Never Miss a Chance (10 page)

“What are you saying” asked Rosalind, although she was
almost certain she knew the answer.

“I’m going to seduce him.”

“Lizzie!”

“Don’t be so old-fashioned.  It’s not unheard of for ladies
to allow their fiancés to take some liberties.”

“Perhaps a kiss would be all right,” said Rosalind
hesitantly.

“A kiss would be the absolute minimum.  No, I truly believe
this calls for an out and out seduction.  I just have to learn how the devil to
go about it.”

“As much as I would love to continue this intriguing but
entirely improper conversation…”

“It’s intriguing because it’s improper,” said Lizzie with a
broad grin.

“Be that as it may, I must be for home.”

“I’ll call for the carriage, but you must take my green
bonnet with you.”

“Lizzie, that’s so kind, but I cannot take your charity.”

“But you’d be doing me a favor.  I look quite sallow in it. 
The last time I wore it, Hal tried to call the sawbones to have me dosed.”

“Lizzie…”  Rosalind believed not a word of her story, but
her friend was already out the door and no doubt taking the stairs two at a
time.  She was going to push the bonnet on her at all costs and had almost
certainly ordered it in the first place only because it had been so long since
Rosalind had had a new one.

While Rosalind worried about her friend – and loved her like
a sister – she believed the match with Riverton would be a good one.  She had
no real basis for her supposition, other than the way they’d looked in each
other’s arms as they’d waltzed at the Tarlington ball.  There had been
something between them.  Something she’d noticed halfway across the room.  It
could grow into the strongest of bonds if only given half a chance.  She prayed
fervently that Lizzie would find the happiness in marriage she so richly
deserved.  The happiness Rosalind believed she herself would never experience.

“I had begun to think my sister was the consummate hostess,”
said the deep voice at the doorway.  “But while I’m not as versed in such
things as I should be, I cannot believe it is proper to leave a guest unattended.”

Rosalind tried to catch her breath at the sight of Lynwood walking
slowly into the room.  While the sight of him in evening clothes in a ballroom
could set even the most jaded female’s pulse racing, somehow he was even more
devastatingly handsome at home.  Especially in shirtsleeves. 

Perhaps guessing the direction her thoughts had taken but
without, Rosalind hoped, being able to read her mind, Lynwood bowed to her.

“Please forgive me for my casual dress.  I’ve been wrestling
with the agricultural reports from my steward and needed to gain at least a
modicum of comfort.”

Rosalind made her curtsy, then raised her eyes, only to have
them stall on his neck.  What was the man thinking to have removed his cravat? 
Had he no idea of the effect he had on the female sex?   While inwardly
grateful she hadn’t said any of that aloud, she was acutely aware she hadn’t
said a word since he’d entered the room.  She should say something.  If nothing
else, good manners dictated it.

“Pray do not worry about your state of undress, your grace. 
I assure you, it does not offend me in the least.  As a matter of fact, it’s
quite….”

Rosalind stopped herself just in time, for she was fairly
certain she was about to end that sentence with the word “pleasant.”  Even
though that seemed an absurdly tame way to describe how she felt in the pit of
her stomach – or somewhere in that region – as she looked at Lynwood in his
shirtsleeves, with that fascinating patch of bared skin at his neck.  Just the
thought of it was quite capable of keeping her awake all night, as she had been
a few weeks earlier when she’d almost waltzed with him.

She finally looked up to see he was standing directly in
front of her. 

“It’s quite what?” he asked softly, a hint of a smile on his
lips.

“It’s quite….” She moistened her suddenly dry lips.  “It’s
quite unobjectionable.”

“That is good to hear, although not quite as reassuring as a
man might wish,” said Lynwood as his lips curved even more.  “However…”

He took another step toward her, but Rosalind couldn’t for
the life of her imagine why.  This was a man she’d admired from afar for years,
even before she and Lizzie had become friends.  He’d barely acknowledged her
existence before that time and in the years since he’d treated her like a sister. 
But it was almost as if…

“Liam, what are you doing in here?” asked Lizzie as she
re-entered the room carrying a hatbox.  “Heskiss said you were holed up in your
study with estate reports.”

Lynwood and Rosalind both took a step away from each other. 

“I needed a distraction,” he said, as he walked to a table
and picked up a news sheet.

