A Chance in a Million (The Chances #5)

Chapter Seven

January 13, 1840

“W ell, isn’t this nice,” Victoria said as brightly as she could manage, her spirits sinking as her mother continued to refuse to leave. “So…so nice.”

She glanced at Thomas Chance, Duke of Cothrom, and forced herself to immediately look away.

It had been on this very sofa that they had… That he had…

“Dear God, I want to kiss you again…”

Not that her mother knew anything about that .

“Very nice,” agreed Mrs. Ainsworth. “I must say, I am delighted you accepted my invitation to tea again, Your Grace. You must have a great deal of calls on your time, and I cannot help but think that your acceptance is a suggestion of… Well. Of marked interest.”

“Mother,” Victoria said warningly over her tea.

“Marked interest, you understand me.”

Victoria rolled her eyes and furiously did not look at her mother.

“In my daughter.”

“Yes, thank you,” Victoria said stiffly, picking up a plate of sliced sponge cake and proffering it toward the only gentleman in the room. Anything to do something with her hands, to keep herself from twisting them in knots in her lap. “Cake?”

Thomas Chance, most irritatingly, appeared to be enjoying this. “You know, I would like a taste of something sweet.”

His voice had spoken low and her mother had been twittering on about the delicacy of his intentions—otherwise, Victoria would have been forced to throw the plate down and storm out of the room to prevent herself shouting at the pair of them.

Honestly, they were outrageous! Did they have to be so…so… Well. So.

“I am afraid cake is the only offering on the menu right now,” she said as sweetly as she could manage.

Thomas leaned forward, carefully selected a slice of the sponge cake, and as he lifted it onto his small plate murmured, “‘Right now,’ eh?”

Victoria almost dropped the plate.

“—and I hear you and your sister had a wonderful time with my daughter at the Quintrell ball,” her mother prattled on, evidently unaware her daughter was going to have to change her name and move to another part of the country if this continued. “She has always been an excellent dancer, my Victoria.”

“Yes, I quite agree,” said Thomas smoothly, not looking at Victoria as he bit into the cake.

She was watching him, though. How could she not? The way his lips curled around the cake, his mouth delicate yet possessive, tasting the sweetness eagerly, licking a crumb from his lower lip…

Something stirred within Victoria that absolutely should not.

“And an excellent conversationalist,” her mother continued. “Not that she is doing much of that this afternoon. Honestly, Victoria, what has gotten into you?”

Victoria carefully placed the plate of cake on the console table beside her and had only a moment to gather her thoughts before turning to her mother. “Into me , Mother?”

“You’re hardly offering our guest much in the way of conversation,” Mrs. Ainsworth pointed out.

“It’s quite all right, Mrs. Ainsworth,” said Thomas in that low, gravelly voice of his that made Victoria want to drag him out of the drawing room and up to her bedchamber. “I am certain your daughter will offer me other things.”

It was a good thing Victoria had not taken the sip of tea she so desperately wanted, for she would surely have sprayed it across the carpet—the carpet Mrs. Stenton had only just managed to clean since the time the duke had spilled his tea.

This was insupportable!

When Victoria, flushing heavily, managed to meet his eye, she saw he was grinning. Grinning! At her expense!

Well, two can play at that game…

“You really must ask His Grace about his other interests, Mother,” she said as calmly as she could, noticing out of the corner of her eye a little stiffness in the man’s frame. “He greatly enjoys the horses, I think. And card games. Don’t you, Your Grace?”

This time, she faced him head on, a challenge in the lift of her eyebrow.

She had intended it as a jest. To make him feel uncomfortable as he had done to her. To show him that she, too, could provoke through the art of conversation.

She had not intended for the man’s face to go pale, for his gaze to drop, the rest of his cake untouched on his plate as he swallowed hard.

“Oh, I do like a card game, Your Grace,” her mother said happily without seeming to notice the change that had come over their guest. “My current favorite is whist, a most complex game at the best of times, but when played with Victoria—she has such a clever mind, you see, and…”

As the woman continued, an unsettling discomfort settled in Victoria’s stomach. Thomas Chance had still not lifted his gaze, the uneasiness evident in the tension along his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the plate holding the now-ignored cake.

Oh, bother. What had she done?

“—and before I knew it, she had—Victoria? Where are you going?”

In truth, Victoria was not sure. She had stood up, knowing she had to do something, change something…and the easiest way was to leave.

With Thomas, of course.

“Lord Cothrom and I are going for a walk,” she said firmly.

Her mother’s mouth fell open. “Now?”

“Now,” Victoria said resolutely.

“Now?” Thomas said, finally glancing up.

