A Chance in a Million (The Chances #5)

Chapter Ten

“S ending your carriage home, claiming you’ll spend the night under my mother’s and sister’s eye and then changing your mind, was a foolish idea—”

“It was my idea!”

“That doesn’t mean it can’t be foolish,” Thomas said with a laugh at the woman who was confusing him with every passing turn.

Victoria turned up the collar of her pelisse around her neck, as though that would have any impact on the freezing temperatures, and grinned. “Well, what can I say. It’s more fun to walk home.”

“But I can’t let you walk home on your own,” he began as he opened the front door of the Chance house, light spilling out onto the icy pavement.

His stomach lurched as Victoria glanced over her shoulder. “Then don’t.”

She stepped forward without hesitation to the pavement and started walking slowly in the direction of Union Street.

Thomas cursed quietly as he stood there, indecisive. His father was expecting him for drinks in the library. His mother would undoubtedly want to ask about the damned waltz, and if he knew Maude, she would want to know just what his intentions were toward the young woman to whom he was paying such marked attention.

His intentions. An excellent question.

His gaze lingered on the sway of Victoria’s hips as she walked. Even through the thick fabric of her pelisse, there was no mistaking those curves.

Thomas’s fists tightened, just for a moment. And then the decision was made.

“Victoria—Miss Ainsworth, wait!”

She halted, twisting to smile with a far-too-knowing grin. How had she known? He had barely known himself until a second ago what he was about to do.

Grabbing the nearest greatcoat from one of the family’s startled footmen and ramming his hands through the sleeves, Thomas almost slipped as he ran out into the cold, night air.

The freezing, absolutely bone chilling cold air.

Hissing through his teeth, he shook his head as he reached Victoria. “You’re being ridiculous, walking home in this!”

“It’s only cold,” said the shrugging woman playing havoc with his mind.

“It’s absolutely freezing! You do not even have a hat!”

“Cold is a state of mind,” she said cheerfully, slipping a hand into his— a hand. Into his. Her other hand curled seductively around his arm. “Not so cold now, is it?”

Thomas swallowed and looked into the eyes of a woman who appeared to know him better than he knew himself.

Because she was right. The close proximity of the woman he had wanted to kiss so badly ever since he had first tasted those lips was pouring scalding heat through his veins. Hotter than whisky, hotter than rum—he had never tasted anything like it.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not so cold now.”

They stood there for a moment in silence, the midnight air gently rustling through empty branches.

Then Thomas cleared his throat, looked up, and started forward. “Come on, then. I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

It wasn’t entirely necessary. There were two or three Chance carriages available at any one time, and he did not imagine all of them had been called upon to transport their guests home. Not with Miss Victoria Ainsworth one of the last to leave.

All he would have had to do is ask Bradbury, their butler, to prepare a carriage—or go out into the street and find a hackney cab—to transport Miss Ainsworth home, with a chaperone if needed. A maid, perhaps. With a footman to guard them.

Thomas’s fingers tightened around Victoria’s own. The idea of sending her off into the night with a mere footman! A blaggard, perhaps, a rogue who would tell the maid to look the other way and take advantage of—

“I had a wonderful time at your ball.”

Thomas looked into Victoria’s face.

When would he have a handle on this woman? At times bold and brash, at others shy and curious, there appeared to be endless facets to her. Surely, most women were not so complicated?

Surely, most men did not bother to find out.

“I am glad,” Thomas said honestly, truth slipping from his tongue far easier than the many lies he had so recently told. “It was… Well. Important to me. I wanted my family to have a good opinion of you.”

“And do they?”

He weighed up the truth.

His mother had instructed him to marry Victoria Ainsworth as soon as possible.

His father had inquired as to her suitability as a spouse and had been gratified to discover not the slightest hint of scandal.

His brothers had teased him something awful about the fact that, but for the toss of a coin, he would have been attending the family ball with Lady Marjorie—a comment from Leopold that had inexplicably made Xander’s ears redden.

And his sister had informed him, quite calmly, that he was not good enough for Miss Ainsworth, would never be good enough for Miss Ainsworth, and should call the whole thing off.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes, they liked you.”

Victoria nudged him in the ribs. “That was far too long a pause to be genuine, you know.”

“Honestly, they liked you!” Thomas protested, hating that it had taken him so long to gather his thoughts. He hesitated again. “I think they would not mind I were to… If I… If we…”

Why was it so difficult to get these words out? Why was the challenge of speaking his mind so arduous?

