Never Run From Love (Kellington Book Four) (30 page)

He’d enjoyed the physical aspect of the
arrangements.  He was a man of great hunger when it came to desire.  His bed
partners never had any complaints, but he sometimes wondered if that was
because he was paying them.  One of the reasons he’d been so hesitant to marry
was he feared a wife would find his attentions to be too much.  Especially
since he wasn’t the type to prefer a quiet bedmate who would think of marital
relations as duty and obligation. 

He’d heard too many sad tales of the married
bedchamber from drunken lords at White’s.  The couplings that took place only
frequently enough to beget heirs.  The gingerly raised nightgown, the dark
room, the separate bedchambers.  Since he was determined to be faithful to his
wife once he married, he couldn’t bear to think of such a sterile existence. 
What he needed was a woman whose needs matched his own.  Who would want to be with
him as much as he needed her.

And he needed Rosalind.

That was the painful truth of it.  He was in love
with another man’s betrothed.  Rosalind Carson had been bosom bows with
Elizabeth since his sister’s come-out three years earlier.  Up until a few
months ago, he’d looked upon Rosalind as almost a sister.

Almost.

She was four and twenty, of average height and average
build with perfect breasts that had drawn his attention from the beginning. 
She had brown hair the color of a rich smoke and remarkable eyes that showed
her intelligence.  She might try to hide them behind spectacles, but there was
no mistaking the life behind the glass.

She was unfailingly kind, but not one to be taken
advantage of.  She also had a keen wit.  He’d overheard her talking to Lizzie
about any number of issues from politics to great works of literature.  If
they’d been men, Rosalind and Lizzie would’ve taken firsts at university.

Rosalind was also a quick thinker and socially
adept.  She’d saved him from disaster on more than one occasion, as she helped
him outwit marriage-minded mamas.  If only she’d been able to avoid the same
fate herself.

Rosalind’s brother, the scapegrace Viscount
Worthington, was a veritable genius at losing money.  There were the usual ways
lordlings threw away blunt – at the gaming tables, in brothels and through
ludicrous wagers.  But Worthington almost searched for ways to impoverish
himself, whether it was through risky investments, expensive-yet-tasteless
fashions from Paris or buying purebred cattle that he hadn’t the first idea how
to drive.  The estate he’d inherited – which hadn’t been all that hale to begin
with – was being ravaged by his reckless ways, much to the displeasure of his
mother.  Not that she exercised a greater sense of economy than her son.  She
was known for throwing lavish entertainments, although even those had dwindled
to only the occasional ball because, according to the gossips, she was being
denied the credit she’d relied upon for her way of life.

Rosalind seemed to be the only member of her family
to show any economy.  Indeed, Liam had seen her in the same ball gown on
several occasions, although it was usually re-trimmed in a manner that would
draw the eye.  Not that his eye needed any enticement.  He’d found that every
time he was in the same room with her, his very being was drawn to her.

That was especially unfortunate, since her mother
had sold her in marriage to the Duke of Fallmoor, a man in his seventies who’d
already buried five wives, the most recent not eleven months earlier.  Having
sired only daughters, the aged duke was determined to beget an heir and had
been willing to bestow a great deal of money on Viscount Worthington – and his
loving mama – for the privilege of doing it with Miss Rosalind.

Liam’s Rosalind.

Whenever Liam thought of the situation, he bloody
well wanted to hit something.  He should’ve moved quicker.  When he’d finally
realized that his feelings for Rosalind were anything but brotherly, he should
have begun courting her.  Simply hinting to her mother that he was interested
would’ve prevented this abomination of a betrothal.  He would have been happy
to settle all her brother’s debts and buy her mother a house anywhere in the
kingdom, provided she was far from Lynwood Manor.  But he hadn’t said a word. 
He hadn’t been in time.  And now she was lost to another man.

