Winter's Wild Melody Read online

  “But I got caught in the storm and was about to freeze to death. What’s your excuse?”

  She shrugged, avoiding his eye. “The same.”

  Chance didn’t believe her. Not for a moment. She’d been here long before the storm set in.

  “You can come out of the pantry,” he said, realising that she was still hiding behind the door and was regarding him warily. “You are quite safe. Word of honour as a gentleman.”

  She made a sound of disgust, and Chance was quite taken aback.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Another dismissive shrug was her reply.

  “Why are you so contemptuous of English gentlemen?” he asked, rattled.

  “Because they ’ave no honour,” she snapped.

  “Now just wait a minute,” Chance began, and then took a breath. Whoever this girl was, she was all alone in the middle of nowhere. There was a storm blowing outside, and she was trapped in here with a man she had no reason whatsoever to trust. “You don’t trust me. I know that, and you are quite right not to, but I give you my word you need not be afraid of me. I am simply waiting out the storm. I shall be on my way as soon as I can, but… but I would be pleased to help you. I know this is not your property and that you ought not be here. You most certainly ought not be wandering about alone, so… what happened?”

  “How do you know?” she asked, suspicion glinting in her dark eyes. “That it is not my property?”

  Chance hesitated. He did not like the idea of the girl knowing his father was the Earl of Blackdown.

  “I live near to here,” he hedged. “I knew Mr and Mrs Burrough, the last tenants.”

  “Where are they?” she asked, a nervous edge to the question.

  “Mr Burrough died a few months ago. Mrs Burrough has gone to live with her sister in Cornwall.”

  “Mister Burrough died… here?” she asked, glancing anxiously at the ceiling.

  Chance bit back a smile. “Yes, but don’t worry. He’s not haunting the place. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  She snorted and muttered something that did not sound complimentary.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “Of course there are ghosts,” she said, tutting at him. “How can you think otherwise?”

  Chance frowned, folding his arms. “Well, I’ve never seen one.”

  “’Ave you ever seen an elephant?” she demanded.

  “Well… no,” he admitted.

  “Ah, well, then elephants do not exist.”

  “I didn’t mean….” Chance began before giving up. “Never mind blasted elephants, or ghosts for that matter. How did you come to be here? Where is your family?”

  She shrugged then. “My parents are dead.”

  “Oh, I’m… I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “I was a baby. I never knew them.”

  “Was it… the revolution?” Chance asked, feeling awkward now.

  The revolution was nothing to do with him, but he’d fought against the French in the war that had followed, after all. Was that why she hated Englishmen? Despite himself, he stiffened as she studied him, feeling certain she could see into his head, see all the things he had seen, and the horrors that sometimes woke him at night, sweating and gasping for breath.

  “You were a soldier,” she said, confirming that he ought never play poker.

  He did not wish to lie about it, so he nodded.

  She considered him a moment longer. “What is your name?”

  Chance let out a breath of relief, having expected this rather cross young woman with her low opinion of English men to berate him for the killing of her countrymen. Yet now he had another dilemma, if he did not wish to give away his identity.

  “Charles Lascelles,” he said quickly, giving the name of a distant cousin. “At your service, Miss…?”

  She pursed her lips for a long moment, looking at him, and Chance wondered if she knew he was lying.

  “Odette de Bethencourt.”

  Chance bowed. She dipped a curtsey, and then gave a little snort of laughter at how absurd it seemed in the circumstances. Chance grinned at her.

  “Well, Miss de Bethencourt—”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Oh, no. There is no one here. For now, you may call me Odette, and I shall call you Charlie.”

  “Charles,” Chance corrected with a smile.

  “Well, Charlie, would you please cook me one of those potatoes you had for lunch? I am ’ungry, and it smelled very good.”

  Chance lifted an eyebrow at her imperious tone but then met her eyes and saw a glint of amusement there.

  “Of course,” he said. “If you tell me how you came to be here.”

  She disappeared into the pantry, where Chance had put the remaining vegetables, and returned holding a large potato, which she held out to him.

  “How did you come to be here?” she asked politely.

  Chance took the potato from her and walked to the fire. “I told you. I was on my way home for Christmas and I got caught in the storm.”

  “And where is home?” she pressed.

  “About three miles in that direction.” Chance waved vaguely to the north, though he had in fact been heading west. “Where is your home, Odette?”

  She watched as he stirred up the fire and then pulled some embers to one side to cook the potato.

  “Tours,” she said, looking a little smug.

  Chance sighed. “Have you ever been there?”

  Her face clouded and her dark brows drew together.

  “Non,” she admitted. “I was born in England.”

  “You don’t like it?” he guessed, assuming he would now hear a barrage of complaints about the weather, the food, and the awful men.

  Instead, she simply shrugged, looking rather melancholy.

  “I do not know it. Until a week ago I lived with my uncle, on his estate. He escaped France with my father and mother, during la terreur. His son, André, told me he overheard the servants talking some years ago. They said that my parents had been prepared to leave but uncle refused to go, refused to believe he was in danger until… well, it was almost too late and he had to leave so much behind. He was—is—very angry. Then my parents died in a carriage accident when I was two and he raised me as his own, but I ’ave seen no one, ’ad no society, for he wanted me to marry his son. My cousin!” she said, shaking her head in horror. “He was like my brother, but then he died of scarlet fever, and so….”

