Chapter Six
January 11, 1840
W ell, Thomas may have been a total financial failure, but he knew how to found an orphanage—and keep it warm and the inhabitants fed. Mostly. It was small comfort, but there it was.
He had spent most of that morning at St. Thomas’s, listening to the boys read and watching the girls learn their French. Despite the very little he could offer, in a strange way, it settled him. Made him feel…warmer. And within a few days, there would be a better laundry, piped water into the kitchens.
It was all going to plan.
“Your plan is idiotic.”
Thomas sighed. There was always one . “Maudy, you don’t know what you’re—”
“Xander told me all about it,” his sister said with a sniff as she rustled her skirts, the carriage bumping them slightly to the left. “And I think your plan is idiotic.”
Trying not to roll his eyes, he eventually gave in. After all, it was dark. The evening had drawn in quickly and the night was clouded, the moon and stars hidden. There was no possibility she could—
“I saw that.”
“Look, it’s none of your business, Maudy,” Thomas said testily, wishing to goodness he had not agreed to escort her to the Quintrell ball. “You just let me—”
“Lie to a woman and marry her for her money?”
It didn’t sound brilliant, put like that. Squirming in his seat and telling himself he was only moving to get comfortable, Thomas said stiffly, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’re only a lady, you couldn’t appreciate just how much pressure—”
His sister’s nostrils flared. “I’m sorry, is this the pressure you put yourself under because you spent all your own money, or the pressure you put yourself under because you spent all of Father’s money, or—”
Thomas growled. “I don’t want to hear it, Maude.”
She sniffed. “Of course you don’t.”
Thomas glared. It was most irritating that his sister be so…so right. A most unpleasant habit of hers.
Because she was right. He was the one who’d gotten himself into this mess, but he was going to get himself out of it. Well. Miss Victoria Ainsworth’s money was, at least.
And if they all knew…if they had any idea what he had spent the money on—
Thomas raised himself up and pushed aside the temptation to confess. What good would that do now? No good at all. Far better to sort this out through a little matrimony than a full-blown confession.
“We’re almost there,” he said aloud, “and I would be grateful if you—”
“Did not tell Miss Ainsworth she’s been chosen at random to solve your money troubles?” his sister asked innocently.
Thomas decided not to tell her just how random the choice had been. Thank God Xander had kept that to himself, at least.
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“But you’re swindling her!” Maude said, real concern in her voice as the carriage rattled down another Bath street. “The poor woman, she has no idea you’re merely using her for—”
“It’s none of your concern, Maudy—”
“If she joins this family under false pretenses—”
“Enough,” Thomas said sharply.
There was a particular sharpness to his tone that he could employ, when necessary, and he hated doing it. There was something of his father in it, which worried him. The man was kind, yes, and gentle, yes, but there was a sharpness, a directness, and miserliness Thomas could not help but dislike.
Was it possible… Was it there within him, if he looked deep enough?
“You are swindling her,” his sister said quietly. “You are a lot of things, Thomas, but you are not a swindler. You are not a liar. I don’t understand what’s gotten into you.”
“She has a large dowry and large—she has a large dowry,” said Thomas, biting down the comment that most certainly would not have been appropriate to say to an older sister. Or any sister, for that matter. “What does she expect?”
“Oh, I am sure she realizes that sort of money has its own attraction,” said Maude, waving a hand about the carriage. “It’s almost physics, isn’t it? That much mass, things are certain to gravitate toward it. I am just saying, I would not like to be pursued for my money—”
“Maudy—”
“—for only my money, I mean,” she said, speaking over him as the carriage slowed. “I would hope any man seeking my hand would have an idea of who I was, who I am, besides my fortune.”
Thomas swallowed hard. “And I do. With Miss Ainsworth, I mean.”
“Do you?”
The carriage was almost at a stop, giving Thomas the opportunity to shuffle in his seat and avoid the question.
It had hit too close. To be sure, he knew a great deal about Miss Ainsworth. Her father was dead and she had a great deal of money. Her breasts were begging to be caressed, and she kissed like an angel. Or a devil. He wasn’t sure which.
