few feet away from his randy presence. Until now, his celibacy hadn’t been an issue. Simply thinking of that day, when Gabriel had died, was enough to shrivel his bollocks. But from the moment he’d held Vanessa’s hand in his at the Lyon’s Den, his cock had been at half-mast.

  “What do you think?” Eyes wide and beseeching, Vanessa nibbled her thumbnail. Her sign of nervousness. “Would your brothers and sisters object to a temporary change in residence, or would they think me presumptuous?”

  Yes, and yes.

  At least Dorena and Gareth would think the latter.

  Planting his hands on his hips and chin tucked to his chest, Kingston considered her proposal.

  Would his brothers and sisters really balk?

  To each having their own bedchamber?

  No vermin or insects skittering about?

  Heat throughout the house and servants to wait upon them? Not to mention plenty to eat and greater creature comforts than they’d had in a goodly while?

  An idea sprang to mind.

  He needn’t move to Helmstead Gate, even if the rest of the family did.

  “I’ll agree to move the household to Helmstead Gate on the morrow, but I’ll be staying here. To guard the place and to prevent any thievery of construction or other supplies.”

  That was a valid point she couldn’t bring an argument against.

  Vanessa’s face fell, but a heartbeat later, she squared her shoulders and angled her chin upward. “That seems wise. It also provides us with a legitimate excuse to not share a bedchamber that won’t give rise to speculation and gossip.”

  Her gaze slid to the bed, and a becoming flush stole up her face.

  “We should probably go below. I’m sure dinner is nearly ready.” She moved toward the door with the regal grace of a queen.

  “Vanessa?”

  Her fingers on the handle, she half-turned toward him. “Yes?”

  In a few swift strides, he stood before her and cupped her shoulders. At once, the yearning to pull her into his embrace again engulfed him.

  Kingston had vowed to God, to Gabriel, and to himself that he’d never again yield to passion’s seducing allure.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you, Nessa, but I don’t regret it. I must, however, make certain it never happens again. I pledge an oath to you that I mean to keep. I never intended to marry, but circumstances made it a necessity. I want you to know, it isn’t because I don’t desire you, or that I don’t believe you would make an exceptional wife. However, I swore an oath some time ago that I cannot break.”

  What oath?

  The unspoken question flashed in her eyes. Her mouth parted, and her warm honey gaze drifted to his mouth.

  Desire bolted through Kingston, and his cock surged against his pantaloons.

  Placing her palm against his cheek, Vanessa bent her rosebud of a mouth into a soft smile.

  God, how he wanted to turn his face and press his lips into her soft hand. To run the tip of his tongue over the creases and taste her.

  “Lest you forget, I kissed you too, Kingston. I wanted to from that first night I saw you at the Lyon’s Den.”

  She’d felt that spark ignite between them too?

  Vanessa rolled her shoulders, and Kingston released her.

  “Now that our curiosity has been satisfied,” she said, “we can move forwar
d with our original plan.” She sounded less than enthusiastic despite her composed proclamation.

  Curiosity?

  It was a damn sight more than curiosity.

  She pressed the latch, and as she stepped through the door frame, she said, “We both expect this union will be annulled, but it’s a relief to know that if God forbid, it cannot be, we’d get on well together. We like and respect each other, and our kiss merely proves we are… compatible in other ways, too.”

  What a tame, wholly insufficient way to describe the conflagration that had erupted between them from that all too brief kiss. Vanessa had absolutely no idea how close she’d come to becoming his wife in truth a few minutes ago.

  His heated blood still hummed with the want of her. To discover if she smelled of jasmine and verbena everywhere. The soft cleft of her elbow or behind her knees. The dimples of her lithe lower back. The ivory and rose of her breasts.

  “Six months, Vanessa. Only half a year with no additional attachments or complications.”

  Kingston deliberately kept any inflection out of his tone. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement as long as they adhered to the predetermined parameters.

  That’s horse shite, and you know it, Kingston Armond Joshua Kennedy Barclay.

  It was true.

  It had stopped being purely a business arrangement the instant Vanessa had floated into the drawing room on their wedding day. Before that, if he were candid with himself. He’d wanted to marry her and claim Vanessa Becket as his own for now and always.

  “Contracts are often amended,” she ventured huskily, her guileless cognac gaze boring into his.

  Not theirs.

  Kingston couldn’t take that chance, for he knew beyond a doubt, he’d take her to his bed and worship her body with his, perhaps even claim her heart, as his was well onto being hers. The secret of what happened to Gabriel would forever be between them. He’d despise himself for not telling her the godawful truth. The dread, the genuine fear she’d leave and take any children they’d created together with her would always stalk him like a dark phantom.

  “I regret that’s not possible. We’ll adhere to what we agreed to, Vanessa. I shall concede to permit my family to reside at Helmstead Gate, but I’ll sleep here.”