Winter's Wild Melody Page 5

  He rubbed a hand over his face and gave a rueful smile. “I’ll fetch my shaving kit.”

  Odette poured some hot water out into a basin for him as he sat down at the table and set down a small leather case which contained his razor and shaving brush. He looked up at her and flashed a grin.

  “And look what I have. I have a feeling you’d sell your soul to get your hands on this.”

  He held up a small round of soap, and Odette let out a gasp.

  “Oh! Charlie, yes, please. I don’t suppose you have any tooth powder in there too?”

  She watched with anticipation as he drew a small pot from a pocket and brandished it like a magician revealing a trick. There was a devilish look in his eyes.

  “A solider is always prepared for any eventuality. What’s it worth?” he asked her. “What reward shall I have for such riches?”

  Odette blushed, a tremor of unease sliding down her back and, for just a moment, she wondered if she had misjudged him. His face fell at once and he shook his head.

  “No! No, not… I didn’t mean….” He huffed, looking a little indignant. “I would never ask such a thing of you.”

  Odette was contrite at once, hating that she’d even thought it of him. “Forgive me.”

  He smiled then, and the curve of his lips transformed his face and made her feel all dithery and foolish. She had noticed his expression was often quite stern, forbidding almost, but it took little to make him smile, to brighten his blue eyes.

  “No, my fault. I was only teasing. As if you’d even consider such a thing for a paltry bar of soap and a bit of tooth powder,” he said with a laugh.

  Odette looked down at her crumpled clothes and gave a sniff.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said doubtfully, for the express purpose of making him laugh.

  It worked and a little surge of triumph rushed through her. She liked making him laugh, loved the way she could make his eyes sparkle. Odette had the strong suspicion this was a man who had been full of laughter and fun once upon a time, but life—the war—had knocked it out of him. She sensed he was learning it all over again, and she wanted so much to help him.

  “Well, it’s yours,” he said, grinning. “I shall shave and get out of your way for a bit, and you can wash in front of the fire. How’s that?”

  “Such a gentleman,” she said, affecting a swoon.

  “Glad you noticed,” he said seriously, and then winked at her as he lathered up the brush with the soap and applied it to his neck and chin.

  He’d taken off his cravat to do so, and the scene was so domestic and intimate Odette did not know where to put herself. Yet, it was fascinating too, and so she decided a girl who was ruined could act as she pleased, and sat down at the table to watch.

  Chance was quiet until he’d applied the soap all over and reached for the razor. He’d propped a small looking glass on the table at an angle and tilted his head to get a view.

  “Why do you have such a poor opinion of Englishmen?” he asked conversationally, before using the razor.

  Somehow, Odette knew that her answer was important to him and, for that reason, she did not rush to answer him. She did not know this man, and was not even certain he’d told her the truth of who he was. There had been something in his eyes when he’d given his name, as if he was hiding something. Well, she was, so why not? He was obviously a gentleman. Despite being soaked through and crumpled when they’d first met, she knew his clothes were quality, and his accent was refined. She wondered if he would offer to make her his mistress. For all he had been careful with her, determined to treat her with respect, the reality of their situation would hit home eventually. She was ruined. He owed her nothing and well as he might like her, she could hardly expect him to propose to a woman who’d acted as rashly as she had. It was not the action of a sensible woman, of the kind of woman a fellow might wish to marry. A mistress, though, that was different. Perhaps, if he knew she had money, he would be tempted to offer for her? The idea made her flush hot. No. She would not be sold to him. Not to him. She liked him too much. Far, far too much. It would kill her not to know if he truly cared for her, or had married her for her fortune.

  So, she would tell him, but… not that bit.

  She took a breath and then stopped as he laid a finger to her lips. He was half-soap, half–shaved, and looked a little comical, but his eyes were soft and serious.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It doesn’t matter, and you don’t need to tell me until you are ready.”

  “I was going to—” she protested, but he shook his head.

  “Marry me.”

