“Nonsense,” Chance said, though he knew it was true. “I shan’t hear it. Nothing has changed, you are still a lady. Though… won’t you tell me why you ran away? What prompted you to do such a thing?”
“Bacon fat!” she exclaimed.
“I beg your pardon?” Chance said, perplexed.
Odette turned around, holding a jar aloft.
“Voila! It is bacon fat,” she said, eyes bright with satisfaction. “Now we can have pommes de terres sauté.”
“Oh.” Chance let out a breath of laughter.
“I wonder if there are any herbs left under the snow,” she mused. “They would be very good fried with herbs.”
“I’ll look,” he said, reaching for his stockings.
“They are still all wet,” Odette protested. “I can go.”
Chance shook his head, already pulling on his boots. “You prepare the potatoes, and I shall find the herbs and some honey, and then we shall eat like kings.”
Without really thinking about what he was doing, he stood up and went to her, then planted a kiss on her nose before he grabbed his coat and headed back outside.
Not too much later, they were sitting by the fire, the scent of bacon lingering in the air. The potatoes were crisp and golden and flavoured with rosemary, and she had cooked the carrots in the honey with some thyme.
“My word, Odette, I think this is the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten,” Chance said, shaking his head. He speared the last potato slice and chewed with satisfaction.
“I’m sure it can’t be, really,” Odette replied, though pleasure shone in her eyes at his words. “It is just our circumstances but… it is good. C'est délicieux.”
“You’re delicious,” he said, the words out before he could think better of them.
Still, he found he did not regret saying them. The blush that tinged her cheeks was adorable.
He got up and cleared their plates away.
“Well, that was a breakfast fit for a king, but sadly this monarch must see to his own horse. Poor Ransom will think he’d been forgotten.”
“I’ll come,” she offered at once.
“Oh, there’s no need to go out in the cold. I can manage.”
But she was already putting on her half boots.
“I want to,” she said. Odette looked up at him through her lashes and let out a breath of laughter. “I need some fresh air and exercise after all those potatoes. Besides, the wind has calmed, and it has stopped snowing now.”
The sound of her happiness, light and musical, rioted through him and Chance wondered at how it made him feel. If he was honest, he had avoided nice girls. Nice girls were a serious undertaking. They meant marriage and responsibility and settling down. When he’d come back from the war, he’d been incapable of taking anything seriously. He’d point blank refused. He’d experienced too many years of seriousness, of life-and-death gravity, and it had taken its toll.
For the last year and a half he’d lived for pleasure, for laughter, as though he could have enough fun to compensate for the poor devils who’d been killed out there and would have none ever again. Nonsense, of course, but it had made a kind of sense to him at the time. He’d parted ways with his mistress recently, after having made rather a fool of himself and calling out Aubrey Russell. Pistols at dawn. Blasted idiot. Chance had believed Aubrey had been seeing Dolly ‘The Dasher’ Dashton behind his back. Not true, as it turned out. Thankfully, they’d called the duel off and got drunk together instead. Aubrey was a good fellow. Decent. He’d been head over ears in love with Lady Violette Greyston and not at all interested in Mrs Dashton. He’d heard Aubrey had married Lady Violette last month, and Chance had felt oddly envious, despite not wanting to get married, because of all the fun he’d been having. Hmmm.
“What is it?”
Chance looked around to see Odette studying him, and realised he’d been frowning out of the window.
“Oh, nothing,” he said. “Wool gathering. Come along, then. I’ll introduce you to Ransom. Though I must warn you, he’s the most terrible flirt.”
Odette laughed and followed him outside and along to the stables.
“You’re right, he is shameless,” she admitted not much later, as Ransom pushed his soft muzzle towards her again, seeking more caresses.
She had taken off her glove to scratch the big fellow behind his ears and Ransom closed his eyes, whickering softly. Chance could hardly blame him. If Odette touched him, he’d be in the same daft state.
He could not help but watch her, crooning to Ransom now in French, the words sliding over Chance’s skin as he imagined her speaking so to him. God, she was lovely. Her hair was a tangled mess of dark curls, her clothes were rumpled, and she had a smudge of soot on her cheek from where she’d been attending the fire, but she was heart-stopping.
She looked up then, meeting his eyes as she caught him staring at her. His heart thudded quicker when she did not look away.
“We’d best leave Ransom to his breakfast,” he managed, too aware of the danger inherent in the situation, and not having enough faith in his own willpower to dare test it any further.
The desire to kiss her was a burn beneath his skin, making him hot and restless, and he felt certain she would not rebuff him if he ventured to ask. They went back out into the snow and Chance realised they would have to go back into the house and sit on the mattress by the fire. There was nothing to entertain them but a pack of cards, and….
Panic-struck, he scooped up a handful of snow and lobbed it at her. It hit the back of her bonnet, setting it all askew. She turned around so quickly that she overbalanced, slipped, and fell on her backside.
“Ooof!” she exclaimed as she hit the ground.
Chance bit his lip, wondering if she’d be furious with him. Odette stared in outrage for a moment. He’d been about to offer to help her up when she gathered up a handful of snow and flung it back at him.
