Never Miss a Chance (11 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

There were some days when the sight of one’s butler – even
if he was most likely spying for one’s mother – was a marked relief.  This,
thought Riverton, as he wearily walked through his foyer, was one of those days. 
There had been hours of tedious debate in the House of Lords.  Stalford had
pontificated on the corn laws long past the point of actually persuading any of
his colleagues.  He had only brought his tirade to a halt once the men from the
news sheets had left the gallery.

Then Riverton had moved on to his clubs, in hopes of
bearding those colleagues who’d skipped the day’s session.   He was still
trying to get support for a bill to protect tenants’ rights, a cause that
wasn’t exactly popular with his peers.  And, truth be told, he’d been avoiding
Lynwood, who was only too eager to learn how Riverton’s pursuit of Lizzie was
progressing.

Riverton was rather curious himself.  The evening at the
theater had been enlightening.  He’d been heartened, but hardly surprised, to
see that Lizzie could handle his family quite easily.  There was no question of
who would be the victor in any conflict, but he couldn’t see anyone volunteering
to join his family after a night like that one.

After handing his walking stick to the ever curious Jenkins,
Riverton walked up the staircase, then turned down the hall to his rooms.  He
was greeted by a most astonishing sight.  His valet Stokes was hovering in the
shadows outside Riverton’s room.  Before Riverton could ask what was going on,
Stokes placed a finger to his lips then guided him to the opposite wall.

“My lord, there is a rather unusual situation which should
be kept quiet from the rest of the staff.”

Riverton waited for the man to continue.  Stokes looked up
and down the hallway one more time, then spoke again in the faintest whisper.

“You have a caller.”

“Jenkins said nothing about a caller.”

“That’s because he doesn’t know,” said Stokes with a smile.

“I saw no one downstairs.”

“That’s because she’s in your room.”

To say this was surprising news was a gross understatement. 
Riverton hadn’t had a mistress in more than a year.  And even then, he’d never
brought a woman to his home.  Then a terrible thought occurred.

“It’s not my mother, is it?”

“No, my lord.”

“Either of my sisters?”

“No, my lord.”

“Good heavens, it’s not Lady Martin come to press her case
for her daughter?”  The very thought was horrifying – for many reasons.  It
wouldn’t be the first time one of the ton’s matrons had tried extreme means to
persuade him to favor her daughter.

“It’s Lady Elizabeth Kellington, my lord.”

Riverton’s breath caught at her name.  He’d fantasized
endlessly about finding her in his bed chamber, but had never thought it would
actually happen.

“Is something wrong?” he asked his valet.

“I cannot say, my lord.  She isn’t aware that I know she’s
in there.  I heard a noise in your room, so opened the door only slightly.  She
didn’t see me since her attention was elsewhere.”

“What was she doing?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

“I imagine you can.”

There was a pause before Stokes continued.  And when he did,
it seemed the man was blushing.  “She was examining your night clothes, my lord. 
The ones I’d laid out.”

Riverton cleared his suddenly clogged throat, certain that
blood was rushing into his face.  Although how there was any blood available to
make him blush after so much of it had flooded his groin, was a mystery to him. 
“Examining them?”

“And, uh, touching them.”

This
, thought Riverton,
had the makings of a
disaster
.  Lizzie in his room, at night, unaccompanied – at least he
assumed she was unaccompanied, although with his luck, she probably had the
redoubtable Aunt Prue or Rosalind with her – was temptation incarnate.  But a
Lizzie who’d been touching his night clothes would be impossible to keep his
hands off.

“I didn’t want to disturb the young lady, nor did I want
anyone else to be made aware of her presence.  Hence my appearance here in the
hall,” said Stokes, suddenly looking like he wished to be elsewhere.

“Thank you, Stokes.  You have been of incomparable
assistance, as usual.”

“My pleasure, my lord.  What would you like me to do?”

“Keep Jenkins and the others as far away as possible, but
stay near yourself.  I have a feeling I may need your assistance when I escort
her home.”

“Very good my lord.”

