Winter's Wild Melody Read online

  Chance didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. She was obviously from a good family, a family who would have servants. No matter how loyal, servants talked, and word would get out.

  “It’s all right,” she said, wiping her eyes and looking up at him with a tremulous smile that made his chest hurt. “My life has been so very dull until now. At least I am having an adventure and… and now I am ruined, I am free to do what I like.”

  Chance wished he could smile and laugh with her, and talk to her about all the adventures she might have, but all he could think of were the dangers she faced.

  “You must go back to your uncle, Odette,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you don’t want to, but you cannot do otherwise.”

  She nodded, sniffing. “I know, but he will be very angry with me. I have been very stupid and wilful, and all the bad things he has always said about me are true after all. He has always said I am too much like my mother. She was wild, always causing trouble, and now, I too….”

  Her voice quavered and Chance pulled her closer.

  “No,” he said fiercely. “I won’t let him speak to you like that. I won’t let him be unkind.”

  She made a soft sound, and he looked down to find her staring at him in wonder.

  “You are so kind,” she said, a wistful sound to the words. “Charlie?”

  “Yes?” Chance said, though his voice sounded a long way off. He’d fallen into those dark eyes and found himself spellbound, unable to look away. His heart was beating too fast, his skin alive with awareness, with how close she was.

  “As I am ruined anyway, I… I should like it if you would kiss me. No one ever has, you see.”

  Chance’s mouth went dry, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

  “Not even André?” he asked, remembering her cousin.

  Odette shook her head, never taking her eyes from him. “No. André was lovely, a dear friend, but he never wanted to kiss me. I never wanted him to, either. He was like my brother.”

  “Are you sure?” Chance asked, even though a little voice in his head screamed at him to bloody well get on with it.

  Odette stared at him. “Oui, I am sure. Just a kiss though, Charlie. Yes?”

  “Just a kiss,” Chance repeated, feeling a little dazed as he lowered his head to hers.

  His mouth brushed hers, a barely there touch of lips that made them both suck in a breath all the same. He drew back a fraction and then did it again, and again. Had she said one kiss? He wondered about that as his mouth touched hers again with a delicate press of lips. This hadn’t really amounted to a kiss yet, not a proper kiss, and she had not asked him to stop. Still, he did not want to be that man, the one who took advantage, so he pulled back, staring down at her.

  “Why did you stop?” she asked, her eyes hazy. She sounded as stunned as he felt.

  “One kiss, you said.” The words were breathless, as though he’d run for a mile or more.

  “Did I? How silly of me,” she replied. “One more, please.”

  He did not need asking again and returned his mouth to hers, this time daring to put his hands to her waist. She swayed towards him and Chance traced his tongue over her bottom lip.

  She pulled back with a gasp.

  “Oh,” she said, eyes wide.

  “Sorry,” Chance replied at once, cursing himself. Bloody fool. He’d had to push his luck.

  “Do it again,” she demanded.

  His mouth fell open. “All right,” he managed. He leaned back in and kissed her, captivated by the warm, soft lips beneath his. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth this time and she opened a little for him, her own tongue daring to touch his. The sweetness of the moment was like nothing he had ever known, and he pulled back again, not wishing to spoil it by taking too much, too soon.

  “Oh,” she said on a breath of surprise, blinking at him through thick, sooty lashes.

  “Oh, indeed,” Chance replied, enchanted.

  She sat back but did not move away from him.

  “Is there anything but potatoes to eat, Charlie? Though the potato was very good,” she added quickly, as if afraid she might offend him.

  Chance laughed. “Carrots, or turnips.”

  “Oh, not turnips,” she said, and he grinned at her.

  “No, we shall be in dire straits indeed before we are reduced to eating turnips.”

  She laughed, and the sound made him happy, made him search for something else to amuse her, just to hear that musical laughter again.

