Page 6 of Not a Chance in Hell (The Chances #6)

March 17, 1840

T he clobbering on his bedchamber door should have been his first clue. The second clue, which followed swiftly after, was the shouting.

“Arthur Nelson, you come out here right now!”

The voice seemed very certain that Arthur was going to obey, and indeed there were harmonics in the tone that forced his spine to bend and made him sit up in bed.

Arthur looked around himself groggily, his pulse racing. Yes, he was in his own bed. That should have been a good sign, shouldn’t it? And no, there didn’t seem to be anyone else with him in here. Which was good. Wasn’t it?

Who could be so angry at—Arthur groaned as he looked at the traveling carriage clock by his head. Seven o’clock in the morning?

“I’m warning you,” said the severe voice of a woman unimpressed on the other side of his bedchamber door. “I’m coming in there if you’re not coming out!”

Head still hazed with sleep, hardly knowing what to do against such a barrage this early in the morning, Arthur clutched his bedsheets.

The woman surely didn’t think she was going to—

Crash!

The bedchamber door slammed open and Arthur jumped, startled at the sudden noise. Standing there, outlined in the light of the candelabra she was holding, was…

Arthur relaxed and rubbed his tired eyes. “God’s teeth, you alarmed me.”

“Good,” snapped the well-dressed woman, striding into the bedchamber and slamming a candelabra on the bedside table. A little wax overrun and made a stain that Haslehaw was surely going to complain about. “What on earth do you think you’ve been doing?”

Looking blearily up, Arthur attempted a smile. “Sleeping?”

His cousin brushed a lock of her raven hair from her dark eyes and glowered. “Arthur Nelson, I swear—”

“Yes, yes, you are very furious for a reason that I am sure will become apparent soon, and I am certain is totally rational,” said Arthur with a wry grin, some of his brain finally getting itself in gear. “Will you do the honor of breakfasting with me?”

Olive brightened up. “Don’t mind if I do.”

“In about an hour.” Arthur yawned, turning away and burying his face back into his pillow.

He deserved the whack on the shoulder, and he received several.

“You are wholeheartedly lazy and completely incorrigible and—”

“So exactly the same as when you last saw me, then?” Arthur muttered into his pillow with a grin.

It was all too easy to wind up his cousin. Thank goodness she had gone off and gotten married a few years ago. It had mellowed her out considerably and taken her several miles away at any given time.

Not that he wasn’t happy to see her, of course. She was Olive. She was his favorite cousin. She was his only cousin.

Whack!

It was just that she was best enjoyed, most of the time, from a distance.

“I will see you in the breakfast room in twenty minutes,” said Olive sharply, pulling at the bell pull beside his bed and sniffing. “Twenty minutes, Arthur!”

It was more like thirty, in truth, but Arthur thought he could hardly be blamed. It was half the time he had suggested.

“You know you are bringing even more disrepute onto the family,” his cousin said airily, as though they were continuing a conversation. She was buttering toast—or rather, adding a small amount of toast to a slab of butter. “It really is too bad of you, Arthur. Lady Lilianna Chance, of all people!”

Arthur sighed heavily as he sat and poured himself a coffee. Haslehaw had tried to insist that a footman do it, but no one did it right. “I truly care about her, you know.”

Olive snorted. “You hardly know her.”

The words stung, though perhaps more than his cousin could have imagined. She could not know, after all, that the same accusation had so recently been flung at him from Lady Lilianna’s own lips.

“In fact, I know a great deal about her,” Arthur countered. “She doesn’t like roses, or, as it turns out, delphiniums. Who doesn’t like delphiniums?”

His cousin’s mouth was full of butter and toast, so she shrugged.

“She likes routine. Craves it, as far as I can make out. Any change to that routine makes her anxious, it… it makes her brows pucker here.” Arthur gestured on his own face, smiling as he recalled her look of annoyance. “And she purposefully irritates me.”

That scarlet pelisse. She truly is a minx.

Arthur grew lost in the memory of that afternoon. The way she had marched up to him, the ferocity of her words, the way she had never pulled away, not really, from that kiss. Oh, that kiss…

Someone sipped tea very noisily indeed.