At Lizzie’s wedding several weeks earlier, Rosalind
had traveled to Lynwood Manor with her maid for only the day.  It had been so
difficult to see her in his home, with his family and know she would never be
his.  Just the way she graced his house, the way her laughter could be heard
throughout the halls and her look of delight as the entire party had walked
across his land to the chapel had touched his heart.

He’d wanted to take her hand, to lead her away from
the life that awaited her.  But he was bound by honor.  He couldn’t take
another man’s betrothed, no matter how much he ached to do so.

At the wedding breakfast, he’d had more champagne
than was prudent.  And he’d made sure the footmen kept all the glasses full.  As
his brothers and sisters sat in the drawing room afterward, he’d pulled
Rosalind aside to show her something in the library.  It was there that he’d
done the most uncharacteristic thing in his life.  He’d kissed a woman who
belonged to someone else.

He hadn’t planned on doing it, although as he shut
the door after they entered, he’d known something would happen.  And when he
saw her running her fingers along the spines of the books, something inside of
him snapped.

Months of wanting came to the fore and he couldn’t
wait another moment.  He took her into his arms and his lips came down on hers
hard.  Crushing them.  Devouring her.  Pulling her closer to him as if to stake
a claim he had no right making.

But she was with him, an eager participant in every
movement.  It was apparent she’d never been kissed before.  And the part of him
that was pure bastard rejoiced.  Fallmoor didn’t deserve to be the first man to
kiss her.  So Liam continued to make love to her the only way he could.  She
was a fast learner.  She was shy at first, but quickly mimicked what he was
doing, then gave up
trying
to kiss and simply kissed.  It came from her
heart.  She was a natural.  And she had a hunger that was as strong as his own.

That’s when things escalated.

Without thinking, he unbuttoned her dress, pulling
it off her shoulders.  She groaned, then looked embarrassed.  He smiled and
kissed her again, even as he reached one hand slowly down her neck to her
shoulder, to the swell off her breasts.  He stroked them with the fingers of
one hand.  Lightly, back and forth.  She closed her eyes and leaned her head
back, exposing her neck to his lips. 

As one hand eased beneath her chemise to touch one
perfect breast, she bit her lip to keep from moaning again.  He squeezed her
nipple because he needed to hear her sighs, almost as much as he needed his
next breath.  Her reaction was everything he could have hoped for.

He ruched up her skirts, then lifted her.  She
wrapped her legs around him and he pressed the mound of her cunny against his
erection still encased in his breeches.  Her eyes opened wide and the shock was
evident.  He thought he might’ve gone too far, but then she tentatively moved
against him and he was lost.

He pressed against her while holding her.  She rode
him with a raw instinct that excited him beyond belief.  He encouraged her with
whispers and kisses and she continued to rock against him.  It was torture for
him when all he wanted to do was pull out his cock and thrust it deep within
her.

But she was another man’s betrothed.  The knowledge
hit him just as she climaxed in his arms.  As she rode out the waves,
shuddering against him, he stroked her back, hoping she hadn’t been too shocked
by what he’d coaxed her into doing.  She hadn’t seemed shocked.  She was warm
and passionate and loving.  She fit into his arms like she was meant to be
there.

Perhaps at one point, she had been.  But no longer.

As she regained her senses, he gently disengaged
from her and lowered her to the ground.  She wobbled just a bit and he reached
out his hand to steady her.  He didn’t want to remove it.  He wanted to go on
touching Rosalind as long as there was breath left in his body.  He wanted her
in his bed, by his side and in his life.  Forever.  But it simply wasn’t meant to
be.

As she set her clothing to rights with a dazed look
upon her flushed face, he adjusted himself and hoped his erection would
disappear before he had to see his family again.  Before he pulled Rosalind
into his arms again.  Because this time there would be no stopping.

He looked at her, and noted that her face was
suffused with the glow of their exertions.  He desperately wanted to kiss her,
but as they stood in the library where generations of Kellingtons had been with
their damnable honor, he did what he had to do.  “Pray forgive me, Rosalind,”
he said at last.  “I fear I forgot myself.”

