Never Miss a Chance (5 page)

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“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 surprised 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.  Tall, 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.”