  She shrugged and Chance forced himself to tear his eyes away, aware he was staring. It was hard not to. The young woman was like no one he’d ever met before. Her eyes sparkled with passion and her accent, which was faint when she was calm, became ever stronger as her temper rose.

  “And so…?” he pressed, certain now that she had run away from something or someone.

  She shrugged again and her face shuttered up. He suspected he’d get no more from her for the time being, so he changed the subject.

  “How did you find this place?”

  “I had been walking for… oh, I don’t know, a very long time, and I realised I was lost. Then I realised I did not want to go back anyway, but it was dreadfully cold and I thought perhaps the lady of the house might let me sit by the fire. There was no one here, yet it looked so nice and clean, and so… I broke a window,” she admitted, looking guilty as she pointed towards the scullery. “Down there. I shall leave money for the repair of it, though.”

  Chance smiled. “I’m glad you found somewhere safe, out of the cold.”

  She snorted at that. “It was, until you arrived. Have you any idea how uncomfortable I was last night? You stole my bed and my fire.”

  “I did no such thing,” he retorted. “I didn’t even know you were here. If you’d only announced yourself, I should have let you have both.”

  “Ah, yes, that would be very sensible of me, telling a gentleman he was all alone in the house with a bed and a helpless female.”

  The der
ision in her eyes was blatant and, though Chance could not fault her logic, some devil in him could not help remark: “Somehow, I doubt very much that you have ever been helpless.”

  She grinned at him then, an expression that lit up her face and made Chance feel very much as if he’d been hit in the head.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That is a nice thing to say.”

  Once Chance had found his tongue again, he asked the obvious question. “So, what will you do now? I assume you’ve run away from your uncle for some reason, but you can’t stay here forever. The new tenants move in after Christmas… so I’m told… and, besides, it’s not the done thing. A woman alone? You’ll be ruined.”

  Of course, she would be anyway if anyone discovered the two of them here together.

  A glimmer of fear lit her eyes for a moment, but she blinked it away, her head going up and showing that edge of steel, of stubborn determination, that he was beginning to recognise.

  “I am already ruined,” she said.

  “Oh,” Chance replied, eyes widening.

  “Bah! Non!”

  She glared at him in outrage.

  “I have been missing for two nights now. All alone… therefore I am ruined. Worthless,” she said with a bitter smile. “At least my uncle will have no further use for me. It is something.”

  Fear glimmered briefly in her eyes, and Chance wasn’t so certain she meant that.

  “But won’t he have kept it quiet? Perhaps no one knows,” he countered, hoping for her sake that it was true. He took in the quality of her pelisse and gown: exquisite, expensive. She was a lady from a good family, a valuable asset to sell on the marriage mart now that the cousin was no longer an option. Chance decided he hated her uncle for using her as a commodity. Why, he had no idea, for it was hardly an unusual arrangement, but… but to sell this woman who was all spirit and sharp edges to any old Tom, Dick, or Harry, just for financial or social gain…? He felt suddenly hot and moved away from the fire.

  She considered his words. “He will certainly try, but we were staying with my uncle’s friends when I ran. They know, and I doubt they will be pleased with me. Perhaps they will be glad to see me ruined.”

  “Some friends,” Chance said, outraged by the idea.

  Odette sighed and wrapped her arms about herself. “Perhaps they will not. I am unfair. I do not know them at all. Perhaps they are not bad people. I do not know. I… I am just tired of doing what everyone tells me to do.”

  Chance nodded, understanding that, but tried to lighten the mood. “Don’t ever join the army, Odette. You wouldn’t like it.”

  It worked, and she laughed, a bright, merry sound that made him feel a little giddy with exhilaration. He wanted to make her laugh again, just to hear it. She shivered and Chance realised she was still standing by the door, still wary of him.

  “Here, come and sit by the fire. You’re frozen.”

  She stared at him, so Chance got up and moved away. There were no chairs, only the mattress on the floor, and Odette glanced at it dubiously, and then looked at Chance. He held out his hands.

  “Word of honour. You’ve nothing to fear from me, I swear it on my mother’s life.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you like your mother?”

  Chance spluttered a little but managed a reply. “Yes!”

  Apparently mollified, she moved to the fire, and cast him a furtive glance before arranging herself decorously on the mattress. Chance dithered, uncertain of what to do until she tsked and waved a hand at him.

  “You may sit,” she said, with the air of a queen commanding a lowly subject. “Over there.”

  She pointed at the far end of the mattress and Chance complied, sitting cross-legged. He glanced up at the window, to where the snow was still falling.

  “I don’t think I shall be able to leave today,” he said, sounding apologetic, though in truth he was relieved. He had no desire to quit the company of this intriguing, beautiful girl. Not yet. He wanted to know more about her. “When I do go, though, would you like me to escort you somewhere? Or… Or I could take you home with me. My father….”