Because , came that irritating little voice at the back of his mind again, you started all this under false pretenses, didn’t you? You lied about the money. You’re lying to all of them. You tossed a coin to choose a bride! And she has no idea your only interest is in her money…

Well. Not the only interest. Not anymore.

“Thomas, what are you thinking?”

Thomas started. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Victoria said airily with a laugh. “Only that we’ve been walking now in the wrong direction for about two minutes, and try as I might, I haven’t been able to turn you.”

He halted in his tracks, looked around wildly, and saw a street sign. Union Street. Union Street?

Laughing at how swiftly he could become lost in his thoughts, Thomas changed tack, both with feet and tongue. “Enough about my family—I want to hear about your own.”

“Mine?”

He nodded. Yes, that was a safe topic. That couldn’t take him closer to danger.

Victoria shrugged, the movement against the borrowed greatcoat shooting sparks down Thomas’s spine. “You have met the entirety of my family, I am afraid. My mother and I are all that’s left of the Ainsworths.”

“And your father—what was he like?”

For a moment, Thomas worried he’d touched a nerve. It could have been the nighttime shadow passing over Victoria’s face as they passed a window, light streaming through a chink in the curtains. But then it faded, and her smile returned.

“My father was… He was everything you would want a father to be. Kind, and a tad gruff. He gave so freely to the poor that my mother would jest he would starve us to feed others!”

Thomas stiffened, but only for a moment. There was no way she could know, was there?

“His death was quite a shock, and in some ways, I think… I think a part of my mother died with him,” Victoria said, more solemnly. “They were so in love—a rarity, I think. An arranged match that ended up in true devotion.”

She met Thomas’s gaze, and he tried not to show any great depth of feeling. “Indeed.”

“ Indeed ,” she mocked with a lilting laugh. “Tell me about the Chance family—at least, tell me that which I do not already know.”

“‘Already know’?”

Victoria squeezed his hand as they turned a corner. “You must understand that being a Chance… Well, the family has been respected for generations, hasn’t it? If you ask me, it’s a surprise none of our generation have been knighted yet—”

“Don’t tell my brother Alexander that,” Thomas said. The very thought of his younger brother prancing about the place with a knighthood—

“—but I have to assume most of the rumors aren’t true,” Victoria continued, curiosity lacing her voice. “They can’t all be true, can they?”

Thomas hesitated. “Well, that depends on what you’ve been told.”

Her eyes widened. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Well, my father is the eldest of four brothers and they were young during the Regency. You know, when Prinny was dancing about the place and excess was the norm,” Thomas attempted to explain. How did one describe the myriad family stories, half of which he didn’t even believe? “My father was always the calm, quiet, devoted one, fearing scandal and attempting to keep my uncles on the straight and narrow—”

“With varying success, I would imagine,” Victoria said dryly.

Thomas’s pulse skipped a beat as they crossed the deserted street. It was incredible; there was something about talking with Victoria, even about family topics, that made him feel…so comfortable. So safe.

And so in danger at the same time.

“I haven’t been told all the stories, and I’m not sure I ever will,” he admitted. “I suppose my cousins have different sides of the stories.”

“You have a number of cousins, I think.”

Thomas nodded. “Uncle John has two daughters and two sons, Uncle George has a son and two daughters, and Uncle Frederick… Well, he’s the most prolific of the lot.”

“More than four?”

“Five.” Thomas displayed a wide grin, thinking of his favorite uncle. “A son and four daughters.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. “All of you Chances.”

“We’re all unmarried, so far.” The words did not come out nearly so nonchalantly as he had intended. “I would guess that most of my cousins have stories about their fathers and the hijinks they got up to back in the day, but my father and uncles don’t like to talk about it much.”

“They don’t want to encourage their sons to become scandalous.”

The words themselves were relatively innocuous, but it was the way she’d said them. Heat shuddered through Thomas and he tried not to think about the way his fingers encircled hers. Victoria. The woman with whom he had wished to be very scandalous, though he had managed, just about, to keep his hands to himself.

Mostly.

“And what about you?”

Thomas blinked. “What about me?”

“Well,” said Victoria, biting her bottom lip as she tilted her head on one side. After much consideration, she said quietly, “When are you going to become scandalous?”