Arthur jumped.

His cousin grinned. “Are you telling me that after all those lovers I am not supposed to know about—”

“Olive!”

“Oh, you should have heard how my father talked about you.” Olive chuckled. “He always said that his older brother would have been very proud of you—”

There was a determined bit of grit in his eye, Arthur decided, and that was why it was watering so.

“—but you’re telling me that you have actually found someone whom you like? That you like, Arthur, not just someone you want to… you know.”

His cousin was flushing, which was most odd, considering she was a married woman, and had surely… you know.

Now Arthur was flushing. It was not a good idea to consider the fact that your younger and only cousin was no longer innocent.

Besides, her accusation about liking someone was completely wrong. So inaccurate, in fact, that it was laughable. Laughable!

“I don’t like her,” Arthur said roughly, pulling the stack of toast toward him and wondering if he could ask Cook to rustle up some bacon. “I need a wife to beget some heirs.”

“Did you just say ‘beget’? Who says ‘beget’ anymore?” Olive said with a scrunched nose.

Arthur sighed. “My point is, without heirs, there is no Earldom of Taernsby. I need heirs. I need a wife. I want her .”

Want her so badly I would consider actually getting to know her. Want her so badly that she is seeping into my dreams, making it difficult to concentrate.

His cousin sighed. “Well, there’s nothing for it, then. I shall have to invite her to tea.”

Arthur blinked. “To tea?”

“Do you think she would accept an invitation from the Countess of Barlow? She does not know this is your residence specifically, I take it?”

To tea? What on earth is she talking about?

“I can talk to her, find out more about her. Find out what she is looking for in a man, you see?” His cousin was watching him carefully.

Why, precisely, Arthur had no idea.

Olive sighed again. “You always were dense. Are you forgetting what we used to do when my Mama and Papa or your Papa had guests and we wanted to know what they were talking about?”

Slowly, a grin crept over Arthur’s face. “You wouldn’t.”

His cousin’s expression was resolute. “I got married, Arthur. I didn’t change that much.”

It was a bad idea. That hadn’t stopped him, and having Olive on his side truly made everything easier. Now Arthur came to think about it, he could hardly recall how he had managed to get Haslehaw and Cook to do what he wanted before her visit.

“No, over there,” his sister said carefully, examining the positioning of the screen with an expert eye, as though she frequently orchestrated plots of this nature. “There.”

Arthur snorted. “You truly think this will work?”

“I know it will,” she said serenely. “Now, get back there and be quiet. I know it’s an order you loathe, but I expect you to follow it.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” muttered Arthur with a grin as he disappeared.

He felt a fool. For twenty minutes, he sat there on a stool, hidden by the large, ornate Japanese screen. He amused himself for a while by looking at the elegant swirling patterns, the clever embroidery of the clouds, the figures who seemed so different, their clothes so colorful, their hairstyles unique.

Then he started to wonder whether Olive was having him on, whether Lilianna was actually invited at all, and whether this was all just one big jest to the countess.

Arthur was almost about to give up and come out from behind the screen, telling his cousin that she hadn’t won this time, when the door to the drawing room opened.

“—pleasant to make your acquaintance last autumn in London,” his cousin was saying, her voice growing closer and then a tad farther away. The sound of someone, perhaps two people, sitting on a sofa. “I’ve only just arrived in Bath and wished to renew our acquaintance. Are you sure your lady’s maid won’t join us?”

A nerve throbbed at Arthur’s temple.

“She often prefers to take her tea with the staff. May I say I was honored to receive your note, Lady Barlow,” came Lilianna’s voice, sharp, aloof, yet friendly. Arthur’s breath stilled at the sound. “Believing you were out of town for the whole of the spring, I did not wish to presume to send an invitation myself. I was not sure of your address in town.”

“And yet here we are,” said Arthur’s cousin warmly. “Tea.”

Arthur tried to shift silently on the stool upon which he was sitting as the sound of footfalls was accompanied by the clink of a tea tray.

She was here. She was here.

And somehow, that knowledge excited him, thrilled him in a way he did not understand.