  For a moment, he imagined never going home but hiding away, staying here with her. A foolish dream filled his mind of running the farm as Mr Burrough had taught him, and coming home to Odette, and… and he was losing his damn mind. He knew nothing about her beyond her name and that she had an uncle from whom she’d run away. By her own admission, she was reckless and impulsive. He was Viscount Debdon, his father was an earl, and he ought to be home by now meeting his intended bride for the first time. Chance was going to be in the basket when he got back as it was, without arriving with some ruined French girl in tow. Not that he had any option. There was no way on earth he was leaving her to fend for herself. He would see her safely to his home and find out more about her uncle. Then he might judge whether her uncle was fit to take her, for he did not like the sound of a man who would keep his niece so confined. The young lady his father had selected had likely gone off in a fury days since, after he’d been so rag-mannered as to leave her hanging. He felt rotten about it, now it was done. It was a shabby way to have treated anyone, even if he resented being manoeuvred about like a blasted chess piece.

  They feasted on carrots and potatoes that night, and somehow it did feel like a feast. They ate before the fire and Chance entertained her with stories of his wartime adventures, or at least the ones that were fit for a lady’s ear and would make her laugh. In turn, she told tales of her cousin André, who had obviously been a dear friend, and whose death had been devastating to her.

  “I had accepted that I must marry him,” she said, pushing away her empty plate. “My uncle had told me since I was old enough to understand and so I knew it was how things would be. It made me sad that I would never fall in love, but there was a kind of security in it too. André was my friend, my brother, and I knew he would be kind, but like any girl I had hoped for a romance. You know… to go to balls and parties and fall in love. You think me foolish?”

  She glanced up, a tinge of colour staining her cheeks.

  Chance shook his head. “No. Not at all. Why wouldn’t you want that? It’s what we all want, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” she asked, curious now. “Men wish for this too? I thought you avoided the parson’s mousetrap like the plague?”

  He laughed at that, though he could hardly deny it. “Yes. I think we take longer to come around to the idea, but… I should like to marry, to fall in love.”

  The words hung in the air between them and Chance could not look away from her, from those dark eyes that seemed to sparkle like a night sky in the dim firelight.

  “Have you never?” she asked.

  Chance shook his head.

  “No. I thought I had, once, a long time ago. I thought I was mad in love, and that she loved me, but then she went and married a duke. He was fat and old, but he was a duke, and so she turned her back on me. I thought I’d die of misery,” he said with a soft laugh, wondering why on earth he’d told her that. He’d never spoken of it to anyone.

  His friends had known of course, which only made him feel a blasted fool.

  “I am so sorry.” Odette reached out and took his hand, and Chance’s breath hitched, though whether it was from the soft sincerity of her words or the touch of her hand he did not know. “She was a fool.”

  He laughed again at her tart remark, touched and surprised at her anger on his behalf.

  “How can you say so? You don’t know me at all, and he was a duke.”

  “Bah!” she said in disgust. “I know you. I know enough to see an honourable
man. I am sorry, too, for being so rude to you at first, but I did not know you then. I think you are kind, Charlie. I think you like to take care of people, for you have taken care of me.”

  Chance gave her a crooked smile. “I only baked you a potato.”

  “Two potatoes,” she corrected, wagging a finger at him. “But it is not that. You have reassured me that I am safe. Over and over, you have promised to ’elp me, though I am certain I shall bring you trouble. You give me the seat closest to the fire, and your coat to keep me warm, and you only took one kiss and did not even try to ask for more.”

  “I wanted to,” Chance said, and then snapped his mouth shut, wishing he’d not said so.

  He did not wish to make her nervous, or for her to change her mind about him, but she only smiled.

  “I know,” she said, lowering her lashes, her voice very quiet. “I wanted to as well, but… it is a dangerous game. We both know it, and so you stopped.”

  His entire body prickled with awareness at her words, at knowing she felt it too, this pull of attraction, but he nodded, knowing she was correct. “Yes.”

  Chance watched the way her eyelids drooped with fatigue. She couldn’t have slept much last night, cold and afraid and uncomfortable upstairs. He felt a brute for that, though he had not known she was there.