She was surprisingly accurate, and it hit him square in the face. The sudden shock of cold was certainly invigorating, and dispelled the aching desire that had been tormenting him, but then she ruined it by laughing. She laughed and laughed, delighted with herself, and Chance could only grin at her, sitting in the snow, her bonnet all lopsided, and damn near hysterical. She was marvellous.
Abruptly, her laughter subsided, and she scrambled up, gathering more snow.
Chance dodged just as a second snowball whistled past his ear. Well, all right.
He began throwing them back as she shrieked and ran about, and Chance congratulated himself when one of his shots exploded against her lovely backside whilst she’d bent to gather more snow. She straightened with a yelp and glared at him.
He shrugged.
“If you will present such a delicious target,” he said, chuckling.
From then on, it was war.
Snowballs flew back and forth across the yard with more speed and enthusiasm than accuracy, though some of them hit home. He very nearly knocked her bonnet off and naturally she retaliated at once. Chance exclaimed as she got him on the back of his neck and trickles of ice water and snow slid down between his shoulders, making him shiver and grimace.
“You little devil,” he hollered and ran after her.
Odette shrieked and picked up her skirts, running awkwardly through the thick snow as the heavy material of her dress hampered her. Inevitably, she went down, face first.
“Got you!” Chance declared, triumphant and not the least bit chivalrous as he grabbed her about the waist and hauled her up. She turned in his arms, her face wet with snow, her nose and cheeks red from the cold, and her eyes… her eyes were full of laughter and sparkle, and something squeezed in his chest.
“Oh, Charlie… that was such fun,” she said, still breathless. “I had forgotten what it was like to laugh, and—”
Whatever she had meant to say was forgotten as she caught the look in his eyes. She stilled, and Chance knew she was waiting for him to kiss her. He wanted to oblige, wanted
to pull her close, but….
“Let’s build a snowman,” he said, improvising wildly.
Anything to break the tension. For, if he did not, he would kiss her, and he did not think it would end there. Under no circumstances would he dishonour this beautiful, wonderful girl. She deserved better than that.
He did not wait to see her reaction, did not dare. It took every ounce of will power to turn and walk away from her, and he busied himself with gathering snow. She joined him a few minutes later, and they worked side by side in silence for a while.
“Do you ’ave brothers and sisters?” she asked him.
Chance nodded, relieved she wasn’t cross with him, and glad for the opportunity to talk about something safe.
“Yes, five sisters. All married,” he added with a smile. “And three nieces so far. My poor father….”
He stopped, realising he could not tell her how anxious his father had become about the title. He’d been utterly furious with Chance for going away to war when there was no heir to take his place. Well, there was an heir: his cousin Humphrey, who made Chance look like a choir boy. If Chance died without a male heir and the title went to Humphrey, he had no doubt whatsoever that his father would make his afterlife a misery.
“Ah, surrounded by women,” Odette said with a laugh, watching as he hefted the snowman’s head onto the body. “He must have been so glad to see you return safe from the war.”
“Yes. He was.” It had been the only time he’d ever seen his father weep. He’d been so certain Chance would not come back. Of course he wasn’t entirely sure if the man had wept with relief that his heir was in one piece or because his son had returned, but still. It had been nice to be in his good books for once. It hadn’t lasted long.
“It must be wonderful to have family,” she said, packing snow around their creation’s neck to keep his head on. “My uncle’s home is remote, in Derbyshire. There was only him and André, and a few servants. He lost so much during the war, it changed him, made him bitter. He is so proud, you see, and to have lost so much money, so much power…. He feels he cannot hold his head up in society, not unless—”
She stopped abruptly and brushed the snow from her gloves. Chance wondered just who her uncle was and what she’d been about to say, but then she flashed him a dazzling smile, and all the sense was knocked out of his brain.
“There, il est très beau.”
“As handsome as me?” Chance asked, before he could stop himself.
That awful, delicious tension rose between them again, tantalising, daring him.
Odette shook her head.
“Non,” she said softly. “Not as handsome as you.”
She moved towards him and reached for his lapels, steadying herself as she lifted onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
Oh, that’s torn it, he thought wildly, and pulled her into his arms.
Chapter 4
“Wherein a rash decision.”
14thDecember 1817. Corry Brook Farm. Devon.
Odette de Bethencourt was not a wicked girl. At least, she’d never thought so before. Perhaps it was only that she’d had no opportunity to be wicked, though. When one was all but buried alive in the depths of the countryside with no society, opportunities for bad behaviour were rather scarce. Yet her uncle had always muttered darkly about how she favoured her tempestuous mother, and now perhaps his foreboding was proved well–founded, for the moment Odette had been given the merest sniff of freedom, she’d run away. That she had not intended to do it until she was too lost to find her way home hardly mattered. Now she had put herself entirely beyond the bounds of good behaviour, and kissed a man she barely knew. It was a little strange to discover herself capable of such wild behaviour after so many years of assuming she was a nice young lady despite her uncle’s mutterings.
Ah, well. Fate was a funny thing.
