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“Do you really,” Chance said, stepping back to let Julia take over the chore of undressing a child so sleepy her arms and legs seemed boneless. “You took your sweet time, Miss Carruthers. I already know you’re a curious sort. Did you allow yourself a tour?”
Julia lowered the night rail over Alice’s head, tucked her arms into the sleeves, then kissed the child’s cheek as she worked to push back the coverlet and slip Alice’s legs between the sheets. “Someone knew we were coming, Mr. Becket,” she said as she stood up again. “Those are fresh sheets on Miss Alice’s bed. There are fires in the grates. And there are newly lit candles. We were expected.”
She watched as Chance ran a hand over his hair. He’d had a long two days, definitely a long evening tonight. He looked almost adorably rumpled, some of his hair having escaped the ribbon, and there was a hint of strain around his eyes. Obviously this was not a happy homecoming.
“True, Miss Carruthers. Jacko knew. He simply preferred to pretend he didn’t. I was expected last night, however, and when I didn’t arrive I may have disappointed someone. Jacko wanted me to be quite sure I understood that.”
Julia shook her head. “Well, I don’t understand. Why would you plan to leave your daughter here? You obviously detest the place and dislike your family, at the very least.”
Chance’s look was cool and level. “If we’re done here, Miss Carruthers?”
He knew what was coming even before he saw her lift that maddeningly expressive chin. How in the name of Hades had he been so stupid as to hire this confounding woman?
Ah, desperation. It had been out of desperation, of course. Once he’d sent the letter off to Ainsley, once he’d made up his mind that he had no logical recourse but to go back to Becket Hall with Alice, he’d had no choice but to stay with his plans, even when Mrs. Jenkins proved unacceptable.
Those were his reasons, along with the way Julia Carruthers had appealed to him physically. A welcome surprise to sweeten the large bite of crow he would swallow once he stood in the same room with Ainsley Becket.
Even now, when he knew Julia was about to say something totally unacceptable and clearly out of line with her duties, all he wanted was to undo that ridiculous bun that was once more half sliding off her head, to learn if her honey-blond hair felt warm and silky under his hand.
“I would speak to you in the nursery, sir,” Julia said, and he nodded, knowing the only way out of this bedchamber was via that nursery and that Julia Carruthers would probably physically tackle him if he attempted to leave without listening to her as she gave her opinion on whatever was sticking in her craw.
Mrs. Jenkins, nipping gin and all, would have made a safer choice. Any woman who had not been raised near the coast in Kent would have been a better choice. Someone oblivious, someone who would keep her nose in the nursery and her opinions to herself.
But he had picked Julia Carruthers. And this woman knew. But did she know enough to watch her tongue?
If he managed to stifle her now, it would be only a temporary victory—and perhaps a very costly one, as well. For Julia was certain to pick at him and pick at him until she’d said what she felt needed to be said—probably at the most inopportune time and in the most dangerous company.
Chance retrieved his greatcoat and hat and followed Julia as if he were a schoolboy summoned to the headmaster’s office. Once they were in the nursery, he stood with his back to a piebald hobby horse he could remember as Cassandra’s favorite and ruled his expression unreadable.
And, fool that he was, he’d hope that Julia had some budget of complaints about something other than what had been made so glaringly and disgustingly obvious to him. “Well?”
Julia’s heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear its every beat. She pointed in the general direction of the center of the house and said, “You know what’s going on here? This Jacko person? And Billy? I never thought that Billy…although I should have…I’ve seen many a man like him walking the streets of Hawkhurst. They’re seamen—at least, they were. And men who have been to sea very often feel a kinship for the smugglers. Georgie and his brothers did a very dangerous and stupid thing that could bring trouble raining down on everyone. What’s really going to happen to Johnnie and Dickie? Are they in danger here?”
Chance clenched his hands into fists. She was going to ruin everything.
He had to shut her up. Now.
“I believe I can see where that vivid imagination of yours is taking you. Yes, Billy and Jacko were once sailors, years ago, and came here to Romney Marsh when we left the islands. But Billy’s far too lazy and Jacko far too fat and happy here for either of them to care about anything but their own comfort. This is Becket Hall, not your childhood home in Hawkhurst. You’re exhausted, Julia, darling, and our adventure on the Marsh and your very natural fatigue have made you fanciful,” Chance said, still with his back to the door and as, with eye shiftings accompanied by jerks of his thumb, he directed her attention to that open door.