  “You’re tired,” he said. “Go to sleep. I shan’t bother you.”

  “What about you?” She looked around the room, as though a chair or another bed might present itself. “There’s nowhere to get comfortable.”

  “The floor,” he said with a shrug. “I was a soldier. I’ve slept on worse, I assure you.”

  She stared at him for a long moment and shook her head.

  “No. It is silly. We share the same room, we may as well share the mattress. It is big enough and… I trust you, Charlie. I cannot be any more ruined than I am,” she added with a smile, though it was the kind of smile that made his heart hurt. She trusted Charlie, a man who didn’t exist for he had lied and given her a false name.

  Chance nodded, unable to say a thing but watched as she lay down. He pulled his greatcoat up over her and she smiled her thanks. Once she was settled, Chance lay down beside her, careful to keep a space between them. Within a very short time, he heard her breathing change and could not resist the urge to sit up again and look down at her. The firelight gilded her face and hair, shimmering bronze on her thick, dark curls. They had come loose, many of the pins having fallen away, and Chance remembered the pretty daisy pin in his pocket. He must remember to give it back to her. Her eyelids fluttered, those sooty lashes so black, fanned against her fair skin. Despite himself, his gaze fell to her mouth. He had kissed her. All at once the sweetness of that kiss returned to him full force, and he lay down once more, shaken all over again by the memory.

  Go to sleep, he told himself firmly, and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 3

  “Wherein Chance encounters temptation enough to try a saint.”

  14thDecember 1817. Corry Brook Farm. Devon.

  Chance woke, vaguely conscious of the fact that his nose felt like ice, his feet too, but the rest of him was rather toasty. Still foggy with sleep, he gradually became aware of his surroundings, remembering the snowstorm and the empty farmhouse and… Odette. Though the storm outside battered against the glass and howled softly about the courtyard, in his dreamy state it sounded almost melodic and soothing. Contentment suffused him and he sighed. His drowsy brain conjured her beautiful face, the feel of her mouth beneath his, and his body woke fully before the rest of him, primed and eager for more.

  Then he realised why he was so warm.

  At once he was wide awake, and too aware of the soft body pressed against his.

  Oh.

  Oh, this… this was bad. Very, very good… but bad.

  Desire lanced through him as he realised her hand rested on his belly, so close to his straining cock his chest locked down tight with anticipation. Her breathing was still deep and steady, and she was quite obviously asleep. She must have felt the cold during the night and gravitated towards his heat, coiling around him like a climbing rose around an arbour. One leg hooked over his and he could feel the intimate heat of her body burning against his thigh. The knowledge that only a few layers of material kept her skin separated from his was torture of the worst kind.

  Think boring thoughts, he counselled himself, which was patently impossible. His thoughts had taken themselves gleefully on a wild rampage and were not the least bit boring. Her breath fluttered against his neck, warm and tantalising, and his own breathing became increasingly laboured. She stirred, sighing in her sleep, and her hand shifted a fraction closer to his shaft.

  Oh, Holy God and all his angels.

  Chance didn’t move so much as an eyelash. He was rigid with tension, his body singing with desire, and he did not know what to do. He did nothing. If he moved, he’d wake her, and she might be afraid… horrified….

  “Good morning.”

  Chance leapt out of his skin at the sleepy words, murmured against his ear.

  “Morning,” he managed, his reply harsh and raspy.

  She let out a long, decadent sigh which rolled across his skin and made goosebumps erupt all over him. Then she stilled. Chance realised she had suddenly become as aware as he of their position.

  At some point he had squeezed his eyes shut, no doubt to block out the inevitable scene that was about to erupt. Except that there was no scene, no shrieks of shock or disgust. He felt movement beside him and he dared to open his eyes again. Odette had pushed herself up on her elbow, her hand still burning a brand over his belly and creating far too much excitement farther south. She stared down the length of his body. His difficulty was blatant, tenting his breeches in lascivious invitation. Oh, bloody hell. Chance swallowed. Hard.

