Romney Marsh Trilogy: A Gentleman by Any Other Name / The Dangerous Debutante / Beware of Virtuous Women

She believed he’d come here to talk? Lord love the woman. But very well, they’d talk. “I wanted to thank you for today, Julia. Ainsley was quite impressed. My sisters believe you to be extremely pleasant, my brothers are envious of me and my daughter, it would appear, would be a sad child indeed if you weren’t here. And you didn’t stab me with your fork when I kissed your cheek in front of my family tonight at dinner. So for all of that—” he spread his arms again, palms up, as if to show that they, and he, were empty of anything in the least nefarious “—thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Julia said, then lowered her head, looked at him through her lashes, totally unaware of what she was doing. But she did feel flattered and quite pleased. What a pathetic fool she was, she should be ashamed of herself. “Your sisters like me? I think they’re very nice. Very different but very nice. Callie is a rare handful, isn’t she?”

“They all are, in their way. Except for Eleanor. Although I will warn you, that little bit of nothing has a will of iron. I, for one, would think twice before I crossed her.”

Julia couldn’t help herself. “I noticed that she walks with a slight limp. Callie says her leg gives her pain.”

“And you, uncurious as ever, want to know what happened to her, yes? Was she born that way? Was there an accident?” Chance said, moving closer, shortening the distance between them.

“No,” Julia said quickly. “No, I don’t. If Eleanor wants me to know someday, she’ll tell me. I won’t ask about Eleanor or any of your sisters or brothers. I won’t ask about Ainsley and I most especially will not ask about Jacko or Billy or any of the others I’ve encountered thus far. Mr. Becket’s servants, that is.”

“And a motley collection they are, yes. All colors, all shapes, all sizes and more than a few languages among them. At least two missing a hand each, one of those a woman. And one with a wooden leg—that would be Bumble, our cook. I don’t think there are more than three or four who have all their own teeth, either. We had one who’d lost an eye, wore a fine black patch, but I’ve heard Ricardo put his good eye to finding himself a fine countrywoman in Dymchurch who doesn’t mind his feet stuck under her kitchen table.”

Julia put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile. “Certainly none of them remind me of your fine London butler or your footmen in their fancy livery. Everyone here…everyone just seems to be here because they want to be here, and as long as they’re here, they’ll help out.”

“What a lovely and very apt way of putting it,” Chance said, shortening the distance between them yet again. Slowly. Slowly. All good things come slowly.

Julia shrugged. “The house is so formal, but the people are not. I…I do think it is all very lovely, frankly, although I believe I can understand why your late wife wasn’t quite so delighted. Becket Hall is most certainly not Upper Brook Street.”

“Becket Hall is our land ship,” Chance said, realizing his words were very close to the truth. “Stone and mortar rather than wood and sail. An aging crew, retired from the sea. Someone should write an epic poem.”

“Perhaps someone has, in a way,” Julia said, nervously twisting her hands together. “‘The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; Yet never a breeze up-blew. The mariners all again work the ropes, Where they were wont to do. They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—We were a ghastly crew.’”

Chance stepped back as if she’d slapped him. “Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”

“‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ yes.” Julia shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why that came into my mind.”

“No, no, that’s all right. It’s a fanciful story. The mariner saved by an albatross, only to slay the bird and have it hung around his neck as penance. Ainsley puts more stock into that fantasy than most.”

Unbidden, another bit of the poem sprang into Julia’s head. “‘The other was a softer voice, As soft as honeydew: Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.’” Now she was becoming fanciful as well as scaring herself. “It’s growing late….”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Chance said, snapping himself back to attention and to the matter at hand. “You’re an interesting woman, Julia. The vicar’s daughter, who knows too much about what goes on in the Marsh, who has no qualms about tending to bloody wounds…who spouts poetry.”

He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if you’re the luckiest find a man could stumble over or his just punishment.”

Julia swallowed down hard, amazed at how vulnerable Chance Becket looked to her at that moment and how in charity she was with this maddening man who harbored so many secrets. So many, she felt sure, sad secrets. “This hasn’t been an easy homecoming for you, has it?”

Chance looked at her and laughed softly. “You noticed? And here I thought I was putting such a fine face on things.”

The room was becoming smaller, more intimate. And he was becoming very aware of how alone he had been for so very long and how sweet it would be to have someone to hold, someone to care for him. Someone who someday he might even be able to talk to….

Julia felt so sorry for the man, both for the man and the boy he’d been. If he were Alice’s age, she would take him in her arms and try to comfort him. “Yes, I did notice. And my presence here isn’t making any of what’s going on here easier for you.”