As Stokes bowed himself away, Riverton wondered just when
he’d be escorting Lizzie home.  Good sense said it should be immediately.  But,
for once in his life, good sense didn’t seem to have the upper hand.

*                    *                    *

Lizzie was fascinated.  Simply fascinated.  Growing up with
four brothers, she’d seen a man’s bed chamber before, but never one that had
been this…manly.  Now, admittedly, she hadn’t spent any amount of time in her
brothers’ chambers since she was a young girl and she’d been sneaking in to
plant frogs, crickets and the occasional snake.  She hadn’t stayed long enough
to look around, and since her brothers had also been young, there hadn’t been
much to see.

But Marcus’s room was different.  The furniture was heavy. 
The chair in front of the fireplace looked big enough to easily support Marcus
twice over, which was remarkable, since he was by no means a small man.  It
looked like she could even sit on his lap while he was seated comfortably in
the chair, although there was a thought that didn’t bear thinking about. 
Marcus was too dignified to ever have someone on his lap.  He would most likely
call for a second chair.  Or allow her to sit while he remained standing. 
Although why she would sit and he would stand while they were both alone in his
bed chamber, she couldn’t imagine.

There was a table next to the chair, with an assortment of
reading material.  There was a book on agricultural practices, a history of
Rome and, somewhat surprisingly, a tome of Shakespeare.

There was a desk near the window, and while it would’ve been
the height of impropriety to read his correspondence – which she didn’t, in
large part because there wasn’t any – she felt it wouldn’t be that bad of a
transgression to see the quality of his paper (which was excellent) and how
neatly he mended his pens (quite well). 

There was a large four-poster bed in the room, with dark blue
hangings and matching bedspread and pillows.  Lizzie walked slowly toward the
bed, drawn there as if by lodestone.  She touched the deep velvet of the rich
blue material, stroking it unconsciously, as she looked at the bed. 

That was when she heard it.   A throat being cleared inside
the room.

Lizzie whipped around, afraid she’d been discovered by his
valet or another servant, then was even more disconcerted to learn it was the
master himself who’d arrived, shutting the door behind him.

“I do not recall an appointment with you,” said Riverton,
thankful he’d found his voice.  He wasn’t sure he’d have one, after watching
Lizzie stroke his very lucky bed cover. 

“This was rather an impromptu visit,” said Lizzie, quickly
stepping away from the bed and unsuccessfully fighting the deepest blush. 
“I’ve been considering your offer.”

For a moment, Riverton couldn’t figure out what offer she
could possibly be referring to.  Had he in some moment of temporary madness
made her an improper offer?  It would’ve been unforgivable of him, but if the
result was her standing in his bedchamber, then he couldn’t think of it as
anything other than his very finest idea. 

If she was referring to his marriage proposal, which hadn’t
been a proposal, then he was uncertain why that would bring her to his bed
chamber.  He was just glad it had.

“Do you mean my suggestion that we marry?” 

“Yes, your very unromantic, business-like ‘suggestion that
we marry.’  I’m here to say I haven’t yet made up my mind.”

“So you decided the best way to let me know you’re still
thinking about it was to come to my bed chamber alone at night, then spend time
fondling my night clothes.”

“I wasn’t fondling your night clothes!” said Lizzie, whose
blush was spreading down her neck to parts unseen, but surely delightful.

“You were running your hand up and down my bed hangings,”
said Riverton, hopeful the dim light was at least partially obscuring his
raging erection.

“I was only ascertaining the quality of the furnishings.  If
I am to be mistress of this house – and that’s a very big ‘if,’ mind you – I want
to make sure the linens are up to acceptable standards.  The sheets must be
soft, the pillows and quilts plush, the bed hangings...why are you looking at
me like that?”

Just the thought of what he could do with Lizzie between
those soft sheets with her hair spread out on the plush pillows was enough to
make Riverton near to bursting.  He closed the distance between them without
thinking. “And did you find anything wanting?” he asked, just inches away from
her.

She looked into his eyes and slowly shook her head.  “Your
linens are satisfactory.”