What else was there to know?
“Not that I will know again what it is to be pursued solely for my dowry,” Maude said in a low voice as the carriage rocked, the footman descending to fetch their companion. “Now you’ve spent it all.”
The guilt he had pushed aside for so long, managed to avoid as long as he didn’t look at it in the face, reared its ugly head.
And it was ugly. Painful, scalding his heart, gripping it with a fiery intensity of agony that made Thomas want to close his eyes and grimace through the pain.
He had done this. He had ruined his family, brought shame upon his father, his name, and worst of all, had made it almost impossible for Maude to marry now. Not unless he married well. Extremely well. And quickly.
“I am sorry,” he said quietly.
Maude sniffed. “Good. So you should be.”
“But I will still pursue and marry—”
“Miss Ainsworth!” his sister said sincerely as the door opened and their guest was helped into the carriage by their footman. “How pleasant to make your acquaintance.”
His sister’s presence had been incentive for Mrs. Ainsworth to allow her daughter to join them without her. He’d never heard if she’d realized how she’d left the two of them alone the other day in her rush to join Lady Romeril.
He hadn’t been alone with his prospective bride since. Hadn’t seized his promised kiss.
“Miss Ainsworth,” Thomas said hastily, heat splashed across his face. Had she heard anything? Was it possible to hear one’s conversation through the carriage door? “Here, sit beside—”
“Me,” Maude said firmly, casting him a warning glance visible even in the evening gloom. “We can’t have you facing backward, can we? Here, place this blanket over your knees—what a cold night!”
“It is indeed, most cold,” said Miss Ainsworth, settling herself and glancing briefly at Thomas. “Though I admit, I do feel significantly warmer now.”
Thomas crossed his legs hastily as the carriage jolted forward and they began the final part of their journey.
Dear God, did the woman have any idea how that sounded? As though… Well, as though…
“—not much of a resemblance between you,” Miss Ainsworth was saying with a nervous smile.
Thomas’s stomach lurched. Ah. So she hadn’t heard.
As he knew she would, his sister merely laughed. “Oh, you’re not the first to look and fail to find it. We have different fathers, Miss Ainsworth—technically, Tommy, Leo, and Xander are my half-brothers.”
He watched color rise on Miss Ainsworth’s cheeks. Should he have warned her? Perhaps. It certainly would have avoided her awkwardly attempting to—
“I think a family such as that is a wonderful thing,” Miss Ainsworth said amiably. “How delightful for you, to have three younger brothers.”
“Not always,” said Maude, rolling her eyes. “There’s always one of them getting into a tremendous scrape. Some gentlemen just can’t keep their hands off the ladies…”
Thomas wondered if he imagined the way Miss Ainsworth swallowed, her gaze darting his way.
Thankfully, it took but seven minutes to arrive at their destination, and Thomas was careful to rearrange his trousers after the two ladies had been helped out of the carriage by the footman. Only then did he descend onto the pavement, lit by glittering reflections of the light inside the Quintrell household.
“I do hope we are not too late,” Miss Ainsworth was saying to his sister. “I know being fashionably late is starting to become the style—”
“Oh, a Chance does not follow the style, a Chance defines the style,” Maude said with a grin, looping her arm around Miss Ainsworth’s and marching her forward, away from her brother. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
Thomas had no choice but to follow the pair, trying not to think about how much he wished he had not agreed to chaperone his sister. It would have been far more enjoyable to have Miss Ainsworth to himself. Though in that case, her mother would have accompanied them, and he’d have had to devise another scheme for getting them alone, perhaps Lady Romeril pulling her carriage up beside them and inviting only the mother to join her. Leaving just Miss Ainsworth and him alone. Just him and her. Just him, pressing her against the fabric of the seats, her gasping under his fingertips as he wrought such sensations in her that—
“I said, give the man your hat, Thomas,” said a sharp voice. “Honestly, away with the fairies again. Why are gentlemen so flighty, do you think, Miss Ainsworth?”