Darling? Julia took a step back. What on earth? Someone was out there? Someone was listening?
And then she shut her eyes, realizing the mistake she’d made, before opening them wide again, looking straight into Chance’s face. “That is…oh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Those poor boys, come upon by robbers out there on the Marsh. A person who grows up in Hawkhurst hears stories of the old days, you understand, and I was so tired, tending to Alice all day—she’s a sweet child, but her own fatigue made her a little fractious, didn’t it? I’m so sorry…” She took a deep breath, let it out in a rush and pushed on, taking her cue from him. “Dearest Chance. I’m seeing bogeymen, aren’t I? That will teach me to allow my imagination to wander.”
“Yes, it will, won’t it,” Chance said, looking into Julia’s frightened eyes and marking the rather alarming lack of color in her cheeks. She might be pluck to the backbone at times, but she could also topple in a faint at any moment. “But Alice is asleep now and we’re alone. Just let me close this door so no one disturbs us. I haven’t kissed you in hours.”
Well, that brought the color back into her cheeks!
“But…but don’t you think you should seek out your father…that is, Mr. Ainsley Becket? Jacko must have told him you’ve arrived.”
“He can wait. They can all wait. I can’t,” Chance said in a near growl, walking over to the door to the hallway now that he’d given anyone who might have been listening time to hide out of sight. He stepped into the hallway himself, and it was empty, as he’d expected, then backed into the room and closed the door. Locked it.
“Was…was anyone out there?” Julia asked, whispering.
He could say no. But that wouldn’t put the fear of God into her, would it? Besides, he knew Jacko. Jacko may have the size of a bear, but he moved like a cat. He knew the man had been there listening. “Yes, I saw Jacko, the back of him, sneaking into a room down the hall.”
“Oh, good God in Heaven,” Julia said as she clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking. “Do you think he heard me?”
Chance stepped closer. “I’m sure he did, but you didn’t say anything too dangerous. You’re concerned for the idiots we brought with us, that’s all. Ease your mind on that head at least, please. The boys and their family will be leaving the Marsh in the morning. I’m having them sent north, to my estate near Coventry, well clear of here. Now say whatever else it is you feel you must say and then we won’t discuss any of this again.”
Julia backed up two paces, because he was standing so close and she was suddenly very aware that he had earlier called her “darling.” She mined her brain for the list of questions she had for him and came up with the first that she recalled. “Why is Billy your coachman? He’s an atrocious coachman.”
Chance smiled. “I knew you’d have questions, but I hadn’t considered that one. But fair enough. Billy is my coachman because I choose that he be my coachman—and probably because he believes his life’s work is to protect me, from only God knows what.”
“He still walks as if he’s on a rolling deck,” Julia said, hoping to ease the tension that seemed to be increasing between them, a tension that had little to do with the questions in her head or the growing fear in her heart.
“He does that, doesn’t he?” Chance said, smiling. “Jacko was also a sailor, as you already guessed. Ainsley was a sailor. Most anyone you encounter here at Becket Hall might have gone to sea at some time. After all, we lived on an island. But that’s all it is, Julia. When we left the islands and came here, everyone gave up the sea. They gave up anything to do with the sea. Do you understand me?”
“You’re telling me that no one at Becket Hall is associated with the smugglers or even knows or cares about them. I understand.” She bit her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked at him, as everything seemed to fall into place for her, the pieces of the puzzle now all fitting together tightly, showing her a picture she’d rather not see. Did he think her a fool? “They know you are a part of the War Office.”
“Yes, they do,” Chance said, his expression going dark, unreadable. “And the war is on the continent, not here in Romney Marsh.”
Why did she keep pushing at him? But she had to know. “True enough. But the Owlers are here, and they trade with the enemy. Did you really bring Alice to Becket Hall because you believe she should be here or are you using your own daughter as an excuse to spy on the smugglers for the king?”
“One does not necessarily make the other true. I had only planned to bring Alice home. And, my dear, as it stands, I don’t have to justify my actions to you.”
“No, you don’t. But please don’t dismiss me as some foolish London society miss who has no notion of what can happen here. Do you know the history of the Hawkhurst Gang? You made mention of my birthplace, but I doubt you know all that I know. The worst of it happened a long time ago, but the stories still are told and retold in Hawkhurst.”