A distraction, thought Rosalind.  A bit of amusement.  There
was nothing behind his words.  Only the flirtation of a man trying to divert his
mind before going back to work.

Heskiss entered the room.  “The carriage is ready, Miss
Rosalind.”

“Thank you,” said Rosalind, as Lizzie took her arm and they
walked to the door.  At the last minute, she turned to see Lynwood looking at
her, an odd expression on his face.  Rosalind curtsied and forced a carefree smile. 
“Good day, your grace.  I hope you can find another distraction.”

She was out the door before Lynwood had a chance to
respond.   But as he thought about the extraordinary last few minutes when he’d
been surprised by Rosalind’s awareness of him as a man, a slow smile curved his
lips.  And, as he thought about her further, he had an even more surprising
reaction as his breeches tightened.   It seemed at first to be a wholly
inappropriate response to one of Lizzie’s friends.  But as he thought about the
fully grown woman in spectacles, with the ready wit and beautiful smile, he
realized his thoughts toward her were anything but brotherly. 

Strange, that.  But he looked forward to learning exactly
where those feelings would take him.

CHAPTER TEN

Arthur was tired.  Not because of the hour.  It was only
half past two in the morning and he rarely returned home before dawn.  As
someone whose livelihood depended at least in part on his skill with cards,
midnight to dawn could be described as his working hours, although no true
gentleman would ever do anything so lowering as “work.”

His state of fatigue, which seemed to plague him almost
continually as of late, could be attributed at least in part to the company he
kept.  It varied nightly.  It often changed hourly.  But it usually involved
three or more peers he’d been drinking and gambling with since university, if
not Eton, a comely lightskirt perched on his knee and a glass of spirits he
nursed, never getting quite as foxed as others thought him and never, ever
imbibing as much as the fellows around him.

You couldn’t control chance, but you could make sure you had
your wits about you when your luck changed – for good or bad.  Alcohol rarely,
if ever, made a man more alert.  It might be thought of as courage in a bottle,
but more often it simply lubricated the path to ruin.  Arthur had seen it
destroy too many men to allow it to take him down.

Although at times he flirted perilously close to the edge. 

Tonight, he was playing whist.   His partner was the Earl of
Stalford, an excellent player who never let his emotions get the better of him
at the table.  Which was why it was always wise to play with the man and not
against him.  Arthur and Stalford had played as a team many times over the
years, winning much more than they lost.  But despite their success at the
tables, they didn’t have much of a friendship.  Arthur didn’t hold anything
against Stalford.  But he found that after spending hour upon hour in smoky
rooms redolent with the stench of body odor and desperation, he preferred to
socialize with those who had no association with gaming.  That ruled out most
gentlemen of his acquaintance and more than a few ladies.

Arthur spent a lot of time by himself.

Tonight, he and Stalford were playing opposite Reginald
Colton, the reckless third son of the Earl of Blakemore.  His father’s pockets
apparently ran deep, because Colton always paid up promptly and, given his
rather abysmal skill, often.  It made him an ideal opponent.  Some gamesters wanted
to play only those partners who could truly challenge them.  As the third son
of a duke, Arthur had a greater appreciation for the sums to be made. 

Colton’s partner was Geoffrey Slauson, Viscount Carrington,
a man of too much unentailed property and an equally large opium habit.  Arthur
never began play against someone who was so inebriated he didn’t know what he
was doing.  However, if an opponent chose to become thoroughly foxed during the
course of the game, Arthur felt no obligation to stop playing.  

The four of them had just concluded a game.  Arthur and
Stalford were well ahead for the evening, which was fortuitous, since Arthur
was slightly down for the week.

“I say,” said the good-natured Colton as he opened his
sizable purse to pay his losses.  “The two of you are tough to beat.  I thought
we had you earlier on.  But it seemed like after a spell of bad luck at the
beginning, the devil himself was on your side.  Most extraordinary.  I’d like
to admire it myself, if I didn’t have to pay up so bloody much.”

Colton meant nothing by his rambling words, punctuated by
generous sips of his port.  But Arthur, too, had noticed how dreadful their
luck had been at first, then how it had almost miraculously turned around. 
Part of it had been attributable to Colton and Carrington falling deeper into
their cups.  But the luck seemed just a bit too good for simply that.  He
glanced at Stalford, who was watching Colton count out his money.  There’d
never been any allegations of Stalford cheating.  But, thinking back on the past
several times they’d played, luck had seemed to favor the earl more than
normal.

