Page 8 of Not a Chance in Hell (The Chances #6)

March 23, 1840

T he hammering on the door was most irritating, and worst of all, it did not appear to be ceasing.

“Haslehaw?” Arthur poked his head out of his study door and peered about the hallway.

It was the butler’s job to answer the door. He did not have to have been born and raised to inherit an earldom to know that—it was how it had always been. For his father, and his brother, and he had presumed also for him.

So why was this incessant knocking continuing?

“Haslehaw?” Arthur repeated the name but louder this time, wincing as a particularly hard knock hammered on the door.

Really, it was most provoking. Whoever needed to see him that badly? Irritatingly, he could not ignore it, his study being right at the front of the house.

“Is anyone going to answer that door?”

There was not only no answer to the door, but no answer to his question.

Sighing heavily and rubbing his brow with tiredness—who knew that being an earl required so much paperwork?—Arthur strode across the hall and wrenched open the door. “What do you—Lilianna.”

The woman—alone, again, the devious minx—glared up from the step, a fury the likes of which he had never seen before painted across her face.

If it hadn’t been so arousing, Arthur would have grinned. She’s here.

“You!” she snapped, painfully obviously less delighted to see him than he was to see her. “You!”

Ah. His attempt to soothe the beautiful beast had not gone to plan, then.

“Why don’t we have this conversation inside?” he suggested hastily, glancing along the street.

Yes, as expected, there were plenty of people wandering the streets of Bath at this hour, and all of them were about to gain front-row seats of the spectacle that was himself attempting to court Lady Lilianna Chance. Without a chaperone in sight. The brim of her bonnet hung low over her face, as if an attempt to disguise herself had been made, but he doubted there were many who would look this way and not realize exactly who she was. He certainly would recognize her at a glance.

It isn’t going badly, exactly , thought Arthur feverishly as she continued to berate him at the top of her lungs. Could a thing be described as going badly if it wasn’t going at all?

“—the cheek. I thought even you would not lower yourself to—”

And it had started to finally go well. At least, that was what he had thought upon returning home from the Daltons’ card party. How could he think otherwise? The way she had nearly pinned him against the wall, it had been enough to require half an hour sitting in a freezing-cold bath before going to bed.

“—could not have believed you would deign to—”

And now she was standing by his front door, shouting at him. Arthur blinked, centering himself and allowing his instincts to take over.

That was what he needed. Less thought, more action.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing her arm.

He should have known that was a mistake.

“How dare you lay a hand on me?!”

“As far as I can remember, the last person to lay a hand on me was you !” Arthur pointed out, pulling her forward.

He was stronger than her, much stronger. Trying not to think about how delicate she was, how desperate he was to protect someone like her, even from herself, Arthur dragged her a few feet into the hall then slammed the door behind them.

As though summoned by the presence of a lack of work, Haslehaw appeared. “Did I hear someone knocking at the door?”

Lilianna ignored the butler entirely. “How dare you abduct me?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I haven’t abducted you, I’ve—well, I’ve dragged you into my house.”

“Against my will!”

“Ah, will the lady be staying for tea?” asked Haslehaw brightly.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered what he had done to deserve this. Well, actually, now he thought about it, the bedding of Lady Kimberton had been particularly dastardly… and he had made vague sorts of promises to Miss Halifax—or had that been her sister? In the dark, it could have been either.

Fine. Fine, he might deserve this. Damn it.

“Release me forthwith, you beast!”

“Not until you tell me what you are yelling about,” Arthur snapped.

“I think Cook has some cake somewhere,” said the butler quietly.

“And another thing!” Lilianna said sharply, clearly preparing herself for another verbal onslaught. “I have never… never seen…”

Arthur stared. For some reason, the woman’s tongue appeared to have halted. Her eyes were wide and she was staring around herself in complete wonder.

What is going on?

“My lord?”

Well, at least that was one problem that he could solve. “Haslehaw?” Arthur said sweetly. “Go away.”

By now the older man was growing accustomed to his rudeness. And to his master being alone with unchaperoned women. The servant hardly batted an eyelid as he bowed. “Of course, my lord.”

“There.” Arthur heaved, shaking his head slightly and turning back to the first problem. His first problem. His woman. No, that quite yet. “Now, what were you shouting about?”

It looked like his words could not quite reach her. Lilianna’s lips had parted, and as they were now alone, Arthur permitted himself to look at them. Cherub lips, pink and wet from all her shouting. Desperately crying out to him to be kissed. Really, it was a shame that they had been unkissed for so long.

That was, assuming that Lady Lilianna Chance had not been kissing anyone else in the meantime.

Fiery rage flared and was hastily dampened. Arthur could not permit himself to lose control, or lose focus. He had to try to get somewhere with this hoyden.