“Yes, now,” said Victoria, feeling like she was stuck in a loop. “Come on. Let’s get your greatcoat and gloves and hat from the footman and—”

“But it looks like rain,” said her mother aghast, twisting in her seat as she watched Victoria stride over to the door. “And it’s cold! It’s January, Victoria. And why should the man appear now? You can’t just—”

“Are you coming?” Victoria asked, opening the door and turning to the person in the room she had somehow offended.

Thomas hesitated. He was clutching the plate of sponge cake, mostly uneaten, and his color was still a mite pale. Then he nodded.

As Victoria could have predicted, her mother immediately became flustered.

“Oh, you mean—oh! You ! You know, for a moment there I forget that you had—that you were… I thought my daughter meant your father!”

“Yes, I suppose that will be a hazard for him and me for a little while,” said Thomas quietly.

Victoria’s pulse pounded painfully to hear it. Where had the blustering, flirtatious, slightly outrageous duke she had known gone? Where was he? What had she done to destroy their connection?

“Yes, it is very strange,” said Victoria, hardly sure what she was saying, “but then I think the Chance family does things differently. Will… Will you walk with me, Your Grace?”

And she stretched out a hand.

It was most uncouth. Unladylike. Her mother’s widening eyes told Victoria exactly what she thought of that action, making it so obvious, so blatant that she wished to walk with him! Certainly not the sort of thing a delicate and refined young lady would do.

But most delicate and refined young ladies , Victoria thought, are not faced with a man who looks like that and kisses like the devil.

The duke rose to his feet and carefully placed his plate of cake on a console table. “I will.”

His voice was low, earnest, and it shot tingles of heat up Victoria’s spine as the two of them walked into the hall.

“But—but the weather!” her mother called, her voice carrying out from the drawing room. “Victoria, I cannot go for a walk in that cold with you, and you shall not go alone with a gentleman into the street.”

“I shall ask Danvers to accompany us,” Victoria said loudly, though she actually had no intention of asking her lady’s maid. She raised a brow at the footman as he brought out their pelisses, hats, greatcoats, scarfs, and gloves, as if daring him to actually go and fetch the servant. “We shan’t be long, Mother.”

Victoria barely glanced at the duke as the footman opened the door for them and did not have to ask for his arm. Thomas merely took her hand without a word and placed it in the crook of his arm, as though it had always belonged there. As though she had always belonged by his side.

She swallowed, hard, as the front door closed behind them.

Well. This was not what she had expected.

“Where to?” Thomas asked quietly.

Victoria raked over his features, attempting to discern precisely what had happened. How had she managed to subdue this fine man?

“Anywhere,” she replied softly, tugging the brim of her bonnet lower over her eyes so no one would identify her as un unmarried woman walking unchaperoned with a beau. “As long as it’s with you.”

A ghost of a smile and it was gone. Thomas stepped forward, steering her along the almost-empty Bath streets. The weather was indeed most unpleasant, and any sensible inhabitants had decided to stay indoors, where it was warm and dry. The whistling north wind was damp, bringing with it an icy sharpness that tore at the few remaining leaves in the trees and whistled around corners as they continued along the pavement.

Victoria did not need to ask where they were going. She could guess after about a minute. There was only one pleasant set of gardens in this direction of Bath, and that was Sydney Gardens.

The place was almost deserted. Frost still nipped at the blades of grass in the lawns, and the flowerbeds looked almost bare, most of their inhabitants bedded down for the winter.

Into this silent place they stepped.

Thomas had not said a word since they had left the steps outside her home, and Victoria could not bear it any longer.

“I am sorry,” she said quietly.

He looked down, eyes heavy with meaning. “For what?”

“I…I am not exactly sure,” Victoria said ruefully. “But I have hurt you. I said something that offended, that cut into you as surely as if I had wielded a knife. And for that, I am sorry.”

Thomas had clearly not expected such a thing. His eyes widened, brow furrowing. “You apologize for something you do not know, or understand—something inadvertent, that was not intended to harm.”

“Those are perhaps the most important apologies,” she pointed out as their pace slowed and they rounded a bend in the path. “Anyone can apologize for the intended slights, the cruel words they crafted on purpose. But when a mistake, some ignorance, offends, an apology is necessary. How else can two people go…go on?”

The words almost faltered in her mouth, but she forced herself to say them.

Go on , she wanted to say, to something more. To something just as real but more…more intimate.

Oh, I want to seduce you, Thomas Chance. I want to taste that mouth again, know what it is to have your fingers in my hair, feel your breath on my breasts, sense your invasive touch as you—

“But you don’t even know what I am taking offense at,” Thomas said, halting his steps and twisting so he could look directly into her eyes. “I could be making a mountain out of a molehill.”

Flecks of snow were starting to fall, but Victoria barely noticed. How could she, when Thomas Chance was looking at her like…like that?

“Are you?”