  He paused, a little terrified to consider his father’s reaction if he finally returned to meet his fiancée with a beautiful, unmarried French girl in tow. Oh, yes, that would go splendidly. Still, he could not simply abandon her. Despite her scepticism on the subject, he was a gentleman.

  “Well, I’m sure my family would help you.”

  She made a derisive sound. “Your family would see me returned to my uncle with all possible haste.”

  Chance nodded, unable to deny it. “Probably, but what choice do you have?”

  She shrugged again, such a hopeless gesture that Chance felt a weight settle in his chest. He wanted to help her, though he had no idea how.

  “Do you have a… sweetheart?” he asked, wondering why his heart was skipping about so erratically. “Were you going to find him?”

  Odette huffed. “Non! That would be most improper. Besides, did you not ’ear me? I have been kept in isolation. I have met nobody. You are the first young man I have seen in an age. My uncle’s friends are all old men. My cousin, André, sometimes brought people home from school, but they were all foolish boys. I did not like them. They would stare at me and make silly remarks. They were most vexing.”

  Chance snorted, unsurprised. This young woman could turn a sensible man into a gibbering fool with ease, he didn’t doubt. He was struggling against the phenomenon himself.

  “It is nice to meet someone who is polite,” she added, casting him a cautious look from under her lashes.

  “Thank you,” Chance replied. “It is nice to meet you, too, though I am sorry you’re in such a fix. I shall help you if I can.”

  Odette shook her head, staring into the flames. The firelight danced in her dark eyes as she gave a heavy sigh.

  “You cannot. I ’ave been very stupid, I think. I thought… I thought….” She laughed, though it was far from a happy sound. “Non, the truth. I did not think at all, I reacted. I have an ’orrible temper and I can be impulsive. I did not mean to run away, not at first. But then I could not stop, could not make myself go back. I ran away without thinking it through, and now I have made a bad situation so very much worse. At least it is a situation of my own making, though. That is something.”

  She turned and gave Chance a rueful smile.

  “I’ll do anything I can to help you,” Chance promised her, hardly knowing what he was saying.

  He was hypnotised by the firelight in her eyes, the soft flush of colour on her cheeks that grew darker as she heard the tenor of his voice.

  She looked away at once, her posture stiffening.

  “No, don’t… I shan’t touch you, Odette. I promise you’re safe. Don’t be afraid.”

  He waited until she looked back at him again and smiled at her, hoping it was a reassuring expression. She held his gaze, studying his face for so long he felt self-conscious, but at last she nodded and looked away.

  “I believe you.”

  He prepared the potato for her and shared some of his cheese, and by the time she had eaten her spirits seemed to have revived a little.

  “I have some cards in my bag. Would you like to play?” he offered once she had cleared away her plate and cutlery.

  “Oui,” she said eagerly. “Will you teach me, though? My uncle did not approve of gambling and would never let me learn.”

  Personally, Chance thought her uncle sounded like a miserable beggar, but he said nothing and dug out the cards. He spent the next half an hour teaching her how to play Vingt-Un, and the half hour that followed that trying to beat her.

  “You have the luck of the devil!” he exclaimed, throwing down his cards as she beat him for the fifth time in a row.

  She wagged a finger at him and tsked.

  “Non, non, it is not luck, it is skill. I am just a better player than you,” she said, her face alight with mischief.

  Chance huffed at her. “Ri
ght, I’m going to teach you Piquet. We’ll see how you get on with that.”

  Rather to Chance’s chagrin, though it took her a deal longer to get the hang of it, she beat him at that too. Twice.

  “Are you certain you didn’t cheat?” he asked her, narrowing his eyes and sending her off into a peal of laughter.

  “Oh, poor, poor, Charlie,” she crowed. “He cannot beat me, so he accuses me of cheating.”

  Chance snorted, but couldn’t deny it. “I apologise, though I can see now why your uncle kept you away from such things. If he had an inkling of your skill, he’d know you’d be damned dangerous.”

  Her amusement died at his words, which he immediately regretted.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  She shook off her reaction with a wave of her hand, smiling at him again. “Perhaps I shall become a notorious gambler, then. I shall make my living from it, and men the world over will fight for the opportunity to play the infamous Odette de Bethencourt.”

  This statement was punctuated by an unconvincing laugh that made his heart twist with pity.

  “Or perhaps you’ll go back to your uncle and discover your disappearance has been kept quiet and there’s been no harm done,” Chance suggested.

  She stilled, breathing hard, her only movement the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

  “Odette?”

  She looked back at him, her eyes too bright as her lip trembled.

  “I don’t think so, Charlie,” she whispered, and a fat tear rolled down her cheek.

  Chance watched in agony as she put her head in her hands and sobbed.

  “Odette…. Oh, don’t… don’t cry,” he said helplessly.

  He did not know what to do and dithered until he could bear it no longer. He moved to sit beside her and put his arm about her, shocked when she turned towards him. She rested her head on his shoulder and he gave her a handkerchief to dry her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding wretched. “I know men hate it when women cry.”

  “Only because we don’t know what to do,” he said. “I want to make you feel better, but I don’t know how.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve been very kind already, to teach me these games and entertain me, but it is getting dark again and now I shall have been missing for three nights. Do you really think no one will know this?”