“It’s… It’s beautiful.”

Arthur blinked. “I am?”

Her expression sharpened and she scoffed as she threw a hand to gesture around the room. “Not you, you dolt. Last time, I left hastily, and I never had a chance to look around outside the drawing room. I didn’t notice… this.”

This. This?

Arthur looked around him, searching for the beautiful whatever-it-was that Lilianna was looking at. Her rapt expression suggested it was something truly delightful, but for the life of him, he could not spot what it was.

He glanced at her, stomach lurching at the expression of wonder. It was such… Not innocence. That wasn’t the right word. At least, she was innocent, but the look wasn’t.

It was… desire. Not for a man, but for pretty things.

Arthur attempted to look around through her eyes. What could she have been looking at?

Well, the stained glass windows around the front door certainly made the light magical in here. And the lantern light at the top, yes, that was unusual. Perhaps it was the marble; the blue threaded with white and gold was scarce, his great-grandfather had gone to a great deal of trouble to find that. Or perhaps it was the painting. The paintings. Most of the Rubenses were in the country house, of course, but there were sufficient here to ensure that guests and visitors knew of the estate’s wealth.

Arthur tilted his head. Was that it? Pretty architecture, nice paintings? “You like it?”

He had not intended his voice to be so low, but somehow, speaking any louder would break the magic of the moment.

Lilianna nodded, her eyes still wide.

A smile crept across Arthur’s face and he had intended it to be teasing, but when he spoke he was astonished to hear the genuineness in his voice. “It could all be yours, you know, Lilianna.”

Whether it was what he said or how he’d said it, the moment was broken.

Lilianna shook her head, as though ridding her ears of water. Then her attention fell on him and it sharpened. “What does this mean?” she snapped, as though she had not just lost herself in a reverie for several minutes.

Arthur stared. “What does what mean?”

Her frown was so beautiful, he wondered how he managed not to kiss her. “Don’t be so obtuse.”

“Well, pardon me for being berated in my own home about something that I don’t understand!” he said, unable to prevent himself from laughing. “Honestly, Lilianna, what are you implying?”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

Arthur’s mischievous nature sparked, and before he could stop himself, he returned, “Whatever you say, Countess.”

Lilianna had been about to say something, but puzzlement appeared to overcome her. “Countess? That’s my aunt. I am not a countess!”

“Not yet,” said Arthur boldly. “Give it time.”

He allowed the hunger he felt for her to rise in his expression. Just for a moment. A heartbeat of unrestrained desire, of lust pouring through his eyes and—

Lilianna took a hasty step backward, her cheeks scarlet. “Y-You can’t look at me like that.”

“I can look at you any way I wish,” Arthur said quietly, silently rejoicing at the immense effect his passion had riled in her. “It’s touching that I shouldn’t be doing.”

He saw the movement, even if she didn’t feel it. Her fingers, they twitched. Twitched away from? Or toward ?

Lilianna looked away at her reticule, which she opened with fumbling fingers. God, he loved to see the evidence of the effect he was having on her. Why was she fighting it? Why couldn’t she just accept that he was ready to marry her within days, if they could manage the license?

“This,” she said curtly. “This.”

She’d taken a piece of paper from her reticule. Arthur recognized it immediately.

“You don’t like my letter?”

Lilianna proffered it to him, but Arthur refused to take it. “I sent that to you. You are the intended recipient.”

“I am returning it to sender,” she snapped. “I don’t—I didn’t expect—you can’t send me a letter!”

“I know we’re not engaged, but whose fault is that?”

She ignored him. “And you can’t send me a letter like… like this!” Lilianna said, her cheeks so red, Arthur rather wondered whether they weren’t burning.

“A letter like this.”

Well, he probably should not have sent it. It was an intense thing to do with a mistress, and Lilianna was certainly no man’s mistress.

In a flash, an image appeared in Arthur’s mind that he could not immediately quell. Lady Lilianna Chance, but not as she was standing here before him. No, this Lilianna was naked. Her imagined swells and curves had a very real effect on his body and Arthur grimaced, trying to control the lust that threatened to overtake him.

“Taernsby?”

Arthur swallowed. “I like it when you call me that.”

“Oh, hell,” muttered Lilianna, dropping her gaze. It lifted again almost immediately. “I suppose I am one of several women to receive such… such obscenities?”

“You think I would do such a thing?” Arthur had not intended his voice to be so broken, so cracked, but the accusation had stung far more than he had expected.

His pain must have been obvious. Lilianna hesitated, her hand holding the letter lowering to her side. “I… I just… I thought—”

“You thought I could write these words to anyone but yourself?” Arthur snatched the letter from her unresisting hand and unfolded it, hardly knowing what he was doing. “‘Dear Lilianna—’”

“Don’t read it!”