For a heartbeat, she thought he was going to lean forward and kiss her. His head moved, inextricably inching closer and closer until his lips were just inches from hers.

Then he straightened. “No.”

Victoria attempted to swallow. It took her three attempts. “W-Well, then. I apologize.”

“And I accept your apology.” Thomas gently bit his lip. “But don’t you think you deserve to know what you are apologizing for?”

“No,” she said after a moment’s thought. Tightening her grip on Thomas’s arm, Victoria started to walk slowly forward, sensing somehow that he would speak more openly walking side by side. “No, I think that is your right to tell me or not tell me. I could pry, yes—”

“And I would tell you.” His voice was low, thrumming with promise. “If you asked.”

Victoria glanced up and gave an awkward laugh. “But I don’t know if you want to tell—oh, Cothrom, I’m all of a muddle.”

His expression sparked heat through her. “Good.”

Her laughter was more natural this time and she elbowed him in the ribs as she declared, “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole thing were a jest to make me uncomfortable!”

“And I suppose it could have been—except it’s not,” Thomas said with a rueful grin. “Oh, hell. I can tell you. If there’s anyone in the world I should… But it’s not…”

She watched him, reveling in the intimacy this moment brought. She could almost see the thoughts whirling around Thomas’s mind.

He lost the family fortune . She knew that, even if he did not know she knew. The question was, could he bare his soul to her in this regard? Could he be deciding to be honest with her—something she had not expected?

As it turned out, she was half right.

“Let’s sit here,” Thomas said with a jerk of his head. “I know it’s a little damp, but I think I’ll feel more comfortable that way.”

She did not question him, even as Victoria sat on the most definitely damp bench. Thomas positioned himself so close, her hip was pressed up against his. Even through the layers and layers of fabric keeping them apart, she could feel his warmth.

Victoria swallowed. Well, this is it, then.

Thomas leaned back with the elegance and confidence of a man who had been born to a title and had known, from a young age, that he would come into a better one. “It all started a year ago, I think.”

She waited, unsure whether an interruption would break his concentration. Was she about to hear the full story—to discover precisely how and why the oldest son of the head of the Chance family had managed to lose tens of thousands?

As it turned out, she was not.

“There’s not much to tell really, no great story, nothing to get excited about,” Thomas said in a rush, his cheeks red—either from his words or the wind, Victoria could not tell. “I was foolish. I gambled. Horses, card tables—the sort of things that you jested with your mother about. That was why I felt awkward. I was a fool. I lost a great deal of money.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Interesting. So he would happily tell her that he was a gambler, a bit of a spendthrift when it came to playing the tables and betting on the races. But he hadn’t told her the whole truth, had he?

He hadn’t admitted that the entire Chance fortune—at least, his father’s—was gone.

“You judge me.”

“I’m listening to you,” she corrected in a quiet voice. They were still alone in Sydney Gardens, the threat of snow keeping people inside. Their breath turned to mist in the air. “I’m thinking.”

“Thinking what a rotter I am—”

“Thinking you are hardly alone in the ton when it comes to losing a great deal of money at cards,” Victoria said with a wry look. “I think even my father, at times, had a flutter. You are not so different from most gentlemen, you know.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Thomas stiffened. “I like to think that in your eyes, at least, I am different from most gentlemen.”

Heat flushed up her décolletage, hidden by her pelisse and scarf but burning Victoria nonetheless. “I… Yes, of-of course you are.”

“Am I?” Thomas spoke in a low voice, though there was no risk of anyone overhearing. He turned in his seat to face her, his eyes hungry, a pinched expression on his face she had never seen before. “I made some decisions, Victoria—apologies, Miss Ainsworth, and in some ways I think my family will never forg—”

“You may call me ‘Victoria.’ If you want.” She had not intended to speak, but the need to hear him say her name, for the four syllables to be entwined by his lips, was overwhelming.

Thomas’s eyes widened. “I… You… I can?”

Blushing furiously and wishing to goodness she wasn’t, Victoria nodded. “I…I call you ‘Cothrom,’ after all.”

“I would rather you called me ‘Thomas.’”

His voice was low, and if she were not mistaken, his cheeks were reddening in color. It could not merely be the weather—surely, it was more than that. More than the cold. More than mere attraction.

Could it be—

“Not in company,” Thomas added hastily, a grin loping across his face. “Now that would be scandalous. I would have to do something drastic if that sort of intimacy were overheard.”

Victoria’s mouth was dry and words simply would not come. “I…I…”

“I would introduce you to my family, but I would prefer to wait until…I mean…” Precisely what the man meant, he did not appear to know. “I am not in their good books at the moment, as I am sure you can imagine. If they only knew.”

“Knew what?”

“What?” Thomas appeared distracted, only half-aware of what he was saying. “Oh, nothing.”

