Never Run From Love (Kellington Book Four)

NEVER RUN FROM LOVE

By

Maureen Driscoll

To E and G. 

A true romance for all the ages.

CHAPTER ONE

London, October 1822

Lord Henry Kellington – Hal, to his family and
countless friends – was exactly where he wanted to be.  His face was buried in
the ample bosom of a whore named Terry, while his cock was being sucked by her
colleague Sherry.  Both would be well-compensated for the evening’s work.  Indeed,
both women had nearly trampled their fellow prostitutes as Hal had walked into
the brothel’s sitting room earlier to choose his evening’s entertainment.  His
lordship was known for being generous with both his blunt and his sexual
prowess, and there wasn’t a female in the place who hadn’t wanted to accompany
him upstairs.

The three of them were on a comfortable featherbed
in one of the nicer rooms in the Marylebone brothel of Madame Aurelia Thurmond. 
Madame ran an exclusive establishment on the very edge of Mayfair.  Known for
the cleanliness of both the girls and the premises, it was as hard to gain
membership to Madame Thurmond’s as it was to get into White’s.  Harder, since
White’s was known to let its members run a tab.  But Madame always demanded
cash at time of service.

At five and twenty, Hal was the youngest brother in
the Kellington family.  He was also known as the wild one of the bunch.  Quick
with a joke, Hal made everyone laugh.  Those who didn’t know him well, which
included most of the people who thought they knew him, would say that Henry
Kellington never took anything seriously.  He was an excellent companion for
whatever lark one could imagine and he was such a
ton
favorite that he
could usually talk his way out of any trouble.  Young men loved to go out on
the town with him.  Young women dreamed of marrying him.  Bored matrons blushed
when they saw him.

It was rumored that his eldest brother, the Duke of
Lynwood, was most unhappy with him at the moment.  But since the Kellingtons never
aired their family grievances in public – much to the dismay of the gossips –
no one knew for sure. 

It had been a momentous year for the Kellingtons,
four brothers and one sister named for Kings and a Queen of England.  A few
months earlier, Hal’s second eldest brother Edward, known as Ned, had married
at the age of nine and twenty.  His unusual bride, Jane, worked as a surgeon in
their village of Marston Vale.  Even more unusual was that she’d borne Ned’s
daughter Violet out of wedlock six years earlier, but he’d had no knowledge of
it until he’d met up with them quite unexpectedly the previous June.  What
might have been a tremendous scandal was accepted by most without question
because the Duke of Lynwood had made it known how pleased he was with the
match.

Only a few weeks later, Hal’s younger sister
Elizabeth, at one and twenty, had published a tract in the broadsheets
advocating greater rights for women.  It was thought she’d finally gone too far
for even Lynwood to fix, but a marriage to the very eligible Marquess of
Riverton had helped squelch the scandal, even if Lizzie didn’t show any signs
of ceasing her political activities.

Arthur, at seven and twenty, had just wed an agent
for the Home Office named Vanessa Gans.  There had been a rumor that she wasn’t
just common, but illegitimate as well, but when Lynwood and Riverton told everyone
about her bravery in recovering some of England’s most priceless treasures, all
was at least somewhat forgiven.

With three marriages in quick succession, there were
only two unmarried Kellingtons left.  And if the
ton
had any say, that
would soon be remedied.

William Kellington, known as Liam to a select few,
was two and thirty.  Even if he hadn’t been ruggedly handsome, the duke
would’ve been a target for the matchmaking mamas.  As it was, he was more
hunted than England’s most vicious criminals. 

And while he would never be considered the catch his
eldest brother was, Hal was also highly sought after as a husband, in part
because, unlike Lynwood, Hal didn’t have to marry.  He was currently third in
line for his brother’s title and with Ned’s wife expecting a child, there was a
good chance he’d be moving even further down the list.  But many ladies considered
him a challenge too tempting to resist. 

While all of the Kellingtons were well portioned,
Hal’s good looks were the most perfect.  His chestnut hair was thick and fell
past his shoulders.  His light brown eyes were fringed with dark lashes.  His
lips were firm and almost always curved in a smile.  He was well-muscled, but
slender.  And he moved with the grace of someone who was in excellent physical
condition. 

His family knew that Hal had taken their parents’
tragic deaths more than a decade earlier especially hard.  Liam had worried at
the time that Hal might never regain his previous good spirits.  Even now, Liam
could see behind the lighthearted mask Hal wore for others.  He worried that
his youngest brother was lost to a frivolous world of pleasure, showing few
signs that he was ready to truly grow into adulthood.  It had been a source of
contention between the two for years and now that Hal was spending more time
with his friend Charles Francis, the friction with Lynwood was increasing.

Charles Francis, the youngest son of the youngest
son of the Earl of Westwood, was a few years older than Hal.  They’d known each
other casually for a few years – the
ton
was so small that just about
every young man about town had at least a passing acquaintance with one another
– but they’d begun socializing more frequently since Francis had come to Hal’s
aid a few months earlier.  A gang of street toughs had set upon Hal as he left
a gaming hell.  The attack had left him bloodied and bruised, but he’d
sustained no serious injuries, thanks to Francis’s timely intervention.

Since then, they’d been thick as thieves.  It was
not, Lynwood liked to remind Hal, a flattering metaphor.