Funny that.

“Wait until I tell my friends about this evening,” continued
Colton, happily placing his money on the table.  “It isn’t often a man gets
that close to winning against Kellington and Stalford.  Ain’t that right,
Carrington?”

Carrington was barely conscious and probably had little idea
of whether he’d won or lost.  He probably had little idea, mused Arthur, of
which hell they were in, or in which country they resided.  Arthur’s conscience
nagged at him a bit for taking advantage of someone so heavily under the
influence, but if it hadn’t been him, someone else would’ve sat in his chair
and done it.  As it was, Stalford had been irritated when Arthur cut the play
short once it became apparent Carrington was slowly sliding out of his chair.

“How’s that sister of yours?” Colton asked Arthur.  He was
only slightly more sober than Carrington as he put away his purse.  He was
avidly watched by half a dozen whores and twice as many nearby men, most of
whom looked like they were planning the best way of separating Colton from his
money, whether through cards or in the alley.

“Lady Elizabeth is well,” said Arthur, as he gave a few
coins to the lightskirt who’d brought him luck, while letting her know with a
kind smile he wasn’t interested in any other entertainment that evening.  Disappointed
for almost a full ten seconds, she turned her attention to Colton.

“Don’t know what Lynwood was thinking, letting her print
that rubbish,” Colton said as he tried to maneuver his hand up his new
companion’s skirt.  The woman was willing, but Colton’s aim was off.  “Would’ve
taken a strip to her backside, had it been a female of mine.”

Colton was too drunk to recognize the change in Arthur’s
usual affability, as he turned to look at the man.

“His grace was thinking how remarkable it is to have a
sister of such compassion and intelligence that she wished to effect change. 
It is only to her disadvantage that she lives in a society which allows
drunkenness, reckless behavior and debauchery to go unremarked upon when
engaged in by men, but political activity to be abhorred when practiced by
women.”  Arthur briefly considered punctuating his point by driving his fist
into Colton’s jaw.  But he had a feeling someone else would end up doing it
later that evening, so he might as well protect his knuckles.

“Hear, hear,” said Stalford, tucking his share of the
winnings into his purse.  “I admire Lady Elizabeth’s spirit and verve, as I
made plain to Lynwood the morning after that rather unseemly incident at the
Tarlington ball.  I made my intentions known and plan to call on her once the
scandal dies down.  Just think, Kellington.  You and I may end up as more than
whist partners.”

“Looks like you’re too late for that,” said Colton, as
another lightskirt attached herself to him like ivy on stone.  “Hear tell
Riverton plans to get leg-shackled to the chit.  Which seems punishment enough
for the chit.  Riverton’s arse has been so firmly up his…”

Colton staggered under both the weight of the whores and the
effort of finding his way in the metaphor.

“….his own head as long as I’ve known him.  Take a strong
hand to the girl.  But don’t sentence her to a lifetime of that tiresome twit.”

“Colton,” said Arthur, “if you were not so deep in your
cups, I’d ask you to step outside for your insults to both Lady Elizabeth and the
Marquess of Riverton.”

Colton looked him in the eye, as steadily as was possible. 
“So, I’m too cup shot to fight, but not too foxed to play cards with? 
Interesting standards you got, Kellington.  Seems I have it better as an earl’s
son than you do as just the brother of a duke.  Come on, ladies, the night is
still young.  See if I can show you a thing or two you never knew before.”

As Colton staggered off with his eager whores, Arthur threw
back the rest of his drink, then slammed the glass on the table.

“Is it true?” asked Stalford, whose color had risen.  “Will
Riverton offer for Elizabeth?”

“I’m not in the habit of discussing my family’s business. 
And I don’t take kindly to having my sister spoken of in a hell, particularly
by her Christian name.  I don’t believe you’ve been asked to make free of it.” 
While outwardly polite, there was a definite edge of steel to Arthur’s voice.

Stalford must’ve noticed, because his tone softened.  “Forgive
me.  But I made myself known to Lynwood that my intentions toward Lady
Elizabeth are honorable.  I would like a chance to win her hand.”

“Best take it up with Lynwood,” said Arthur, as he headed
for the next hell before he got into the fight his body seemed to crave.  And
it didn’t seem to matter which man would bear the brunt of it.