“I only know that some five or six men were hanged in chains for murdering a king’s officer, their bodies strung up along the roadway for all to see. But that was—what?—sixty years ago?”
Julia nodded her agreement. “They butchered one of their own at the same time, a man who was going to give the king’s testimony against the gang. The gang had grown too large, too powerful. Smuggling isn’t only a dangerous but necessary occupation for desperate people wishing to feed their families. Many people became very rich, both here and in London.”
“The government destroyed the Hawkhurst Gang, and many more like them. There are better patrols now, Julia, more troops assigned to capture smugglers. The Crown has the situation under control—or will very soon. The war and the shortages war causes have simply stirred things up for a while, that’s all.”
Julia wasn’t convinced and was far from satisfied with his reasoning. Hadn’t she only a fortnight ago drunk the last of the contraband tea left at the church just days after her father’s funeral? She had to make him understand.
“The Hawkhurst Gang thought nothing of murdering people who got in their way, people who saw too much, said too much. People like Dickie and Johnnie. People like us, who have stumbled over what they’d done. And from what Dickie said, it would seem there are more large gangs out there now who could be very much like the Hawkhurst Gang. This Black Ghost, for one.”
Chance felt a tic beginning in his left cheek. “You never heard that name, Julia. Never. Never so much as think it again. And I won’t keep you here if you’re going to worry yourself to death. I can send you back to London tomorrow morning, if that’s what you want.”
Julia shook her head, feeling suddenly stubborn. “Not unless Alice travels with me.”
Chance cursed under his breath as he stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Do you honestly think I would let Alice come to any harm? This is my family, Julia. It may not seem so to you so far, but they would kill for me, and I would kill for them. Any one of them. And I would never harm them. Never. Jacko and Billy? I consider them family, as well. Everyone at Becket Hall is family. No matter how stupidly they—”
Julia watched as Chance brought himself back under control. She longed to ask the real question: did he think members of his own family had joined the smugglers? Because she’d certainly gotten that impression through his few terse comments to her in the coach after they’d found the boys.
And yet, was that so terrible? Her own father allowed contraband to be stored in his church before the smugglers could move it inland. Everyone in Romney Marsh and other coastal areas, in some way, large or small, was involved with the smugglers, knew some of the smugglers, benefited from the goods that were left as payment for the use of an outbuilding or the loan of a horse. Her best gown, the yellow silk, had been fashioned from a bolt of cloth left for her at the vicarage one night.
“The matters of business that will keep you here for a few weeks,” Julia asked, “do they have anything to do with the smuggling trade? No, please don’t answer. I shouldn’t have asked. We shouldn’t even be having this conversation. Not any of it.”
Chance smiled at her. “At last. Yes, Julia, we shouldn’t be having this conversation. But I will tell you, I am not here to run about, hoping to capture smugglers and bring them to Dover Castle to be tried and hanged. I’m only charged with speaking to the Waterguards and such up and down the coast, hopefully putting some of the fear of God into them so that they will do what needs to be done. Because they certainly haven’t yet, have they, or Georgie would still be alive and thinking of no more than hoping to steal a kiss from some young girl.”
Julia nodded, agreeing with him. The pity of the smuggling trade was not only that it was so necessary to survival but that generations of Marshmen knew no other way to feed their families.
“I…I suppose you should go downstairs. Your…your father may be waiting to see you.”
“I’m sure he is, along with at least one of my brothers. As I remember it, your chamber is over there, on the other side of the nursery. Will you be all right? No bad dreams about bogeymen coming to truss you up and toss you in the Channel?”
“I believe they buried the king’s man alive as he stood in a hole and tossed the other man down a dry well, then dropped rocks on him until he stopped moaning. But as you said, that was long ago.” Julia hugged herself, rubbed at her arms as a chill overcame her. “No, I’ll be all right. I believe you. That all happened very long ago. The world is much more civilized now. Besides, Billy has vouched for me,” Julia said. “Good night, sir.”
Chance let her get nearly to the door to her chamber before he stopped her, turned her around at the shoulders. “Jacko overheard us, remember? The man gossips like an old woman. By noon tomorrow, they’ll all think we’re lovers. That means you’re mine, and no one associated with Becket Hall would even think to harm anyone or anything that’s mine. I’m sorry I could come up with nothing better, but at that moment it was the only thing I could think of to…well, to shut you up. Do you want me to tell them otherwise?”