It was ridiculous. He could not even see the woman.

“Tell me, what do you think of the crop of gentlemen this Season?”

Arthur froze. Oh, come on, Olive—is she going to be that blatant?

“I haven’t ventured out into the harvest,” came Lilianna’s dry voice. “I’ve yet to see much maturity in the growth.”

A smirk replaced the sensation of fear across Arthur’s face as his cousin’s laughter rang out around the drawing room. Honestly, Lady Lilianna was so… so clever. So dry, so refreshingly direct.

“Besides, what would I do with such a crop, place them in my barns?” Lilianna continued, mirth audible in her tone. “I’m not looking for enough grapes to make a vat of wine. I just want one perfect vintage.”

Arthur sighed, then shook his head at his own stupidity. Honestly, was he truly going to let himself get carried away by a farming metaphor? It was foolish. Silly. Outrageous.

Somehow, she had made it… perfect.

“I believe you were fortunate in your own year of choice, Lady Barlow,” Lilianna continued. “I congratulate you.”

“Yes, he’s a dear, to tell the truth,” said Olive with a chuckle. “And you are correct. It is so hard to tell precisely whether or not a vine has grown into something suitable.”

“The grapes on the vine can be… misleading,” Lilianna countered.

And that was when Arthur could take it no longer. It was beguiling, having her so close and yet her not even knowing he was there.

Well, that can be remedied incredibly quickly.

“My Lady Lilianna,” he said smoothly in his most charming voice as he rose from the stool and stepped out from behind the screen.

Olive groaned and placed her head into her hands. She appeared to be so embarrassed, she was actually glowing pink, but Arthur was not watching her. His attention was affixed on the other woman in the room, the one with her teacup halfway to her gaping mouth, staring at him with unmitigated horror.

He had hoped for delight, but any strong reaction at this point would do.

“May I make a suggestion?” Arthur said lightly, standing before them and wondering why on earth he was puffing out his chest in such a manner. “If you are concerned about the ripeness of the grape, why not have a taste?”

Olive groaned again and red splattered Lilianna’s cheeks.

Yet she did not look away.

Yes, this was wonderful! Exhilaration roared through Arthur as she looked boldly at him, refusing to be cowed either by his sudden appearance or the devastatingly insolent way he had spoken to her.

She is more than a match for me , Arthur thought with delight. No other woman had managed to resist such an onslaught, and yet she had not run, had she?

Was she remembering the last time they had been together? Was she thinking of… that kiss?

“My, my,” Lady Lilianna said distantly placing her teacup back on its saucer and the saucer on the table before her. “A distressed vine. Best we cut it off at the root, save it suffering.”

This time, his cousin snorted a laugh. Arthur glanced at her with what he hoped was a silencing expression, but it only made Olive laugh more.

“In fact, I am not sure we should grow this vine again, are you, Lady Barlow?” said Lady Lilianna, turning to her hostess.

Arthur watched as his cousin struggled to retain her poise.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said his cousin mischievously, shooting him a knowing look. “Scolding him for his impertinence never seems to work for me.”

“Very helpful,” Arthur snapped.

He should not have spoken that way to her, but it was most provoking. This was supposed to be a grand entrance, an opportunity to turn Lady Lilianna pink and quivering at the reminder that the last time they were together, his lips had been on hers.

Not a time for his cousin and the woman he wanted to bed to laugh at him!

“I think you owe me a kiss now, Lilianna.”

“L-Lady Lilianna.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

“You have not a chance in hell.”

Arthur cleared his throat, trying to both remove the memory of the kiss and remind the woman before him that he had kissed her, and quite thoroughly too.

Somehow, it appeared to work. Lilianna’s gaze dropped, her cheeks flushing—and that wasn’t the only part of her that was warming. Arthur watched with delight as heat spread like a tide across her décolletage. Oh, how he longed to touch that warmth, to feel it sizzle against his own skin…

“What were you doing behind that screen?” Lilianna asked accusingly.

Arthur swallowed. He hadn’t exactly considered how he would explain his sudden presence to her, and now he was forced to consider it, he was rather discomforted by the idea of telling the truth. He was not a liar.