Thomas stiffened. “My father would not like me to become involved in anything that could be deemed a scan—”

“Is that why you hold yourself back from me?” Her words were urgent now, low, though there was no one around to hear. “Are you afraid, Thomas? Afraid of a little scandal? Afraid that if you let yourself go, that the scandal would overcome you? You know, if anyone were to see us right now, right here, without a chaperone, as innocent as our behavior might be…”

And that was when it became too much, far too much, for Thomas to bear.

He had been good, hadn’t he? Restrained himself, attempted to act the gentleman around her—despite great provocation.

“Damn it, woman, I’m trying to be honorable!”

“Not so honorable that you would propose to me.”

And here, in the darkness where no one would bear witness to the outrageous thing he was about to do, Thomas allowed all the pent-up need that he had most studiously dammed to be unleashed.

“Thomas?” Victoria had stopped in her tracks, breath blossoming into mist on the cold, winter breeze. There was a smile on her face—a knowing one, one that told him she was certain he would do nothing about her words.

How wrong she was.

“Thomas!”

Victoria’s astonished gasp was full of longing, spurring Thomas on—not that he needed additional encouragement. He grabbed her by the arms and swept her to the left, pinning her against the cold brick wall of the street. The place was empty, not a single pedestrian or carriage disturbing them.

For perhaps the first time ever, they were truly alone.

“Thomas?” The sudden movement had clearly robbed Victoria of momentum and the way she’d gasped his name stirred his loins. “What are you—”

Overcome by need, desiring her more than he had ever desired a woman in his life, exhausted from the ball and unable to fight off his feelings any longer, Thomas lowered his lips to hers and claimed them as his own.

Victoria put up no resistance; if she had, Thomas would have released her immediately, apologized if his mouth had worked, then returned her home.

But she was clearly just as eager for this as he was. Tilting her head and parting her lips to welcome him in, she moaned and Thomas lost his head.

“You asked me once,” he growled, wrenching away his lips to look into her wide eyes, “to take you . And I didn’t.”

“You wanted to,” she shot back in a whisper, her hands pressed against his shirt.

Thomas grinned wickedly, lowering his mouth to her neck and nuzzling as his hands moved from her arms to her waist, pinning her against the wall. “I did.”

Victoria was quivering now, not the shiver cold created but lust. Heat poured through Thomas, egging him on, and he could not help himself. The control he valued so highly, that all Chance gentlemen were taught, was melting away in the heat of their connection.

His fingers needed her—needed more. And he knew just what was to satisfy them.

Returning his lips to hers, tugging out waves of hedonism as his tongue laved her own, eking out a sensual dance that had Victoria melting into his arms, Thomas allowed his fingers to do what they had itched to do for far too long.

The softness of Victoria’s breast allowed his thumb to sink into it and he almost wept . Oh, God, she feels wonderful. Everything he had wanted, had longed for… But I mustn’t. I must try to control myself—

“Yes,” moaned Victoria quite unexpectedly, arching her back into him, welcoming his touch. “Oh, touch me like that—more, more…”

Thomas groaned in her mouth, the temptation to just take her here and now growing with every passing moment. His fingers scraped past the buttons of her pelisse, freeing it, and heat seared his loins and his rapidly stiffening manhood as his fingers brushed past not fabric, but décolletage.

“Victoria, you feel—you feel—”

He could barely breathe, so how speech was possible, he did not know—but there was just enough power in Thomas’s mind for the fingers on his left hand to gently brush along the hem of her bust…then slip into her gown, freeing her breast from its corset.

For a moment, just a moment, Thomas raised his head. It was torture to separate his lips from her own, but he had to check—had to see she was quite as willing as she sounded.

He almost swore. Victoria’s hair was mussed; pins had evidently cascaded to the pavement at some point, but he had not noticed when. Her lips were pink, wet, bruised under the passion of his touch. Her eyes were wide, astonished…yet eager.

“I… Oh, yes,” Victoria whimpered.

Thomas had barely realized he’d done it. His fingers had gently caressed her breast, glorying in the weight of it, while his thumb moved over to her nipple, twisting it gently and, he knew, sparking an erotic thrum through her body.

Victoria shivered, lifting up her lips to be kissed. “More.”

She was insatiable. She was sensual. She was—everything he had ever wanted.

With a growl of answering need, Thomas forced her back against the wall, his right hip pinning her there just as securely as if it had been with his own hand. His left hand continued to lavish attention on her breast and his lips claimed her mouth.

He would, after all, need to keep her quiet for what was about to happen next.

