Never Miss a Chance (12 page)

“Lizzie, this is neither the time nor the place,” he said,
unable to resist giving her another kiss.  Briefer than the other, but with
undiminished intensity.

“It’s your bed chamber Marcus.  I can hardly think of a more
appropriate place for intimacy.  Would you rather we did this on Rotten Row?”

“Actually, yes, because it would provide less of a chance of
forgetting myself.”

“But that’s what I want you to do.  I want you to forget everything
except this moment.”

“You don’t know what you ask.”

“No,” she whispered, moving closer.  “But I would like to
learn.”

He hesitated only a moment, then pulled her to him with one
arm around her waist and another caressing her side.  He tried to stay in
control, knew he had to retain some semblance of caution.  But the woman in his
arms, with the soft curves and the warm sighs shattered his resolve. 

Though slim, she was nicely curved, and as his fingers
skirted the side of one firm, round breast, he discovered how little of her
shape was due to fashion and how much was the woman he’d dreamed of.

He cupped her breast as he deepened the kiss, feeling her
surprise as he did so.  After a moment’s hesitation, she melted further into
his arms and pressed her breast into the palm of his hand.  And with those
moves, he lost all hope of keeping the state of his arousal a secret as his
pelvis involuntarily pressed into hers.

He caught her gasp, and just as he was about to ask if she
was all right, she pressed into him further.   He found her nipple pebbling
against the silk of her dress.  He teased the taut peak through her clothing,
then moved his hand up to caress the tops of her breasts at the neckline.

With his other hand, he swept her skirts up inch by inch. 
It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the two of them on their feet,
but Riverton retained at least enough common sense to realize moving to the bed
would not be beneficial to keeping their interlude to a preliminary stage.

His hand glided along her silk stockings, then rose above
her knee.  It slipped over the garter and he felt the smooth delicate skin of
her inner thigh.  His fingers continued to move steadily upward until they
found the slit in her drawers.  Lizzie tensed and pulled back from their kiss,
her lips an inch away from his, her breathing rapid.

“Shall I stop?” he asked, wondering how he found the
fortitude to pose the question.

She shook her head just the slightest bit.  “No,” she said,
as her eyes looked into his own.  “Please don’t.”

With his other arm secure around her waist to prevent her
from falling, his fingers pushed past the slit and through her soft, wet curls. 
She was coated in moisture and Riverton was as close to coming at this light
contact as he’d ever been.  He brushed past the curls and found the moist folds,
slick with her desire.  He gently pushed past to find the nubbin he’d been
seeking.

Her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted, she let out a
soft moan that went straight to Riverton’s groin.  His mind already had her in
his bed, writhing beneath him.  He was poised between her legs, ready to sink
into bliss.  He had to make her his.  Tonight.  Damn the consequences with
Lynwood.  It would be worth an appointment at dawn just to feel her long legs
wrapped around him.

“My lord!” came Stokes’s voice in the hall, accompanied by
an urgent knock.  “My lord!”

It couldn’t be happening, thought Riverton.  It had to be a
nightmare in progress.  Lizzie, warm and willing in his arms, didn’t seem to
even be aware of the valet’s knock, which could only mean pending disaster.  
Riverton’s fingers were coated in Lizzie’s arousal and a part of him didn’t
care what scandal was brought down upon their heads as long as he could
continue this course of action.

But just as he was deciding to press on, Lizzie slowly became
aware of the urgent knocking at the door.  From her rising color, it was
obvious she’d also just realized where his fingers were.

“Oh!” she said.  “Oh.”

“Indeed.  Just one moment, love,” he said as he gently
removed his fingers, kissed her lightly, then set her away from him, ensuring
she was out of sight of the door, which he then turned to answer.

There were many thoughts running haphazardly through
Lizzie’s head, or, rather, floating, since she still felt dazed from the
remarkable things Marcus had been doing to her.  But at the forefront of those thoughts
was the realization he’d just called her “love.”  Most extraordinary, that.

She looked up to find him standing in front of her once more,
looking chagrined.

“That was my man Stokes.”

“He knows I’m here?” Her languid and pleasant thoughts
turned to panic.