Currently, Charles Francis was on the other side of
the room from Hal, pounding into a prostitute named Sonia from behind.  He had
the girl bent over the back of settee, while he watched the allegedly French
Lindella Dupuis pleasure herself with a silver cock. 

Hal was caught up in his own pleasure, but not quite
so much that he didn’t suspect some of Lindella’s quite loud self-enjoyment was
at least partially an act.  But if Francis suspected, he certainly didn’t let
on.

As Sherry worked her talented mouth on Hal’s cock,
he drifted in a sensual haze, helped along by drink and hashish.  The girls had
wanted him to smoke opium.  It was no secret that Madame Thurmond had
connections to the drug trade that she liked to promote.  Lynwood would be
furious, of course, but Hal didn’t need his eldest brother to warn him away
from the opiate.  The previous two times he’d smoked it had been disastrous. 
He’d become so ill it was a wonder he hadn’t died in the flophouse he’d passed
out in.  As it was, he’d lost his purse and his boots.  If Francis hadn’t
pulled him out of there, he likely would’ve been stripped naked and had his
teeth pulled.

But currently, Hal didn’t want to think of anything
but Sherry and Terry working their magic on him.  Unfortunately, that was not
to be.

“Damn and blast!” said Francis, as he pulled his
softening cock out of a protesting Sonia.  He then began tapping it on her ass
and rubbing it against her in an attempt to regain his erection.  “Kellington,
I told you we had too much to drink,” he said with a slight slur.  “But you
insisted we finish the damned wretched bottle.”  Francis was a blond god to
Hal’s darkness.  He had hair the color of wheat and green eyes that never
failed to incite swoons from debutantes.  He was beginning to get a bit thick
about the waist, but only a little.  He was still the best pugilist at
Gentleman Jim’s boxing salon and never passed up an opportunity to prove it.

Francis watched Hal lose himself to passion.  “What
say we switch whores?  Maybe what I need is variety to set myself to rights
again.”

Hal lifted his lids halfway to look at his friend. 
Francis was still spanking his cock against the poor girl’s arse and somehow
Hal didn’t think variety was what was lacking.  They’d both had too much to
drink.  It was a wonder he was able to perform at all.  But he didn’t want to
switch girls with Francis.  For one thing, Hal was meticulously careful when he
was with a prostitute.  He never failed to use French letters as a precaution
against both pregnancy and disease.  Francis, he knew, wasn’t quite as cautious. 
And, after all, he was enjoying himself just fine.  Hal pulled one of Terry’s
breasts into his mouth and let Sherry continue.

For his part, Francis simply told Sonia and Lindella
to switch places, then shoved his cock into Lindella as soon as she was in
position.

The evening continued thusly.

*                    *                    *

Afterward, at a much earlier hour than usual, Hal
and Francis were walking through Marylebone trying to find a hack.  Francis
hadn’t wanted to leave Madame Thurmond’s so soon, but Hal had family business
to attend to the next morning and Lynwood had set the meeting for the abominably
early hour of ten of the clock.  Hal suspected it was Lynwood’s way of cutting
his night short, which made Hal want to stay out all the later.  But their
paternal aunt, Agatha, the Countess of Crenshaw, was going to be in
attendance.  And he knew he needed to be, if not at his best, then at least not
vomiting into a bedpan.

“There they are again,” said Francis, motioning to a
group of dour-faced women huddled together, wearing grey and holding signs
about the dangers of drink.  “You’d think they’d have better things to do on a
Friday night.”  Then he looked closer at the woman in the lead.  “Or perhaps
not.”  Their leader was well into middle-age with graying hair, a prominent
nose and a look of disapproval unmistakable even from across the street.  “I
don’t think the owners of Dill’s will take kindly to the harassing of their
clientele.” 

Dill’s was a gaming hell, whose entrance was just
behind the women.  Even in the few moments Francis and Hal had stood there,
three men who’d initially appeared to be heading into the hell had instead
continued down the street.

Hal looked toward the group, automatically scanning
the members’ faces as he’d been doing the last few weeks ever since spotting a
beautiful young woman in a group similar to this, with mahogany hair, hazel eyes
and, as unlikely as it might seem, a courtesan’s stockings.  He’d only caught a
quick glimpse of her legs as she’d adjusted her boot.  But they’d made quite an
impression.      

As the reform movement gained in popularity, groups
such as this were gathering in areas most frequented by noblemen out for an
evening’s entertainment.  Some of the women were members of religious orders. 
Others were the wives of tradesmen who believed the problems of the lower
classes were often caused by drink, particularly the cheapest forms of gin
which could cause blindness and death.  And in the midst of the drink epidemic
were the sons of the upper class who used poorer sections of London as their playground
to do what they wanted, heedless of the cost to others.

Hal knew the temperance movement would never truly
take hold, although he did understand the concerns the reformers had for
London’s poor.  They lived in squalor, with little assistance from the
government and even less from the upper class.  He had heard enough stories to
know that his peers considered themselves kings outside of Mayfair.  It was a
most unfair situation, even if there didn’t seem to be much to be done about
it.

“Where the devil did she come from?” asked Francis,
as he rather inelegantly pointed to a young woman who’d come to the front of
the group from her previously unseen position in the back.  She had mahogany
hair, hazel eyes and was a good twenty years younger than anyone else.