Victoria frowned, but it did not appear that she was going to get much more out of him on that score. Something had changed in his demeanor; the openness, the willingness to talk had evaporated. Like frost in early morning sunshine.

She watched him sit, consumed by thoughts of his family and his obvious guilt. If only he had been truly honest with her—if only he had admitted that he had not just lost a great deal of money, but all the money his family possessed. Then she could tell him, in all honesty herself, that she…she was in love with him. That she would marry him, whether he loved her or not, if it would make him happy.

He might gamble away even her fortune. She knew many gamblers did—no lesson learned, they couldn’t stop themselves. She might be forced to live a more impoverished life than she was used to, even if a duchess. But she found she didn’t care. How could she not care?

Oh, the love she felt was an ache inside her lungs that never ceased. How she could care about someone so much, particularly when he was only interested in her wealth…

She was a fool. A fool in love.

“It’s easy talking to you. I never thought—I mean, speaking of this sort of thing to anyone felt impossible,” Thomas said with a dry laugh. His breath blossomed out on the chilly wind. “But it’s strange. I can talk to you about this. I can talk to you about…about anything, I think.”

Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. And that was why. Behind the rakish exterior, the bluff, the bluster, the fancy name and the fancy title, was the man she had fallen in love with over a year ago. The man who truly cared what others thought, who felt his guilt deeply.

She would have to seduce him as soon as possible. Make absolute sure they were discovered.

No time like the present.

“Do you want to kiss me, Thomas?”

His head jerked around. “I beg your pard—”

“You wanted to kiss me at the Quintrells’ ball,” Victoria said as confidently as she could. The gardens were still empty, so perhaps not the best place to be discovered, but still… “Well, you can kiss me now.”

It was bold and direct, and indecent and outrageous, and she had said it.

And she was not blind. She’d seen the spark of desire in his eyes, the way Thomas shifted toward her. He wanted her. She wanted him. Why shouldn’t they?

Getting caught would only lead her closer to her goal.

“You…” Thomas swallowed as he lifted a hand to cup her cheek. His glove was cold, but the gesture’s heat melted through any hesitation Victoria may have had. “Victoria, you’re so…so…”

Victoria’s eyelashes fluttered shut as he leaned forward, anticipation flaring between her legs.

“So beautiful.”

Her eyes snapped open and she leaned back. “I’ve heard that line before.”

“No, Victoria, I—”

“I told you, I don’t want lines,” she said fiercely, all thoughts of kissing and its myriad delights forgotten. “I’m not just another woman you’re buttering up to bed down, Thomas—”

“Victoria!”

“I’m different,” she said, trying to keep the haughtiness out of her voice as she glared. “I’m not—This is meant to be—”

“Different,” Thomas said quietly, brushing a thumb up her cheek. He had managed to move his hand with her, seemingly unwilling to release her.

Victoria swallowed. “Yes.”

“Well, then, I should probably tell you that you are beautiful—”

Her heart fluttered, but her mind rebelled. “I swear, Thomas—”

“Because of your kindness. The way that freckle beneath your eye moves when you laugh. The gentleness of you, I…” Thomas swallowed. His eyes burned into hers. “I have never encountered anything like it. You apologize because you care about people, but most of all, you have this…this light. I can’t explain it.”

Victoria’s mouth was dry again. She could attempt to blame the cold, wintery wind, she could argue it was because she had drunk insufficient tea that day…but it was Thomas, Thomas and his words, that were making her throat gasp for air and her fingers reach out.

They met the front of his greatcoat. Victoria splayed her palm against his lapels, just for a moment, then her fingers grasped the slightly damp fabric, pulling him an inch closer. And then another inch.

“Go on.”

“I do want to kiss you, Victoria,” Thomas said, a hunger in his voice she had never heard before. “And not just because you’re beautiful, but because…because you’re brilliant. You shine, Victoria, and everyone in your presence wants the light to fall on them. And I… I want…”

He leaned closer, and closer, and Victoria could not help but close her eyes as she welcomed the delicate brush of his lips against—

Footfalls.

The sudden absence of Thomas was painful. Victoria’s eyes snapped open to see Thomas seated quite respectfully at the other end of the bench, looking in the opposite direction, as though he had never even been introduced to her.

A gentleman in a portly wig and a large cane inclined his head as he passed them. Victoria attempted to incline her own, but as it was spinning, she was not sure if she was successful.

“A walk.”

She blinked. “Wh-What?”

“I promised you a walk,” said Thomas with a wry grin. “And all I’ve done is prattle on.”

The most delectable prattling. The most charming. The most—

“Come on,” he said with a sigh as he rose to his feet. “I should take you back home. It’s probably best I avoid scandal for another day…if I can.”