“He is extremely discreet and will ensure no one else knows
of your presence.  However, the distraction he put into place is nearing an
end, and while it pains me to say this, we must get you out of here now.”

“Of course,” said Lizzie as she walked toward the balcony,
her cheeks flooded with color. 

“What are you doing?”

“Going out as I came in,” she said, as she gathered her
skirts around her in preparation for the climb down.

Riverton looked as if he didn’t trust his ears.  “You came
in through the balcony?”

“Of course.  It’s not like I could simply enter through the
front door.  Think of the scandal.  I might’ve tried the library or the
servants’ entrance, but the timing on such a thing could be tricky.  Climbing
the tree was the only logical choice.  Going down will be a bit trickier, but…”

Riverton found himself torn between the horror of what might
have happened had she fallen and complete admiration for her daring.  Not to
mention the implication that she’d been highly motivated to come to his room. 
His already hard cock stiffened again.  Pushing aside his lust momentarily, his
protectiveness rose to the fore. “You are not climbing out my balcony.  And you
will most assuredly never climb back up it, either.”

“You haven’t enjoyed my visit?” Lizzie asked, her eyes
sparkling.

“I think you know exactly how much I enjoyed it,” he said,
unable to resist pulling her into his arms and kissing her again.  But as the
embrace turned heated, he reluctantly let her go. 

“Stokes has arranged for a carriage to meet us down the
block.”

“Won’t your coachman talk of this to the other servants?”

“My coachman is also the height of discretion.”

“It gives me pause to think why you value discretion in your
servants so highly.  Are you often visited in your bed chamber by ladies who
must remain hidden?”

“Not nearly often enough.  But I suggest we don’t repeat the
experience if you expect to remain a maid much longer,” he said, as his hand
slid down her back.  “Stay close to me.  We’ll take the stairs to the library.”

Lizzie followed him into the hall, where she could barely
meet his valet’s eyes.  For his part, Stokes gave her a quick bow and, Riverton
was surprised to see, a slight smile, then preceded them to the main stairs. 
As Stokes looked out onto the foyer, he signaled for them to stay back, as he
surveyed the scene down below.

“Stokes!”  Lizzie could hear a very irritated Jenkins
reprimand the valet from the entryway at the front of the house.  “What is the
meaning of this?  Come down at once!”

Stokes motioned them to the servants’ stairs before walking
down the main staircase himself, presumably to address the diversion he’d previously
set in motion.

“What’s the fuss Jenkins?” he asked.

“It’s Mr. Jenkins to you.  And I demand that in the future…”

The rest of the officious butler’s lecture was lost on
Lizzie as Riverton pulled her toward the servants’ stairs, then ushered her
down them.  They passed through a hallway and Lizzie thought they were in the
clear until they literally ran into a rather large older woman who smiled at
Riverton and curtsied.

“My lord, I’m making your favorite custard tomorrow…”

The woman trailed off as she saw Lizzie behind him, then
turned as if the picture she’d just passed was the most fascinating piece of
art she’d ever seen, despite having walked past it thousands of times during
her employ.  “Good night, milord,” she said to the picture.

“Good night, Mrs. Grantham.  I shall look forward to the
custard.”

Lizzie, by now a fiery shade of red, hurried past the back
of the woman, which was a tight fit in the narrow corridor.  After a few more
steps they passed into another hallway, thankfully unoccupied, then slipped
into the library, where Riverton shut the door.

“That was Mrs. Grantham, my very excellent cook.  She’s been
with the family for years.”

“I shall be too embarrassed to ever look the good woman in
the eyes.”

“You, embarrassed?  I shall believe it when I see it.  And
you have nothing to fear from Granthy.  Unlike many of the other servants who
served my mother, she’s fiercely devoted to me and would never say a word,
especially since she knows Jenkins would delight in bringing this news directly
to Mama.”

“That’s terrible.  Why would you keep a butler who carries
tales?”

“In part because he’s a useful conduit in spreading
disinformation, as well, although he doesn’t know I’ve ever used him for such
purposes.  And, truthfully, not much of note generally happens here, tonight
being the obvious exception.”  They were standing at the French doors.  “We’ll
slip out the back, then hurry through the garden to the back gate, followed by
a quick trip through the mews and out onto the street.”