At last he had come close to admitting that, yes, there could be danger here at Becket Hall because of what they’d seen and heard on the Marsh. Julia felt her heart begin to race again and willed herself to be calm. “I knew what you were doing, once you did it. But I’m only the nanny. No one will care what our…association might be.”
“So you don’t mind being my mistress, Julia?” Chance asked her, drawing her closer.
“We both know I’m hardly that,” she said, hoping she sounded firm, sure of herself and unafraid of him. She couldn’t let him know how she felt as he stood so near, near enough for her to see the golden flecks in his stormy green eyes.
“True. But you’re a very brave woman, Julia. I saw that firsthand, out on the Marsh. And a very intelligent one, as well. No one here would be surprised that I’d found you…decidedly attractive.”
Why was she still standing there? Why was she still talking to him and not running into her room, hoping there was a key in the door so she could lock herself away from him, from those eyes of his that kept drawing her in, closer? Closer. “And would they be surprised that you would have your…your lover pose as your own child’s nanny, insinuate her into their household?”
Chance grinned, even as he lightly rubbed the pads of his thumbs across her remarkable collarbones. “Hardly, Julia. Hardly. In fact, I imagine they’ll be delighted with my transparent effort to disguise our true relationship until such time as I’m ready to reveal the truth. Besides, as you said, Billy has already approved you, no mean feat in itself. We’re a rather unique family.”
Julia took a shaky breath in an effort to appear calm, collected. But this man knew his impact on her senses and he was letting her know that he knew. “Saying, however, does not make something so. If you think I’d feel safer? As long as you and I know the truth of our…our association…” Her voice trailed off as she felt herself becoming even more lost in the deep green depths of his eyes. “That is…you and I…I would not ever—what are you doing? Stop that.”
Chance had lifted his hands to her hair and begun working at that infuriating, intriguing bun. “Did no one ever tell you, Julia, that a beautiful woman attempting to look prim and proper is more often than not a siren song to a man? I’ve been wanting to do this from the moment you walked into my presence and began taking over my household.”
Julia felt the band on her hair coming free and the weight of her hair slipping down past her shoulders. He placed his hands on either side of her face below her ears, then slipped his fingers up and into her hair, sending shivers skittering throughout her body.
She should stop this. Stamp on his toe, slap his face. Something.
But, oh, it felt so good. His hands were warm against her skin, and his face was so close to hers, his full lips curved in such a wickedly intriguing smile. Her world filled with him, and only him, and all her defenses had deserted her.
She closed her eyes.
“Sleep well, Julia,” he said—breathed—against her temple. “You’re tired and Ainsley awaits. We’ll continue this another time.”
Chance watched as she opened her eyes to look at him in surprise. And perhaps disappointment? He hoped so, as he was more than disappointed himself. “You see, Julia? I’m a gentleman. But a gentleman on a very short leash and now returned to the bosom of his not-always-gentlemanly family. You might ask my sisters to hide you, but it would be safer, I’m sure, if you were to leave here, return to London.”
“Return to London? So that’s what this has all been about? You want to frighten me into leaving?”
“What I want and what I think best are two different things,” Chance told her. “But you should leave.”
“I don’t want to return to London,” Julia said before she could realize the implications of that admission. “I mean, I want to stay here, with Alice.”
Chance trailed his fingers down her cheek, then looped two fingers into the top of her modest gown, traced the skin just at the uppermost swell of her breasts. “I don’t know which of us is most dangerous to the other. But we’ll find out, won’t we. Again, darling, good night.”
Chance turned and headed for the hallway, scooping up his greatcoat as he went, silently cursing himself for having nearly lost control of his hard-won civilized demeanor that had been more than a dozen long years in the making.
He shouldn’t have come back. He’d cut the ties, loosed the bonds, made a new life for himself. And all it had taken were a few words from Jacko, a lungful of sea air and one beautiful, too-curious virgin to turn him back into the wharf rat he’d worked so hard to forget.
CHAPTER SIX
AINSLEY BECKET STOOD in the shadows and watched as Chance carelessly descended the wide marble staircase. The younger man kept his hands at his sides, his confident grace, as always, reminding Ainsley of how deftly the young Chance had sidled through a wharfside pub crowded with drunken sailors, smoothly lightening the load of coins in their pockets.