“‘It has been several hours since I have last seen you, and each one has been more painful than the last,’” he continued doggedly, lowering his voice but refusing to halt. Lilianna’s eyes did not leave him as he spoke. “‘Your beauty is beyond any other woman’s and I will be desolate if you do not accept me—’”

“Taernsby.”

“‘—as your husband,’” Arthur read aloud, his pulse throbbing in his ears as he approached the part he knew she was most mortified by. The part he could hardly believe he had committed to writing. “‘Because as your husband, I will give you such pleas—’”

“Don’t.”

And he halted.

He was panting as though he’d run a mile, his fists itching as though he needed to fight his way through a brawl, and he wanted—

He wanted her. Arthur wanted Lilianna to listen to him, to actually believe him when he read aloud what he had written at some godawful time in the morning.

Her eyes were closed. Her beautiful eyes were hidden from him and to Arthur’s horror, he saw he had gone too far.

Oh, hell. This courting thing is harder than it looks.

“Why are you doing this?” Lilianna spoke quietly as she opened her eyes, brilliant with unshed tears. “I don’t—I don’t understand. No man has ever—”

“Just because no man has told you of his desire,” Arthur returned just as quietly, “that does not mean he has not felt it. And what I feel for you…”

“You don’t know me. Why is this happening? What do you want?”

He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, though discomfort rested. Why was he like this? Why not be honest with her? Why pursue a woman who so clearly did not wish to be pursued?

But revealing that would be revealing a part of himself. The portcullis came back down. “Is it too much to presume that someone is attracted to you?”

Arthur had expected her to retreat another step, but this time, Lilianna stood her ground.

“Attracted to my b-body.”

“Attracted to you ,” he amended.

Lilianna shook her head. “Attracted to the Chance name, perhaps.”

“Is it too much to think that someone would want you for you? Would kiss you for you?”

His words echoed around the marble hall and so too did her gasp.

She was thinking about the kiss. Their kiss. Arthur could see it in her eyes, the soft, molten look that he had only seen once before on Lady Lilianna Chance’s expression. He had presumed the kiss would be sufficient, make her see, feel how much he wanted her—but all it appeared to have done was cloud the issue.

He could do more.

Arthur swallowed, his jaw tightening. If she were just some woman he desired, he would have done more by now. Pinned her to a sofa or a wall and kissed all the way down those perfect breasts and nestled his face between her thighs and—

But this wasn’t just some woman. This was Lilianna. Hang the Chance name, she could have been from any family well-bred enough to be a Nelson bride.

She was Lilianna. And he would not touch her, not to convince her to accept him. Arthur may not have liked the thought, but he could not deny it.

He wanted her to say yes to him, not to what his fingers or tongue could do.

“Lilianna,” he whispered.

“I don’t know what you want,” she said suddenly, her shoulders slumping, a true vulnerability coming over her that was almost painful to see. “What do you want, Taernsby?”

Arthur stared. What did he want? He wanted… He wanted her. He wanted to possess her, own her, keep her with him every day for stolen intimacy and every night for slow, luxurious pleasure-giving.

He wanted to know she was his. For her to know that, for the world to know that no one could even look at her without his permission.

And that scared him. That possessiveness, that need to own her, where had it come from?

What would it make him do?

There was only one way to combat it, and though bile rose in his throat at the mere thought, Arthur forced himself to speak. “Come with me. I… I want to show you something.”

He did not grab hold of her this time. This was a conversation she had to come to willingly. If there was any sort of coercion, it would be tainted somehow. Ruined.

And so he turned on his heels and started to walk toward the staircase.

For a moment, only his steps echoed on the marble. Then, as he placed his foot on the first step, a second pair joined him.

“Where are we going?” Lilianna said stiffly as she walked beside him up the staircase. “If—If this is a ruse just to get me in your bedchamber—”

“Who says I would need a bedchamber?” Arthur returned. “A man can ruin a woman anywhere, if he knows what he’s doing.”

It was the wrong thing to say—too rough, too coarse. She was all softness and smooth, like silk that had been left out in the sun.

God damn, but he needed to get a grip on himself.

No, not that sort of grip…

“Here,” he said aloud. “Gallery.”

It appeared his brain was only permitting him to say single-word sentences at the moment, and perhaps that was all to the good. He did not appear to have made much progress with his longwinded speeches, after all.

Lilianna looked curiously along the long corridor. “A portrait gallery?”

Arthur nodded, hating how swiftly she was able to undo him. Perhaps that was why he wanted her. Possessing her would mean that she could not possess him. “Nelsons. Earls. Taernsby.”