  Odette gaped at him. Surely, she had misheard… he couldn’t… he hadn’t…!

  “Marry me, Odette,” he said again, his voice firm this time. “I cannot bear the idea of you going away and never seeing you again. I was going to wait, to discover more about you, for I know you are hiding something, but… I don’t care. The more I think about never seeing you again, the more afraid I feel. I can’t bear it, so… marry me?”

  She stared at him, unable to believe he’d really asked her, but there he was, waiting for her answer, his expression tight with anxiety.

  “Oui,” she whispered, so quietly she wondered if he had heard until his mouth stretched into a wide smile.

  He gave a little whoop and laughed.

  “Splendid! That’s… That’s marvellous,” he said, his eyes dancing. “Damn, I want to kiss you now, and….”

  He muttered a curse as he realised he was all soapy, and Odette dissolved into giggles.

  “Oh, Charlie, you are so funny!”

  “Just you wait there. Don’t move,” he commanded, so sternly that she only laughed all the harder.

  He returned to the job at hand, making swift work of shaving himself and somehow not cutting himself to ribbons. He flung the razor onto the table, wiped his face over with his sleeve to rid himself of the last bits of soap, and turned back to her. She watched as he reached out and took her hands in his.

  “Say it again, darling,” he said.

  “Oui, Charlie,” she said. “I will marry you.”

  Guilt flared in his eyes for a moment. “Odette, my name—”

  “I know.” She smiled at him. “Tell me later.”

  He nodded with relief and leaned in for a kiss. It was a chaste kiss, a gentle press of his lips, yet when he pulled back Odette was aflame and giddy with astonishment. He had asked her to marry him. He had no idea who she was and must believe she had nothing. Fate had brought her here, to this place, to Charlie, she would trust in that. She would trust in anything over her uncle.

  “Charlie, would you go away now, please?”

  His eyebrows went up, and he looked a little hurt, so she put her hand on his sleeve.

  “A girl does not like to be such a mess when a fellow proposes to her,” she said, blushing a little. “Let me borrow your soap and tooth powder, and then I shall feel more like your fiancée and less like a chimney sweep.”

  “You’d send me out into the snow when I want to kiss you?” he said sadly. “Ah, I see how this marriage will be. A cruel wife I have chosen for myself.”

  “Oh, no,” she said at once, mortified even though she knew he was teasing, but he only laughed and leaned in, kissing her nose.

  “Silly goose,” he said affectionately. “I’ll go and tell Ransom the good news. Call me when you’re done.”

  Chapter 5

  “Wherein the truth will out.”

  14thDecember 1817. Corry Brook Farm. Devon.

  “Good lord, Ransom. You’ll never guess what I’ve done,” Chance told his horse. He held out a piece of the apple he’d brought with him and watched as the big fellow crunched contentedly. “I’ve gone and got myself a wife.”

  Even he could hear the wonder in his words. He kept waiting for panic to seize him, for good sense to wake him out of this little daydream and scream at him for being such a fool. It never happened, and the longer the sense of having don
e the right thing persisted, the more he believed it. Obviously, it was an unusual way to meets one’s wife but… well, why not? Fate had brought them together for a reason, and he wasn’t about to turn his back on it. Fate had been cruel to him on occasion, but it had blessed him a time or two as well, such as the bullet that had left a hole in his hat when he’d not so much as a scratch on him.

  This was a blessing too. He felt it in his bones. He was sure of Odette for no good reason other than that he saw sincerity in her eyes, and her laughter made him feel alive after so long spent in some in-between state where nothing could touch him.

  “Oh, my father is going to cut me into tiny pieces and scatter them all over his thirteen thousand acres. Ah, well.”

  He scratched Ransom’s neck and frowned as he remembered the girl he’d been supposed to meet, the one to whom his father expected him to propose. An apology was due to her. Please god, don’t let her still be waiting for him when he came back with a wife in tow! At least he had an excuse beyond sheer bloody mindedness, that was something. Perhaps she’d think it romantic. It was romantic! He grinned, feeling silly and happy and not even caring in this moment that his father was going to murder him.