  Her head turned, and she looked back down at him, cheeks flushed, her eyes impossibly dark. Oh, God. She wanted him. He could feel it rolling off her in waves and his skin ached, literally hurt with the need to touch her, to have her touch him. He didn’t move, knowing he could not.

  Odette swallowed audibly, snatched her hand back, and then rolled away from him. She stood, brushing down her skirts, and then moved towards the fire, using the poker to stir the dying embers back to life with rather more force than was warranted.

  Chance let out a long, slow breath, before forcing his unwilling limbs to move.

  “I’ll… I’ll fetch some more firewood,” he said gruffly, and practically ran for the door.

  Though he felt like a horny schoolboy, he dealt with his unmanageable body behind one of the sheds. It barely helped. Even the snowstorm that blew icy blasts at his face and the drifts that were up to his knees did little to cool his ardour, for he knew the moment he returned to the farmhouse, she’d be there, alone. The temptation to flirt and seduce had been bad enough last night, but now… after having seen the look in her eyes. Oh, hell. Yet she trusted him, she thought him a good man, and he was damn well going to prove her right. She had been ill-used enough by her uncle, from what he could tell. Where she had learned her disgust of Englishmen he did not know, for she said she’d met no young men outside of him and her cousin, but he would not disgrace himself or his countrymen by acting like a bloody libertine. He’d been a bit of devil during his lifetime, but he was no rakehell, he was a gentleman… or, at least, he knew how to be a gentleman when the need arose. The need had most definitely arisen.

  Still requiring a bit of time to clear his head, he walked around to what had been the kitchen garden, to see if there was anything worth eating beneath the snow. After hunting about a bit, he found a basket with a broken handle and filled it with Brussels sprouts, a few parsnips, and some more carrots. Then he went to the potting shed and uncovered some string. It was easy enough to find the paths rabbits took in and out of the garden in the snow, and so he fashioned a simple snare and hoped they’d get lucky. Though it had stopped snowing, it showed no signs of melting and every sign of fa
lling again at any moment. Chance refused to admit this pleased him, or that he did not want the weather to clear. For if it did, they must leave, he would have to return her to the real world where trouble awaited her, and him too. It was hardly an inviting prospect.

  With the basket of vegetables tucked under one arm and a few logs beneath the other, he headed back to the farmhouse. He was bloody freezing now, having rushed out without his greatcoat and he pushed through the door, back into the kitchen, stamping snow from his boots.

  “Oh, goodness, you are all wet.” Odette fussed about him, brushing snow from his hair and shoulders. “Come to the fire. I have boiled some water, but I found no tea or coffee. A pity there is no honey, either.”

  “Hives are over that way,” Chance said through chattering teeth, remembering helping Mrs Burroughs collect the honey as a lad. “I’ll go and look.”

  “Non, not now, you won’t. You’ll catch your death. Look at your lovely boots, they are soaked. Take them off.”

  Chance submitted as he was wrestled out of his sodden boots and forced to peel off the equally wet stockings beneath. Odette built the fire back up, hung his stockings to dry, and put his boots beside the hearth.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a bowl of porridge and a cup of chocolate,” she said with a sigh. “Though you have done very well to bring back such treasure.”

  This was added with a grave expression that made Chance smile. Clearly, she did not wish for him to feel his efforts were unappreciated.

  “Bacon,” he said wistfully. “Bacon and eggs and some good bread spread with butter.”

  “Oh, stop!” she said, clutching at her belly and laughing. “That’s just cruel.”

  “When we get to my home, I shall fatten you up with bacon and eggs, and bread and butter, and cake and chocolate, and porridge too, if you like. Anything the lady wishes.”

  “I shall grow as fat as the Prince Regent if I eat all that,” she said, turning back to the kitchen and opening a cupboard to look inside. She pulled out a jar and removed the top, peering inside. “Besides, I am no longer a lady, am I? I do not think I shall be welcomed by your family now. Perhaps once, but….”