If not for her uncle’s determination to marry her to some fellow she’d never heard of in her life before, she would not be here. His son’s death had hardened him from a merely, proud and unbending man into one that rather frightened her. He had pinned all his hopes on his grand plan of André marrying her and getting his hands on her fortune, which was rather a large one. Sadly for him, she could not inherit before the age of one and twenty and only then if she married. André had died six months before her twenty-first birthday, and her uncle’s hopes had been crushed to dust. Not to be thwarted, he had come about and decided she could best serve the family honour by marrying a titled man and reviving their fortunes.
He’d struck a deal with the Earl of Blackdown and had blithely informed her she would marry his son, Viscount Debdon. She had argued and pleaded, but to no avail. She would have no come out, no chance at society before she married. It was a fait accompli. Odette had hated Viscount Debdon on principle from that moment on, for what kind of man would marry a woman he had never seen or met simply to get his hands on her fortune? After all, what other reason could he have for agreeing to the match? When the devil hadn’t even bothered to turn up to meet her, well… she had gone a little mad. Yet even though she was terrified for the future, in this moment she could not regret her madness.
Charlie’s lips were soft and sweet, and the way he held her, as if she was precious, made her want to cling to him for dear life. Emotion rose within her chest and she scolded herself for being so foolish. He was just a man and men, as André had warned her, would act the lover and then cast her aside if she didn’t take care. Thoughts of her cousin, her dearest friend, tinged her longing with sadness and Charlie pulled back, regarding her with concern, aware of the change in her mood.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I… I got carried away. Forgive me.”
Odette shook her head, not wanting him to believe she regretted the kiss. She reached up, touching a hand to his unshaven jaw, intrigued by the feel of it under her fingers.
“Non, it is not you. Not….” She took a breath, gathering herself. “I liked the kiss, very much. It is only that… I am afraid. I wish I could stay here in this little dream. It is like a world outside of the world, but that is an illusion. I wish my cousin were alive still, then at least I should not be all alone.”
Odette swallowed down a sob, determined not to be some awful weepy female of the kind one read about in Gothic novels, forever wailing and swooning.
“You’re not alone. I’m here,” Charlie said, his expression so grave and anxious that not dissolving into tears was harder than ever.
“I know, and I am so grateful to you. I shall never forget you, Charlie, nor your kindness.”
He stepped back, frowning at her, his dark brows drawn together. “Forget me?”
She forced her mouth into a smile that felt frail and too obviously false. “Have you not understood, Charlie? We cannot stay here. The snow will melt, and it will be time for us to leave. I will return to my uncle, and you to your family, and we shall not see each other again.”
The sob tried once again to escape and so she ran before she made a scene. She covered her mouth with her hand, forcing the misery to remain inside as she turned and fled back to the house.
Chance watched her go, an odd sensation settling heavily in his chest.
Never see her again?
Well, of course he wouldn’t. He had his life, she had hers. She was ruined. Her uncle would take her away and bury her back in the countryside, or perhaps he’d cast her out into the world, alone. Chance was Viscount Debdon, and would one day be the Earl of Blackdown, he couldn’t go about marrying just anyone. Marrying? Who’d said anything about marrying?
He had.
Chance moved towards an old mounting block left out in the yard, brushed the snow off the top, and sat down with a thud.
He felt a bit giddy.
Odette was… oh, Lord, she was beautiful and funny and vivacious, and… and he barely knew her. Yet the thought of her shut up in some gloomy house with her wretched uncle, or, worse still, alone in the world with no one to protect her, wa
s untenable. Panic rose inside him with such force he could hardly breathe. No. No, he would not let that happen. He would protect her.
Chance let out a breath of laughter. Protect her? When he returned home with her and it became clear that they’d spent several days and nights alone together, she’d be done for. The only way he could protect her was to marry her. He waited for the panic he was experiencing to worsen, to rampage out of control, and was shaken to discover it dissipated instead. All his old apprehensions, his terror of being hemmed in and of his wings being clipped… they weren’t there. He puzzled over this for a time, wondering why. What had changed? What was this sensation? It took him a while, but eventually he had it figured out. Relief. It was a relief, but it was more than that, it was illuminated with excitement and hope. He’d seen so much he wanted to consign to some dark place he need not think of, had lost so many friends, that he’d forgotten what it was to think of the future and to hope, to dream. Out of practise, he told himself. That was all. He tried to imagine a future where Odette was his wife. He imagined her laughter and her strength, her courage, for she had not run away from him when he’d discovered her here. She was no shrinking violet. Odette had stood her ground and spoken to him with all the contempt she had felt. He still did not know why that was, he realised. There was a great deal he did not know, but he would. She would tell him because she trusted him, at least a little. So he would do his best to know her better, to increase her trust in him… and then he would ask her to marry him.
By the time Charlie returned to the house, Odette had resumed a tolerable measure of calm. She had put some water on to boil, intending to rinse the dishes and to have a much-needed wash herself.
“You need a shave,” she said, trying her best to sound light-hearted as he came in. “You’re all bristly and prickly.”
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