  “Charlie!”

  Odette’s voice rang out and Chance gave Ransom an affectionate kiss on the nose. “I’m a lucky dog, Ransom, old boy.”

  He hurried back to the farmhouse, realising as he went that everything was dripping. The snowman they had made looking oddly drunk now, the head having slumped to one side. The snow was melting. Perhaps tomorrow they could leave? For the sheer joy of it he made a snowball and lobbed it at the snowman. It hit the side of its head, straightening it up a touch. Chance gave a bark of laughter and ran to the kitchen door.

  Odette was waiting for him. She’d brushed her hair out as best she could and pinned it up again, and Chance felt his heart give an odd little kick in his chest.

  “I have something of yours,” he said, reaching into his pocket and retrieving the pin he’d found. He moved closer, showing her what he held. “I found it that first night. You almost had me believing in ghosts, you know.”

  “Oh,” she said, taking it from him. “Thank you! André gave me them for my birthday. My last gift from him. They are very precious.”

  “You loved him,” Chance observed, uncertain how he felt about that.

  She slid the pin carefully into place and nodded, looking up at him. “Oui, bien sûr. I loved him dearly, but not romantically. It wasn’t like that between us.”

  Chance nodded and took her hands. “I believe you. It’s just so hard to believe any man could be close to you and not tumble head over ears in love.”

  The tinge of colour that stained her cheeks was lovely and made him want to kiss her, but she was talking of her past and he wanted to hear that too.

  “André wasn’t… he didn’t…. I was not his… type,” she finished, giving him an anxious glance.

  There was an edge to her anxiety that made him realise she was telling him something significant.

  “Oh,” Chance said as the penny dropped. André would not have loved any girl, no matter how beautiful. “Oh, I see.”

  “You won’t say anything? Not to anyone?” she said, grasping his hands tightly, the panic in her eyes startling him. “I could not bear anyone to say anything bad of him, and I know they would. Uncle certainly did, and he only suspected.”

  “No!” Chance said at once. “No, I never would. It’s no one’s business who a fellow loves. Takes all sorts. Never have seen what all the fuss was about. Goodness, that sort of thing is rife at school, and then everyone acts as though it never happens.”

  She let out a breath, staring at him in wonder.

  “What?” he said, a little taken aback by her expression.

  “You,” she said simply. “I keep thinking you can’t possibly be as kind and wonderful as you appear, but… but you are, aren’t you?”

  It was Chance’s turn to blush, much to his astonishment. He could not remember having done so since he was about thirteen. It was an unsettling experience.

  “I don’t know about that,” he muttered, aware he had not told her some very pertinent information about who and what he was, but she had agreed to marry him all the same.

  Odette had no idea if he was a duke or a pauper. She thought he was wonderful.

  “I do,” she said, moving closer to him. She slid her arms about his waist and rested her head on his chest. Tentatively, Chance put his arms around her and sighed. Perfect.

  This felt—she was—utterly perfect.

  “Tell me why you ran away,” Chance said. “If we are to be married, you must trust me. Tell me why you hate Englishmen and why you ran away, and I shall tell you my secrets, too.”

  She looked up at him, studying his face for a moment before she nodded.

  “D’accord,” she said. “I will.”

  Chance led her to the mattress, stoked the fire, and then they sat down side by side and he waited for her to speak.

  Odette’s heart was beating hard and fast. She was uncertain why, for nothing she would say should make him think any worse of her. He knew the worst already. What he didn’t know was just who she was, or, more to the point, who her uncle was.

  “I do not know where to begin,” she said, smoothing her skirts over her knees.

  “Wherever you think best. You said you were staying with your uncle’s friends, yes?”

  She nodded. “Oui. My uncle, he is Guy André Félix, Marquis de Layon, or at least he was.”