Thomas blinked. Somehow, they had managed to get into the hallway of the Quintrell ball, the sound of music and dancing pouring from under a nearby door.
There was a footman before him with his hands out for his gloves and greatcoat. Maude was openly laughing at him just behind the footman, and Victoria—Miss Ainsworth was beside her.
Thomas’s stomach swooped.
“Hat, Thomas,” his sister commanded as she rolled her eyes. “Men, eh, Miss Ainsworth? Absolutely useless.”
“This one certainly appears to be malfunctioning,” Miss Ainsworth said, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “I suppose there is no way to revive him?”
Pushing aside all thoughts of just how the beautiful Miss Ainsworth could breathe life back into him—some parts of him more than others—Thomas hastily removed both hat and greatcoat, dropping them into the footman’s arms before stepping smartly around him to claim—
“Ah, thank you, Thomas,” said his sister archly as she slipped her hand into the crook of his free arm.
Blast . What a nuisance the woman was turning out to be. Ah, well, there was an easy way to solve this particular problem…
“Come, ladies,” Thomas said as he stepped forward, one on each arm, his left arm jolting like lightning with Miss Ainsworth there. “In we go, what a fine ballroom—oh, Mr. Lister! Mr. Lister, you must come here and dance with my sister!”
Maude turned fierce eyes to him as she hissed, “What do you think you’re—”
“It would be an honor, Lady Maude,” simpered the young man. His moustache was barely grown and he was a head shorter than his sister, but that did not matter.
“I will see you after the dance, Maudy,” said Thomas with a grin, disengaging himself from her arm. “Ah, a cotillion! A nice long one. Go with Mr. Lister.”
There was absolutely nothing she could do, and she knew it. Thomas knew it. She knew he knew it. The look his sister shot him told him in very plain language that he was going to suffer for the indignity she was about to endure, and it would be a punishment of long duration.
But that was in the future. Right now, he was standing here at the edge of the ballroom with Miss Ainsworth on his arm and no sister to get in the way.
Perfect .
“I like your sister,” said Miss Ainsworth quietly. “It is rare to meet a woman with such…such vitality.”
Thomas snorted. “You are very circumspect, Miss Ainsworth.”
“And you are once again underestimating a woman, Your Grace,” she returned quietly. “Not a habit I recommend you form.”
“Cothrom,” Thomas said softly.
She flushed, as well she might. The ball was well attended, a great amount of chatter in corners and laughter in groups, but there was a chance someone could overhear them.
He was willing to take that risk.
“I… I do not think it appropriate to call you—”
“Probably not, but I’d prefer it.”
It was the next stage of courting, Thomas was almost sure. Oh, he had bedded plenty of women—he had no concerns of technique there—but there had always been the understanding that whatever they shared, it would only last the night.
This was different. This would have to last a lifetime.
A shiver moved up Thomas’s spine and by the doe-eyed look on Miss Ainsworth’s face, she felt it.
“I…I don’t think I should—”
“Oh, you should ,” Thomas said, squeezing his hand on hers as it looped through his arm. “There are plenty of things we should do. For example, I should dance with you.”
Her eyes were bright. “You should?”
“I should court you publicly, while always looking for moments to be alone with you,” he continued, allowing just a hint of the desire he felt to seep into his syllables.
“You should?”
“And I should make sure never to kiss you again until…until it is appropriate.”
There it was—the flash of desire, one that Victoria…that Miss Ainsworth swiftly hid. But not swiftly enough. “You shouldn’t?”
“Definitely not,” Thomas said with a grin. “And yet you made me a promise.”
“A promise?”
“And I did not see you the day following that delightful afternoon tea,” Thomas said, lowering his voice and head so he could murmur into her ear. And get an eyeful of that delectable bosom. “And so you see, you owe me.”