Still holding her hand, Riverton escorted her through the
escape route, finally reaching his carriage moments later.  He ushered her in,
murmured directions to the coachman whose gaze had been carefully averted, then
climbed in and took the seat opposite her.

It was dark in the carriage, but there was enough moonlight
for Lizzie to see his eyes locked on hers.  He seemed even more intense than
he’d been in his bed chamber. 

“Why did you come tonight, Lizzie?”

She swallowed, but held his gaze.  “I know you offered
marriage out of obligation.”

“That is what you think.”

“That is what I know.  You’d never shown any interest in me
other than polite deference for your friend’s younger sister.  You thought of
me as a child until not long ago.”

His eyes held hers.  “I assure you I no longer think that
way.”

“I accept that my political actions – which I still stand
behind – have made marriage a necessity.  And, quite frankly, you’re as good of
a candidate as any and better than most.”

A bemused Riverton brushed an invisible piece of lint off
his jacket.  “I fear the phrase ‘beggars can’t be choosers’ is about to issue forth
from your rather delightful lips, but I must ask you to have some care for my
ego.”

That drew a smile from her rather delighted lips.  “I would
never say such a thing, not just out of deference to your ego, but because I
cannot bear to think of myself as a beggar.  What I meant to say was that the
reason I went to your home was to learn if there’s even the potential for
passion, or whether I shall forever remain a…”

Lizzie found herself unable to go on.  Unable to risk
finding out if her worst fears were warranted.

“A what?” asked Riverton gently.

“A burden.”

There was a moment of silence as he looked at her.  It was
almost unbearably quiet and the drive home seemed interminable. 

Finally, he spoke.

“You would never be a burden.  I have no doubt you’ll be a
challenge.  But I also know you’ll be a delight.  A partner.  And, I believe,
my salvation.  My proposal, when it comes, will not be proffered out of
obligation or in service to a friend.  It will be because you would make any
man a wonderful wife.  And you will make me a very happy man.  Finally, please
consider this, my dear Lizzie:  a burden would have her own bed chamber.  You
shall not.  Ever.”

The carriage drew to a halt.  Lizzie glanced out the window
to see they’d stopped a block away from Kellington House.  She turned to
Riverton.

“Ask me.”

“When?”

She sat on the edge of her seat, their knees almost
touching.  “Here.  Now.”

Riverton was surprised.  “I don’t have any type of speech
prepared.”

She smiled at him.  “This isn’t Parliament, and you’ve
already said everything you need to.  But I want to hear the question.”

Riverton took a deep breath, kneeled and placed her hand in
his.

“Will you marry me, Lizzie?”

“Yes, Marcus, I will.”

For one moment he forgot how to breathe.  In the next, he
wanted them to return to his house.  Back to his bed chamber.  Into his bed.  Their
bed.  He smiled, then leaned in to kiss her. A gentle, tender kiss, sealing the
moment. 

“You’d better go, love.  I’ll watch from here to make sure
you get home safely, unless you’d rather I escorted you to the door.”

“There’s no sense in letting my brothers get the wrong
idea.”

“I’m afraid they’d have the correct idea.”

“And I’d have a dead fiancé.”

The house was unusually well lit for that time of night as
Lizzie walked up to the front door.  Heskiss didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow
at her returning home alone late at night.  She hoped she’d experience a
similar lack of curiosity if she encountered any of her brothers.  But she’d
barely cleared the doorway when a small human projectile hurtled toward her.

“Aunt Lizzie!” said the little girl, just moments before she
threw herself around Lizzie’s waist.  “They told me to go to bed and I was
really tired but I said I couldn’t go to sleep until I saw you and now here you
are!”

Violet, known to all as Vi, was Lizzie’s six-year-old niece. 
Right before the Battle of Waterloo, Lizzie’s brother Ned, who was working as
an operative with the Foreign Office, had been trapped with Jane, who was a
nurse for the British.  One thing had led to another – none of it explained to
Lizzie, of course – and Vi was conceived.  Before either of them was aware of it,
Ned and Jane parted ways and didn’t see each other for another seven years. 
They were now married and deliriously happy.