So, where did that leave him?

“I was sitting on a stool,” he said helpfully, stepping forward and seating himself beside Lady Lilianna on the sofa.

His boldness was not rewarded. Without so much as a word, Lilianna rose, took three steps, and sat beside his cousin.

Irritation curled around his torso. Well, that was most annoying. Now instead of sitting beside the woman he would greatly love to undress and bury himself inside, he was having to look at her. Look at her sat beside his cousin.

Why on earth had he allowed Olive to convince him into this?

“A stool,” Lady Lilianna repeated dryly.

There it was again, that—well, arrogance, for want of a better word. Arthur did not understand it. She was the daughter of a marquess, yes, but he was an earl. Did they not have a similar footing on which to converse?

She was staring like she had discovered him on the bottom of her shoe and was considering how to scrape him off without doing any damage to the sole.

And then—there it was. A flicker, just a heartbeat of a moment. Unguarded, Lady Lilianna had met his gaze and it was fire and heat and need and longing and that kiss was surely just as top of mind for her as it was for him.

Arthur grinned. Lady Lilianna looked away.

“Lady Lilianna, you are acquainted with my cousin?” said Olive.

“Your—Your cousin?” Lilianna’s pert nose rose in the air.

“Yes, well, my husband’s and my townhouse is undergoing a bit of a… renovation at the moment. This is my cousin’s place. Other than my mother, he’s my only family, worse luck.”

“I see,” said Lilianna, her gaze still not finding Arthur’s again. “Most excellent of you to lend it to your cousin for entertaining this morning, my lord. I wager this must be quite an inconvenience for you. So much so, you could not bring yourself to rise from your stool in order to pay proper respect to a guest at her arrival.”

Arthur tried to hide the smirk threatening to stretch across his face.

“You know, when we were children, we were made to sit on a stool and think about what we’d done whenever we had been naughty,” said Olive conversationally.

“Indeed?” Lady Lilianna said, the coldness having seeped right back into her tone. “How intriguing. So, my lord, what had you done that was so naughty that your cousin had required you to sit on a stool?”

She was looking not quite at him, but instead just over his right shoulder. What was she afraid of, Arthur wondered. Did she realize just how much she wanted him? Was she attempting to ignore the blatant attraction that they shared?

Just how far could he push her into discomfort?

“It’s not, perhaps, the topic of conversation for elegant young ladies,” Arthur said, arching a knowing smile across his lips. “I wouldn’t wish to shock you.”

“I don’t think I can be shocked by your behavior any longer,” said his cousin with a challenging air. “Go on, then. Tell us. Tell Lady Lilianna and me just what you have done.”

Arthur swallowed.

Hell’s bells, he wasn’t a fool. He couldn’t actually tell them—he would be dragged by wild horses before he admitted some of his personal enjoyments to his own cousin!

And Lady Lilianna…

Arthur had never concerned himself about saving his innocence. For the men in his year at Cambridge, losing one’s innocence as soon as possible was far more important. It made a man of you, moved you from the realm of boyhood to the status of manhood.

The idea that he would wish to keep it for a particular woman, one he would meet in the future but had no idea whom she would be, would have felt outlandish.

And now?

Arthur cleared his throat. “I-I… I couldn’t possibly—”

“What are you afraid of, my lord?” Lady Lilianna said suddenly, an impudent air in her tone. “Do you think you will offend me?”

Damn, woman . “Not offend, no.”

“Then you think I will be scandalized.”

She has absolutely no idea, does she? No idea at all. “Perhaps.”

Lady Lilianna nodded sagely. “You wish to impress me.”

Arthur almost bit his tongue. Were ladies permitted to be so direct? He was certain it wasn’t allowed. “You know damned well—”

“Arthur!”

“—damned well,” persisted Arthur, ignoring his cousin’s cry of outrage, “that I wish to marry you!”

Any other woman would have gasped, perhaps clasped a hand to her chest. Others would have laughed, giggled, fluttered their eyelashes, blushed prettily, and told him to stop saying such things while inviting him with every ounce of their souls to continue.

Lady Lilianna did none of these things.