Her breathing had quickened now. He could sense it in the tightness of her grip on his arm. By God, he was good. Very good. He had wondered whether it would take long to have her eating out of the palm of his hand, but—
A flash of memory. The sensation of Victoria Ainsworth’s palm against his mouth. Pressing a kiss into the warm flesh. Wanting more, needing more.
Thomas blinked. When the ballroom faded back into view, it was to see Miss Ainsworth with pinked cheeks.
“I think you’ll rather find that you owe me ,” she said lightly, leaning into him so her hip pressed against his.
He swallowed a moan and tried to stay rational.
Fine. She was a woman who was far bolder than he had accounted for. Far more direct. Far more… Well, there was no other word for it: sensual.
He had not expected that. But it was a bonus, wasn’t it, not a challenge? Did he not wish for a woman like that? Wasn’t this going to make wooing and wedding her all the more interesting?
“You have never courted a woman before, have you?”
Miss Ainsworth’s words cut through his muddled thoughts but unfortunately did not give his tongue much control.
“I… What?”
Her smile became wicked. “You are courting me, aren’t you, Cothrom?”
Dear God, it was sweet nectar from the gods themselves, to hear that title on her lips. Just when Thomas was certain he would never grow accustomed to it, now he did not want Victoria—Miss Ainsworth to call him anything else.
Except Thomas , perhaps. Or my dear . Or my —
And that is where we stop , Thomas thought hurriedly, pulling on the reins of his untamed thoughts. He was not in the business of falling in love, most certainly not with the woman he planned to marry.
The very idea.
He had more important things with which to concern himself.
“I think we should dance,” he said aloud.
Anything to shift his body inches away from hers to find some sort of equilibrium.
Her eyelashes fluttered. “D-Dance?”
That seemed to have unsettled her. Good. Thomas was tired of all the unsettling going in his direction—he was supposed to be the one making her fall in love with him. He wasn’t supposed to…to feel anything.
“Dance,” Thomas said firmly. “Come on.”
The cotillion was already in progress, but that wasn’t sufficient to halt him. He was a duke now, after all. What did he care about etiquette?
Thomas smirked at his sister’s startled look as he joined the end of the set with Miss Ainsworth opposite him. He was the Duke of Cothrom now. Who was going to argue with him?
The dance was lively, requiring his concentration for the first few minutes as he gained his bearings. It would have been much easier to do if he had not been required, thanks to the steps of the dance, to come into frequent contact with a woman who made him want to do unspeakable things.
Like rip off that corset and plunge his head into her bosom, for example.
Thomas focused on not tripping over his own feet, touching Miss Ainsworth as lightly as possible, and not staring at the enticingly bouncing parts of her that called out to him.
It was a challenge.
“You are an excellent dancer,” he said the next time their hands touched.
“You have excellent lines.”
Oh, hell.
“It wasn’t a line,” Thomas protested as they joined hands to promenade down the set. “Well. Not really. I meant it.”
Miss Ainsworth raised an eyebrow as they separated. When they came together again in the dance she murmured, “Gentlemen like you always have lines like that. You have a plethora of them, I suppose.”
Yes . “No,” said Thomas, rallying himself. “Not at all. You dance most elegantly.”
“Another line?”
Yes . “What do you think of me, Miss Ainsworth?”
The look she gave him was so knowing, he would not have been surprised if the truth had been tattooed to his forehead.
“I think I am starting to get the measure of you, Cothrom,” she said quietly as they stepped together again, Thomas standing perhaps a little closer than was strictly necessary. “And I would appreciate a conversation without any lines at all.”
“Without…without any?”
Incomprehensible. How else did gentlemen speak to ladies? One prepared a series of lines that one knew ladies would enjoy. Platitudes, compliments, sweet words that said little but sounded impressive.
How else was a man to talk to a lady?
“Impress me,” Miss Ainsworth murmured in his ear as she swept around him, her eyes surely far more suggestive than she had any idea of them being.
Desperately attempting to ignore the need filling his very bones, hoping against hope that Victoria could not see how eagerly his body responded to her, Thomas forced aside all thoughts of caring for this woman.
He could not care for this woman.