Ainsley had sat with his back to the wall and idly watched the tanned, barely clothed, underfed boy ply his trade. He was only amusing himself, especially when he saw the boy bump into Billy, murmur an apology and then walk away after Billy cuffed him on the ear. The boy had grinned widely then, even as he’d pretended to howl in pain, with Billy’s pocket now empty and the seaman none the wiser.
“Fool’s too drunk to know he’s been dipped. Do we tell him, Cap’n?” Jacko had asked, using his mug of ale to point at Billy.
Ainsley hadn’t answered. He was already on his feet, for one of Edmund’s men had taken hold of the boy’s arm and was leering down into the suddenly white, pinched face. Saying something, whispering to the boy.
“Damn him, I warned Edmund about that one,” Ainsley had said as the seaman made a grab at the boy’s crotch. “He’d poke a knothole.” Then he’d looked down at Jacko, who was taking another drink from his mug. “You with me?”
“Better with you than against you, Cap’n, although I would remind you I said not to come in here. Back to the wall or nay, never drink in another man’s pub,” Jacko had said in that lazy, smiling way of his. He’d put down the mug and pushed his thickset body out of the chair. Both men had slipped out their knives, holding them low at their sides as they’d pushed their way toward certain trouble, Jacko whistling Billy to heel.
The rest of that evening remained a partial blur in Ainsley’s memory, although the chipped tooth in the front of Jacko’s mouth was one reminder. By dawn, the three of them had been nursing their wounds, some greasy bastard named Angelo who stood behind the small serving bar had been made the richer by ten gold pieces, Edmund was short three of his crew and Ainsley had acquired a brat. He’d thought it an amusing bit of justice that he’d put Billy in charge of the boy.
How old had Chance been when he’d come to the island? Eight? Ten? And a man nearly grown by the time—Ainsley closed his eyes, let the pain roll over him, not as crippling now, but still there to remind him, then finished the thought—by the time they’d all died and gone to England.
“It’s good to see you, boy.”
Chance paused with his right foot on the stone floor of the wide entrance hall, then moved again, turning to his right, following the sound of Ainsley’s voice. “Sir,” he said, then held out his hand to the man. Nearly five years had passed since they’d spoken, communicated in any way. “Thank you for not sending Jacko to the door with a brace of pistols.”
“And why would I do that? This is your home, Chance. Alice is welcome here. Come along, I’ve got brandy warming by the fire in my study.”
“Yes, sir,” Chance said and followed Ainsley down the dimly lit hallway, secretly pleased to see that Ainsley continued to dress all in black, but that he still walked like a man who owned the world while gracious enough to share it with lesser mortals.
He’d been a god to Chance, his savior from a fate Chance hadn’t really understood until Billy had taken him aside and explained in graphic detail what the sailor had wanted from him that night in Angelo’s pub. His savior in all things.
How Chance had worshipped Ainsley, the tall, deceptively powerful man, his tanned face lean and strong, his sharp eyes missing nothing, his voice quietly commanding respect, his smiles rare but wonderful to behold.
He was still strong and straight, but there was some silver scattered now in his black hair, and the lines in his face had carved deeper, especially across his brow. Time does that to a man. As does pain.
Strange. Chance had never thought about Ainsley growing old, being anything but invulnerable. Even that day, that last day, he’d been the one who’d kept his head, who’d held them all together. Chance had hated him for that.
They entered the study, Chance following behind Ainsley.
Books. Ainsley’s study was filled with books. Books on shelves that lined every wall and disappeared in the dark as they climbed toward the ceiling. Books piled on every surface, stacked on the floor. A newspaper not more than three days old was spread out on one of the tables, along with several maps.
Chance walked over to the table, taking hold of one of the maps at one corner and pulling it around so he could better see it. Several areas were circled with thick black ink, on both land and sea. “You’re following the battles?”
“Other people’s wars are often interesting, although nothing has been quite so intriguing since Trafalgar. England lost a good man in Nelson.”
Chance dropped the corner of the map. “Yes. Maybe one day they’ll raise a monument to him somewhere. In the meantime, they’re allowing his beloved Emma to starve. I heard she’s been imprisoned for debt, actually. Ainsley, it’s been a long day and I’m really rather tired….”
“One drink, Chance. Just one. And some conversation.”
The fire in the grate had been freshly fed, as if Ainsley had planned on a long night, a plan Chance didn’t share. He waited for the man to take his seat in one of a pair of wing chairs in front of the fire, then sat in the other one, a low table between them holding a brandy decanter and two snifters.