For one long painful moment, she looked at him with
confusion which turned to hurt.  She obviously thought he was rejecting her,
when nothing could be further from the truth.  He wanted her more than any
woman he’d ever known.  But he’d been raised with a strong code of honor.  A
code he’d instilled in his brothers and sister.  A code that he was supposed to
live by as the Duke of Lynwood.  He couldn’t forsake it.  And, even more
importantly, he couldn’t subject Rosalind to the shame and scandal of a broken
engagement.  She had made her choice.  He must abide by it.

But, oh, how hard it would be to see her married to
that old roué, especially after what they’d just shared.

She looked at him for one moment more, then tried to
school her emotions.  She turned away from him, ostensibly to check her
appearance in the looking glass.  “There is no need to apologize, your grace. 
I was just as much at fault as you.”

He closed the distance between them in an instant. 
“Don’t ‘your grace’ me.  I cannot abide that from you.  Especially after what
we just shared.”

She blushed most becomingly and he ached to take her
in his arms once again, but this time to truly make her his own.  He wanted to
cross the line that would make it impossible for her to return to her
betrothed, to marry another.  He wanted to, but couldn’t.

They returned to his family shortly thereafter, then
she travelled back to London with Stapleton as her escort.  All Liam could do
was hand her up into the carriage.  Even now, he felt the light touch of her
fingers.  Even now he cursed Fallmoor for his extraordinary good fortune.

He’d reached his destination, the library doors of
Lady Elling.  She’d left them unlocked, just as she’d said she would.   Lady
Valencia Elling was a widow with a reputation for discretion.  Her much older
husband had died two years earlier, leaving her two sons who were now at Harrow
and a sizable fortune.

She was only three years older than Liam and the two
had known each other since he’d come to town a year after assuming his title. 
They’d had a mild flirtation before she married.  After the birth of her second
son, she’d hinted at a willingness to have an affair.  But Liam would never
cuckold another man.

But he had almost ravished another’s betrothed.

He pushed that bothersome detail from his conscience
and thought again of Lady Elling.  Quite frankly he didn’t trust a woman who’d
betray her husband, but she was no longer married yet was still a gorgeous
blonde with the figure of a debutante.  She was known for being a witty
conversationalist and he’d enjoyed talking to her at recent
ton
events. 
When she’d lightly touched his hand, then brushed her breasts against his arm
at a rout two nights previous, he had a feeling she would be amenable to a
liaison. 

He did wonder if she had her sights on his title. 
It was a consideration he had whenever he knew a lady was interested in him. 
She’d never expressed as much to him, but then she would likely be too wise to
do so.  He just had to be careful – both by using French letters to prevent
conception and to exercise discretion so the two of them would not create a
scandal.  It’s not that he had anything against Lady Elling.  He just wasn’t
ready for marriage.

Well, he wasn’t ready for marriage with anyone but
Rosalind.  He wasn’t sure he ever would be, though he knew he eventually had to
marry for duty’s sake.

“There you are,” came a whisper from across the
room, as he stepped into the library.  Moonlight shining into the windows
showed that the lovely Lady Elling was wearing a thin silk wrapper and nothing
else.  Her long blonde hair was artfully arranged to one side of her neck.  “I
was beginning to think you would not come.”

As she walked toward him, exposing bare legs beneath
the wrapper, his cock instinctively hardened.  It had been almost a year since
the last time he’d been with a woman.  Other than his interlude with Rosalind.

Enough of that.

He slowly walked toward her.  She reached up and put
her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against him, pressing her
feminine mound against his cock.

“Ohhhhh,” she purred.  “You are excited to see me.” 
She playfully moved her hand down his chest, to his waistband.  She expertly
opened the placket of his trousers and gripped his cock.  She stroked him a few
times, then slyly removed her hand.