Hadn’t he already proven that he was not to be trusted? Had he not already let his family down?
This was a business arrangement. Of a sort—she did not actually know it was a business arrangement, but other than in that respect, it was identical. He had no feelings in the matter. He offered a title—the most impressive title a lady could achieve. He had a good family name, and, if it was not too pompous of him to say, he would be pleasing for his wife to look at. And in exchange, he had an objective of his own: her dowry. He would get it. That was all that mattered.
Victoria laughed, throwing her head back charmingly as she relished the dance, her hands once again placed in his own as they turned in a circle.
And Thomas’s heart twisted.
He had to uphold the family honor. Fortune was foremost on his mind.
“I suppose your new title has given you a great deal of new responsibilities…”
Mrs. Ainsworth was right: he had responsibilities now. Responsibilities to his sister, his brothers, his parents, to the Chance name.
And he—
“You’re thinking, not dancing,” said Victoria with a grin. “Dance with me, Cothrom.”
Cothrom. The Duke of Cothrom. The burden of the responsibility weighed so heavily on Thomas’s shoulders, he was astonished he was still standing.
“Come here.”
A soft tug on his arm and somehow, she had pulled him away from the dancing to stand by the wall. Were people watching? Probably. Thomas discovered to his surprise he didn’t really care, even if it was she, not he, who might suffer from the gossip.
If she did, he would just have to make it right. He planned to do so regardless.
“You’re thinking too much,” she said quietly, standing so close to him, Thomas could have kissed her if he had allowed himself to lean forward just an inch. “What are you thinking about?”
Thomas swallowed.
He could hardly tell her. This wasn’t the time, nor the place—if there ever was one—to reveal there was absolutely no money in his family’s coffers; that if he could marry her tomorrow, he would, because her money would be his family’s salvation; and that if a mere coin toss had ended on a different side, it would have been Lady Whatshername here opposite him, flushed from the vigor of a dance, and not her.
It could have been so different. A chance in a million.
Thomas tried to smile. “Nothing. I’m not thinking of anything, I assure—”
“You can lie to yourself,” Victoria interjected quietly. “You can lie to your brothers, your friends, even that clever sister of yours. But you can’t lie to me.”
Damn. He couldn’t, worse luck.
Well, a hint of the truth, then.
“I was thinking about you,” he said quietly. “I…”
He had intended to dress up the remark in platitudes, compliments, all the tried and tested techniques to make a woman melt before him.
And they faded away as he looked into her green eyes, alive with excitement and interest and…and something else.
“I was thinking of you, and how beautiful you are,” Thomas said simply.
The flush was delicate, but it was most definitely there. “Another line. I see.”
“It’s not—Victoria!” Grabbing her arm to prevent her from stepping away, Thomas cursed his slip of the tongue. “Miss Ainsworth, I mean, it—it’s not a line. Not for me, not in this moment. You are beautiful. Seeing you dance like that, free, and uninhibited… I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
She hesitated, still turned partly away, but her expression softened as she looked deep into his eyes. Thomas forced himself to stare back, fought against the instinct to look away, to hide himself, to become just another laughing gentleman in a crowd.
Victoria’s lips twitched. “Thank you. Shall… Shall we return to the dance?”
“You still owe me that kiss,” Thomas pointed out, trying to pull her closer, other guests at the Quintrell ball be damned.
Her eyes flashed with triumph. “I know. Consider it in my keeping until I choose to bestow it on you.”
Thomas’s groan was so light, only she heard it, but he felt the response in her. “I hope that damned thing is earning interest.”
“Oh, it is,” Victoria said lightly. “It will be very interesting.”
His jaw tightened as he tried not to grin. “Miss Victoria Ainsworth, you are infuriating.”
“Why, thank you,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “To the dance?”
Thomas nodded, pulling the arm of the most beautiful thing he had ever seen through his own. It was a good line.
“Seeing you dance like that, free, and uninhibited… I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
What a shock to discover, as the words had left his mouth, that he’d meant them.