“Does that mean you’ll accept the position of being my lady
and mistress of this house?”

Her lips were so near, he need only lean in a bit to taste
them.

She turned away.

“I have yet to hear a proposal, which is quite vexing, you
know.  I can hardly answer a question that has not been asked.”  Lizzie
continued her tour of the room.

“And I can hardly be expected to pose the question when
you’ve just told me you’re undecided.  There’s quite a bit of pressure, you
know, in proposing to a lady.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, then turned to run her fingers along
the marble mantle.  “As if anyone would refuse you.  You’re one of the best
prizes on the marriage mart, as you well know.”  She looked back at him.  “Lady
Isabelle would almost certainly accept your proposal.”

“That might interest me if I had any desire to propose to
her, which I most certainly do not.  Only one woman sparks my interest. 
There’s only one woman I want for my wife.”

Lizzie stilled in the process of caressing a small marble
statue.  “Why do you want me for your wife, Marcus?  Why have you chosen me?” 

Riverton was at a loss for words.  How could he confess his
deepest feelings to this woman who thought of him more as a brother than a lover? 
How could he tell her how much he lusted after her without frightening her
away?  With his luck, she’d be married to Stalford within a fortnight if he
gave her an honest answer.  Just the very thought was enough to make him want
to smash the statue she still caressed, especially if it left her hand free to
find something else to stroke.

He said the one thing that was true and wouldn’t scare her. 
“You’re not like the others.  You’re not like anyone else.”

Something flashed in her eyes for a moment, then was quickly
gone.  “What do you mean?” she asked quietly.

“You’re intelligent and never hide it.”

“Only a simpleton would.”

“Exactly.”

“Your sense of justice is highly developed, although it
sometimes takes a lamentable turn.”

“I believe you just took a swipe at my treatise, which I’ll
ignore since the first thing you admired about me was my intelligence and not
my eyes, or some other part of my person.”

Riverton’s eyes raked her appreciatively.  “Did I not say
these were in no particular order?”

Lizzie suppressed a smile.  “You did not.  Which is a mark
against you for not being more organized with your thoughts.  And you the great
orator.”

“Let’s just say that with you in my bed chamber, talking
isn’t one of my priorities.”

Color flooded Lizzie’s face, but she didn’t look away.  “How
else am I not like the others?”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you discuss the weather.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I did talk about it the
winter the Thames froze over, though I’m not sure I’ve mentioned it since.”

“We shall classify that lapse as inspired by an Act of God
and, therefore, forgiven.  You will never bore me, and you care very little for
my title or income, the latter of which is substantial.”

“Is it enough to replace those dreadful bed hangings?” asked
Lizzie with a smile.  “Or perhaps the ones in my bed chamber will be more to my
liking.”

“You won’t have a bed chamber.”  The words were out of his
mouth before he could consider their effect.  And now he’d probably mucked it
all up.

“I won’t have a bed chamber?”  The words were barely a
whisper, as she looked at him.  Her eyes were so dark he could barely see the
green of her irises.

“I hadn’t thought that far….if you insist, you could
always…” Riverton breathed her in, the scent of lemon and freesia enveloping
him.  “No.  You’ll be in this bed, every night, all night.  Lying next to me,
beneath me, around me.”

For a split second Riverton wondered if he’d gone too far,
but then somehow she was in his arms and he didn’t know who had embraced the
other first.  It didn’t matter.  They were kissing and his hands were roaming
over her body and, more importantly, hers were roaming over his.

Riverton didn’t know what had brought Lizzie to his bed
chamber, nor did he particularly care.  All he could think about was the feel
of her pressed down his length kissing him with artless skill and an enthusiasm
that boded quite well for marriage.

She tasted like mint.  And when he pressed further into her
mouth and let his tongue caress hers, she sighed.  It was enough to undo a
lesser man.  But while visions of bedding Lizzie filled his mind, the thought
of what Lynwood would do to him if he learned the current location of his
sister was enough to make Riverton reluctantly break the kiss.