His foolish mono-word sentences aside, Lilianna appeared to understand. She started to walk down the long gallery, still dressed for the outdoors—bonnet, pelisse, and all, as if ready to escape at any moment. She paused at some paintings more than others, though he could not see any particular rhyme or reason for her choices.

By the time Arthur and his guest had reached his grandfather, his pulse was painfully quick. Surely, a man’s heart should not have been beating like this? It wasn’t natural.

“He looks very like you,” she said about the next portrait.

“I suppose I look like him ,” Arthur said shortly. “My father.”

“Your father…” Lilianna said, her voice trailing off as she looked between him and the painting.

Try as he might, he could not help but wonder what she was thinking. The family had always said that he was the runt of the litter. More like his mother than his father, that was what his grandfather had said.

“More’s the pity.”

He’d hated that when a child, but as Arthur had grown, his mother’s softness and gentleness had felt more and more like weakness. Her death when he had been small made her fainter still, memories of her vague, undefined. Yet every time he had peered in a looking glass he had seen her there, looking back at him through his features.

“You truly see my father in me?”

The question slipped out like a foolish schoolboy. Arthur cursed himself silently for the weakness. You’re here to impress her, you dolt, not ask inane questions.

“I think so,” said Lilianna quietly, examining him closely. “Similar eyes, similar mouth… but there’s a kindness in you that I don’t see in him.”

Arthur’s mouth went dry.

Dear God, she was perceptive. Or at least, he hoped she was. It was perhaps the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.

“So this must be your brother.”

Arthur nodded. Better that than risking his tongue when he was feeling like such a dullard.

Lilianna examined the painting closely. “He looks young.”

“He was.” Arthur had not considered that he would be speaking about Archibald, but with his painting there, there was no avoiding it. No avoiding him. “A good man.”

“You say that as though you are not sure,” she said softly.

Damn this woman’s perception . “No man is all good.”

“No man is all bad, either,” she countered, turning back to the painting.

“Then you’ve never met a truly bad man,” Arthur muttered, half to himself. His attention flickered, just for a moment, to the portrait of his grandfather.

Lilianna took another step to the right. “And this is where you will be, I suppose.”

“I suppose so,” he said wryly. “I have to select a portrait artist soon, apparently, so that he can begin.”

“And the rest of the wall…” Lilianna’s voice trailed away again, but this time, she raised a questioning eyebrow.

Arthur took a deep breath. This is why you invited her up here in the first place , he reminded himself. And this was hardly a fresh, new conversation in the world of their families. It was dynasty. It was the core of nobility. It was to be expected.

Perhaps not discussed in such a blatant way, but…

“I need an heir.”

The words sounded rather bald when spoken like that, but Arthur did not permit his gaze to depart from her own.

“Everyone needs an heir,” she said softly.

He chuckled ruefully. “And I suppose I am not the first gentleman to state that, although I apologize for the directness. I need an heir, Lilianna.”

They stood there, mere feet apart, his words between them.

Understanding dawned in Lilianna’s eyes. “I see. And you’ll marry any woman who will take you, to get yourself an heir as quickly as possible.”

“No, I chose you,” Arthur said quietly.

It felt… vulnerable, this conversation. Exposing. He was hardly revealing anything truly terrible about himself, but in a strange way, he felt painfully bare.

“Why?”

There was only one way to answer that. “Why do you think?”

She had not expected that. Her half-step back and quirk of a smile was swiftly overcome by surprise at his directness. Arthur waited, forcing himself not to hold his breath. There was nothing left to do now but wait.

“Because… Because I am a Chance,” Lilianna said, holding herself up straight as she always did whenever she thought of her family. It was one of the first things he had noticed about her. “I am part of one of the most respected, the most coveted—”

“And that’s it, is it?” Arthur interrupted. “You think I wish to marry your name.”

A flicker of uncertainty. “Well, what else would draw you to me?”

“You have what, a thousand cousins?”

Lilianna’s brow furrowed. “Twelve. Why?”

“And how many of them daughters?” Arthur continued. She knew where he was going with this, didn’t she?

It appeared not. “Seven, including my sister and me.” She frowned.

“I could have offered marriage to any of them, but it was you I asked. You were the one who threw herself into my arms—”

“I fell !” Lilianna said hotly.

Dear God, he loved it when she was riled. “It makes no difference to me. I chose you, Lilianna. You told me there was not a chance in hell, but here you are, standing in my townhouse, looking at my portrait gallery. Looking at the line of paintings where one day, your son— our son—could be painted.”

Arthur’s gasp caught in his throat. That had probably been too far.

Dots pinked in her cheeks. When Lilianna finally spoke, it was more a whisper. “You… You want to marry me? Truly?”

And there it was. He would have her. It was only a matter of time.

Arthur shrugged with what he knew was a charming grin. “Maybe. If you ask me nicely.”