She did, however, lean forward with an intrigued look in her eye. “So you keep saying.”

“Yes, and it’s a little galling, to tell the truth, to have to repeat myself,” said Arthur hotly, trying to keep his temper under control and failing miserably.

How did she have such an effect on him? How did she do it, this strange intoxication that dulled his sense and heightened his senses?

“You expected to charm me at first sight, I suppose,” Lady Lilianna said, her lip quirking. “Expected me to throw myself at you, to accept you immediately in the hope that you would actually follow through on the wedding.”

“I would—I will,” Arthur began, but he was almost instantaneously cut off.

“And yet you have a reputation, my lord, you must know that. How many ladies have you bedded this year alone?”

Arthur opened his mouth, attempted to calculate, realized he couldn’t remember, and closed it again.

“You won’t tell me.”

“You wouldn’t want to hear it.” His voice was hoarse and he hated this, hated the power she had over him. He had never known this before.

“You are popular with the ladies, yet you are not popular with this lady,” said Lady Lilianna, now clearly entertained. There was a glint of mischief in her eyes, making them all the more devastatingly attractive.

Arthur shifted in his seat. These trousers would have to be let out, they were far too small.

Oh. Oh, of course. He was hard again. Damned woman!

“Popularity with you, it seems, is a far harder prize,” he said softly.

She evidently had not expected softness. Lady Lilianna blinked, clearly ready for a fight but not finding one.

“And yes, charming women has never been a particular challenge for me,” said Arthur, leaning forward to mirror her, his trousers becoming tighter with every inch they grew closer. “And none of them ever interested me as you do. You, Lady Lilianna. I proposed marriage to you and I will keep on doing so until you—”

“Give up?”

Arthur allowed a wicked smile to crease his lips. “Give in. Surrender.”

They sat there, not touching, just staring at each other. It shouldn’t have been erotic, but it was. Arthur’s pulse quickened, his breathing ratcheting up, and all he wanted to do was close the gap and taste those lips again, glory in the connection they started by the Fish Pond and would not be complete until he had her in his bed.

Even Olive could not object if he—

Damn. Olive!

Arthur’s eyes widened as his head jerked to the side, to where his cousin was seated. To where his cousin had been seated.

He blinked. There was no one seated beside Lady Lilianna.

“She left a while ago,” said Lady Lilianna quietly. Her breath blossomed on his cheek, they were so close. “You did not notice?”

“I don’t notice anything when I’m with you.” Arthur had not intended to say the words, but they were true. How could anyone?

When he looked back, Lady Lilianna was flushing. “You do speak such nonsense, my lord.”

“I wish you would call me ‘Taernsby.’ Or ‘Arthur.’”

“I am sure you do,” she said, a feisty spark returning. “But I am afraid I will not—and I must be going. My chaperone awaits in the kitchens.”

She stood up gracefully and Arthur shot up, picking up a cushion in haste to hold before him. Christ, if he didn’t calm down soon, he was going to have a real problem on his hands.

Lady Lilianna raised an eyebrow at the odd way he was holding the cushion. “Well, it has been… I will not say a pleasure—”

“I could give you some,” Arthur said in a low voice.

God, how he wished he could tempt her. But if Lady Lilianna had been easily tempted, some other man would have tasted of her before now. The thought was abhorrent. Arthur pushed it firmly from his mind.

Lady Lilianna leaned forward. She was going to murmur something in his ear. As she leaned, placing a hand on his arm, a jolt of need throbbed in Arthur’s manhood.

“I doubt it,” she whispered sweetly.

And then she was gone, striding out of his drawing room, leaving Arthur all alone.

For a heartbeat, he just stood there. Then he slowly, very carefully, lowered himself to lie on the sofa face-down. Then he shouted a few casual obscenities into the cushion.

When he looked up, Olive was standing by the sofa with her arms crossed and a frown on her face.

“‘Renovation’?”

“I may have asked the staff to rearrange some furniture.”

He didn’t respond.

“And?” she said lightly. “How did it go?”

Arthur looked up, despair and frustration his only emotions.

“That well?”

Without replying, he turned his face back into the cushion and groaned.