Head spinning at the decadent way her breast felt in his hand, Thomas tried to consider what to do next, but thoughts were no longer possible. This was instinct, and need, and a deep-rooted knowledge that she wanted this.

Victoria ground her hip against his now-throbbing manhood and Thomas gave into temptation.

“God, I’ve wanted to do this for ages,” Thomas murmured against her mouth, grinning at the way she leaned into him. “For so long, Victoria. For so long—”

“Then do it, whatever it is.” She gasped, her head lolling against the brick wall, the only thing keeping her upright. “Thomas, I—Thomas!”

He could have wept. Oh, God, she felt so good.

While they had been speaking, his right hand had not been idle. It was not exactly easy to lift up the many skirts that young ladies insisted on wearing these days, but Thomas’s eagerness to reach his prize enabled his hand to travel through the edge of her pelisse, her skirt, two petticoats, and then—

Her thigh. Warm, and soft, and pliant.

It did not take long for Thomas’s wandering fingers to make their way upward, Victoria gasping under his ministrations, her nipple twisted between forefinger and thumb to keep her warmed…

Oh, Christ alive.

Her curls were searing, welcoming, inviting—and wet. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

When Thomas’s fingers curled and met flesh, hot, quivering flesh that clearly ached to be stroked, he leaned his forehead against hers and moaned.

“I’ll give you everything,” came her gentle voice. “Everything, Thomas.”

That was when he knew he could not take it.

His fingers halted. For a heartbeat, he stood there, uncertain precisely what had happened.

Then realization dawned. With it came regret before Thomas removed his hand and slowly, remorsefully, slipped the heavy breast back into the gown.

“Thomas? Thomas, what is—”

“I… I’m sorry.” Thomas had not expected his voice to rasp. Perhaps it was the night air. It certainly could not have been the emotion throbbing through him. “I can’t.”

Victoria’s skirts fell to the pavement, yet Thomas could not let her go. He wanted to stay here, his forehead pressed against hers, the closeness he so desperately wanted literally within arm’s reach.

A hand. He blinked. Victoria was cupping his cheek, leaning back so she could stare deeply into his eyes.

“Why not?” she whispered, pain on her face. “Did… Did I do something wrong?”

Pain shot through his lungs as Thomas tried to take a swift breath and speak at the same time. “No!”

“It’s just… You were going to—”

“I know,” said Thomas heavily.

How could he explain? Were there even words?

This woman, this wonderful woman, this picture of beauty and elegance, this witty woman… She deserved so much more than him. More than this.

If he weren’t already choosing her merely for her money—perhaps not merely for that anymore, but that was how the whole blessed thing had started—he certainly wasn’t going to ravish her against a wall as if she were a common hussy!

“Thomas?”

“I… You deserve…” Thomas swallowed. He looked into her green eyes and knew he had to tell the truth. A rare thing for him, at the moment. “Your first time, your first pleasure… Damn it, Victoria, that deserves to be in a bed surrounded by candles, with rose petals strewn about the place and—”

“You’re babbling.”

“No, I’m not!” He hadn’t intended to sound so fierce, and she was beaming. She was not angry with him, but she had to understand. “Victoria, you… I couldn’t, I can’t… It needs to be perfect. Perfect for you, and this… This is not how I would, how I would want to…”

Words failed him as the desire to change his mind, to pin both hands above her head with one of his own and tease her with his fingers until she could take no more, washed over him.

“I’m going to take you home,” Thomas said with a wry sigh, stepping back and trying to tell his manhood it would be worth it. Eventually . “I’m going to see you inside, and shut the door behind you, and return to my own home—”

“And your own bed.” Victoria’s eyes glittered.

He took in a long, deep breath, then let it out in a laugh. “Much as I would wish it otherwise…yes. I’m a gentleman, Miss Ainsworth.”

“Gentlemen don’t kiss like that,” she said, stepping toward him. For a moment, he was certain she was going to launch herself into his arms, but instead, she merely slipped hers in the crook of his arm.

“This one does.”

Their laughter rang out in the street as they walked toward the Ainsworth house, but Thomas could barely concentrate on their conversation.

He was getting far too emotional. What had happened to the plan, to marry the money? He could not marry this angel, this beauty, this intellect, for her money, but he could not forget how he had intended to do just that.

And yet that did not change the fact that his family needed that money. Because of him.

How could he stop this deep attraction…and this overpowering guilt?