He shook his head, shocked to realize what he would say next was true. “No, Julia, there’s where you’re wrong. Frankly I can’t imagine being here without you. God knows what I would have done if you hadn’t been there on the Marsh with me last night. I might have…might have been stupid enough to destroy everything.”

Should she pretend not to understand what he meant? But what was the point in that? “If Dickie had not said Black Ghost to me, and me to you, you may have done your duty. Then Dickie may have said the words to someone at Dover Castle.” She closed her eyes for a second, then said the rest. “And brought the world down around your family’s head.”

“Billy would have stopped me,” Chance said before he could measure his words. Too close, too close; this woman was much too close.

Julia put her hand on Chance’s arm. “Do they really spy on you in London? Don’t they trust you?”

Now Chance laughed in genuine amusement. “Billy protects me. Or at least he’d like to think so. Don’t become too fanciful, Julia, not everything is a mystery to be solved.”

You are. Julia closed her eyes and turned her head away from him as she prayed she hadn’t said the words out loud. “I’m tired. Please.”

Chance reached out to lightly touch the side of her throat. “There’s still those buttons to contend with,” he said quietly.

“I can manage them, thank you.” She didn’t look at him but kept her head turned, refusing to believe that she wanted him to keep touching her, even as his fingers drifted to her cheek and then lightly to her chin.

“Look at me, Julia,” he said, the slight pressure of his fingers beneath her chin. “Look at me. What do you see in my eyes?”

“I…I don’t know,” she said, her own eyes searching his face, drinking in the beauty of him, the restrained but probably never to be conquered strength of him. “I think you frighten me.”

“Oh, no, not that,” Chance said, dipping his head to nuzzle at the silky skin below her ear. She tasted as good as he remembered. He whispered into her ear, “Don’t be frightened.”

Julia took an involuntary breath as tiny shivers of awareness spread like silken cobwebs, tracing over her shoulders, down her arms. She could feel her nipples pressing against her undershift.

He slid his arms around her, pulling her closer, and she wondered if he’d felt as alone as she had and if he, too, felt less alone now.

She was weakening. Chance knew it. Knew it and cursed himself. Cursed Ainsley and Jacko and Courtland. All of them.

Then he cursed himself again, because he wasn’t here with this woman on orders from anyone. He was here because here was where he wanted to be. Holding her. Tasting her. Introducing her to what it felt like to be a man and a woman together.

“Never be frightened of me,” he said as he raised his head slightly, then brought his mouth down on hers. Slanted his lips against hers until she opened to him, then plunged inside.

Her arms came up of their own volition, it seemed, for Julia was now holding him, clinging to him, the small fires he had lit this morning now bursting into flame with a vengeance.

She didn’t know what she felt or even why she felt it. But she wanted to learn, to feel more, because she was sure there would be more. “Please,” she murmured against his mouth, then gasped as she felt his hand cup her breast.

Holding the kiss, with his right hand Chance released the row of buttons that ended just below her waist, then pushed the material from her shoulders, along with the straps of her simple cotton shift.

Julia felt the night air on her bare skin, cool and surprising, before Chance covered her breasts with his hands, lightly rubbing the pads of his thumbs over her.

She should stop him. This was madness. She didn’t even know this man. She’d never known a man, not in her nearly one and twenty years, had resigned herself to spinsterhood. Which is no excuse.

“Go away,” she breathed without realizing she’d spoken aloud as Chance kissed her cheek, her chin, began nibbling maddeningly at the tingling skin of her throat.

His hands stilled on her breasts. He would never force a woman. He’d seen enough to have given him a horror of that sort of display of physical dominance. “You want me to leave?” he asked, then gave in to the desire to lick at her magnificently straight collarbone with the tip of his tongue.

Julia tipped back her head, breathing hard as she looked up at the dark ceiling, mentally waving goodbye to her common sense and a lifetime spent believing she had a clear understanding of right and wrong. “No,” she then said honestly. “I…I was talking to my conscience.”

“God, you’re a fascinating woman, Julia Carruthers,” Chance told her, then scooped her up, carried her over to the bed, gently laid her against the cool, fragrant sheets.

He joined her on the bed, taking up where he’d left off, kissing her mouth, touching her breasts.

She knew she was naked to the waist, exposed to his eyes, but she didn’t care. Still, what was fine for the goose…

He was dressed casually again, just evening shoes, hose and skintight fawn breeches, not even the vest of this morning covering his snow-white, generously sleeved shirt with the collar opened, exposing a small part of his tanned chest and a few golden curls. She ached to touch him.