  Chance stared at her, his mouth a little open. She could only hope the title did not intimidate him. He was clearly a gentleman, but who knew if he had simply learned how to act the part from fellows in the army, or if he was born to such a world? Not that she cared, but… but if he was afraid of her uncle…. She swallowed down a wave of nausea, unable to blame him if he was. Most people were.

  “It is difficult for a man who had such absolute power, such vast wealth, to have been brought so low by the war. We are by no means penniless, but the comparison, you see….” She shrugged. “He is no longer the man he was, and this has made him bitter and angry. It worsened when André died, his only heir, and now his niece has ruined herself.”

  “No,” Chance said, taking her hands. “We will go to Exeter, to the cathedral, and I shall buy a licence and we shall marry. It will be done before we face them. There will be no talk of you being ruined. I won’t allow it.”

  Odette let out a little laugh, still unable to believe her good fortune, that this man, this good man, would save her.

  “So, tell me what happened. What made you run away from him?”

  Odette bit her lip. “We ’ad a terrible row. He wanted me to—”

  Charlie moved closer to her and put his arm about her shoulder as she broke off, her nerves getting the better of her. What would he say when he realised the powerful family she had offended so gravely was one of his neighbours? They must be. He’d told her he lived not three miles from here, likely on the Blackdown estate, even. He would know the Blackdown name, might know them as friends, might not want to risk offending them.

  “He told me I must marry,” she said in a rush, determined to get the words out. “I was given no choice. I was to marry Lord Blackdown’s heir, Viscount Debdon. We went to stay with them. The earl was polite enough, but… but the wretched viscount didn’t even have the decency to come and meet me. I was so afraid, so unhappy, and yet I made myself go, I made myself act the part of dutiful niece. I promised I would behave as a young lady and do what was asked of me, and he… he couldn’t even stir himself to come and see me. It was dishonourable and I’m afraid I was very angry. I thought perhaps all Englishmen acted this way. I was wrong.”

  She glanced up at Charlie to see him staring at the fire, a fierce but unreadable expression on his face. He felt her gaze upon him and turned.

  “Go on,” he said softly.

  “Uncle was so furious at the slight. He and the e
arl rowed over his son’s shocking behaviour, and then my uncle got cross with me, as though it were my fault, and… I stormed out. I went out for a walk to calm down. It was only supposed to be a walk, but I didn’t stop, and before I knew it, the sun was going down and I was lost… and I realised I did not want to go back. Not to my uncle, and certainly not to a man who couldn’t be bothered to even meet me, and so… here I am.”

  Odette finished her story, breathless and nervous, hardly daring to hear what Charlie would say about it. He was tense. She could feel it singing through his body where she leant into him, and her heart plummeted. Don’t be a coward, Odette, she told herself. She must face it, she must allow him to withdraw his rash proposal if he wished to do so. Her eyes were burning as she dared to look up at him again, her throat tight with anxiety.

  “Charlie?” she said. “Do… Do you hate me?”

  “What?” he said, looking appalled at the idea. “No! Good God, no. I… Oh, Lord, Odette.”

  To her dismay, he put his head in his hands and groaned.

  “It’s all right.” The words only quavered a very little. “I will release you from your offer. I should not like to cause you difficulties with the Blackdown family.”

  He looked up, swallowed hard, and then took a deep breath. She watched as he moved in front of her and took her hands.

  “Odette, will you trust me, please? I know I have no right—”

  “Oui!” she said at once, squeezing his fingers. “Of course. I do trust you. I said yes, didn’t I? We will be married, if… if you still want to.”

  He nodded but still looked unhappy. “Then hear me out. I’m going to tell you something you won’t like one little bit… but give me a chance to explain. Please.”

  Odette felt a flare of alarm at his words, but she nodded her agreement. He let out a long breath before he raised his gaze back to hers.

  “Odette, the Earl and Countess of Blackdown are my family.”

  Chance waited for the inevitable explosion. Her hands slid free of his, her eyes glittering with indignation. He saw her gather herself, saw her shoulders go back, her chin raise a little.