Chapter Two
C hase calmly wiped the dripping water from his face and chuckled, mostly for the gaping people who had witnessed the exchange, to let them think he wasn’t upset by her reaction. He wasn’t, not really. After all, he had certainly earned both the splash and the humiliation. And a hell of a lot more than that.
“I’m usually given a much warmer reception by ladies at balls,” he drawled to make light of the situation as whispers rose around them.
She handed her empty cup to the stunned attendant and countered icily, “I can’t account for fools.”
Then she spun on her heel and strode away, her chin rising indignantly.
Oh no—the little chit wasn’t getting away that easily. Chase had come here tonight specifically to see her, braving the crowded assembly rooms because he knew she would refuse to see him if he called on her, and he would be damned before he let her dismiss him so out of hand. Even if he deserved it.
He caught up with her in a few short strides. When he took her elbow to gently stop her, he felt her stiffen beneath his fingers. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she slapped him. God knew he would have deserved that, too.
“I know you’re angry with me.” He lowered his mouth to her ear over her shoulder. “And I know I’ve earned it. At least show me enough mercy to let me explain.”
“Mercy?” She didn’t deign to look at him, her narrowed gaze glued straight ahead. “What mercy did you show by leaving without a word, with not even so much as a goodbye? We all worried—”
Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard to regain her composure, and when she continued, her whispered words were even more of a damning accusation.
“ I worried about you. When you didn’t arrive for the memorial service, I told everyone that you were simply late, that you would surely come to say goodbye to Eleanor and Thomas…that you would never miss something so important. But you never came. And afterward, when we went to the castle and found you gone—no note, no goodbyes, nothing —”
This time when she censored herself, it was anger that tightened her throat, he knew, not grief.
When she turned her head to pin him with a look, her bright eyes glistened with rapidly gathering tears. The sight tore through him.
“Three years, Chase. Three years without so much as a single letter to let us know where you had gone, why, for how long, if you were still alive or…”
Dead. The word hung in the air as grimly as if she’d actually uttered it. But then, he had been exactly that—dead to the world.
She added in a voice so soft it was little more than breath, “What was the mercy in that?”
None. For any of them. He pulled in a ragged breath and gave the brutally honest answer, “I had to leave.”
“You could have mourned here.”
He hadn’t needed to mourn. He had needed to find his way back to the world of the living, and he couldn’t have done that in a castle full of ghosts.
Nor could he have done it without the help of Anthony Titus, his old ma?tre d’armes who had become the father Chase never truly had. Titus had saved him when Chase was a mere boy, shipped off to Eton at only ten years old to become a man in the wake of his father’s death and his inheritance of a dukedom he could barely fathom let alone be expected to someday run. Titus had taken Chase under his wing, and in his daily fighting lessons, he had done more than teach Chase to fence; he had given him the paternal love, guidance, and discipline he had desperately needed. And along with his best friends Devlin, Lucien, and Shay, the five men all became a family.
Titus saved him again three years ago when Chase stumbled into the master’s rooms in Seville, a wasted shell of a man so entangled in grief and guilt that he could barely stand, could barely speak a sentence for fear he’d break down. He needed the man’s sympathy and compassion, along with the nonjudgmental acceptance that could only come from someone who cared for him without limits. Titus had guided him through relentless training of mind and body, of prayers and meditations…and slowly the guilt dissipated until Chase could control it, until he had been able to pack it away into a dark recess of his heart where the pain could no longer consume him.
Only then had he managed to return to England. In London, he’d helped his closest friends fight demons of their own—with Devlin, to find absolution for his father’s sins; for Lucien, to be able to show the world the goodness inside him; and Shay, to finally be with his true love—and Chase had been happy to help. More than happy, in fact, because his time in London had given him his first sense of true purpose since the shipwreck.
But it had taken him another year to find the resolve to return here to Cuillin, and only then because Eleanor’s twenty-fifth birthday had weighed upon him. She had started filling his thoughts again and haunting his dreams, and he knew the only way to exorcise her ghost was to put his life here to rest.
Yet he had been back only one day, and already his plans had gone awry…the trouble personified by a pretty, determined woman who even now stared at him with large eyes awash with unshed tears.
“I’d always considered you to be a friend, Chase, someone who was supposed to be here for me if I needed him. You promised me that.” Then she whispered barely louder than a breath, “Instead, you abandoned me.”
The soft accusation twisted like a bayonet in his gut. “That wasn’t my intention.”
The lift of her brow wasn’t at all forgiving.
But what was he supposed to say—that contact with anyone from his life here would have dragged him straight back into the fires of hell that he’d managed to crawl out of? She wouldn’t understand. She might have lost Eleanor and Thomas just as he had, but their deaths were on his head, not hers. So he gave the only explanation he could—
“I went to Spain.”
“Spain?” she repeated as if she simply couldn’t fathom that. “What could you have possibly found there that you couldn’t here?”
“An old friend,” he answered solemnly, letting that be enough explanation for now. Whether he truly meant Titus or himself, even he couldn’t have said.
Something in his tone stopped her from challenging that, thank God, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of sympathy in her eyes.
So he seized the moment. “Dance with me, Tessa.” He held out his hand. “You were always kind to me, so show me kindness again by giving me the chance to make amends.”
She stared at his hand as if it were a snake that might attack if she reached for it. “How will dancing with you make amends?”
“It will give me the chance to find out how you and Winnie have been in my absence.” His voice lowered. “And it gives me the opportunity to apologize.”
Her pink lips parted with disbelief.
Chase didn’t blame her for being suspicious. When she knew him before, he hadn’t been the sort of man who ever admitted he was wrong.
“And then,” he continued, “it will give me the chance to beg your forgiveness.”
At that, her mouth fell wide open.
As if on cue, the orchestra struck up the first flourishes of a waltz. “So dance with me, Tessa. I know you know how.” He leaned in secretively. “I remember all the hours of dance lessons you had while I was courting Eleanor.”
Still stunned, she admitted a bit breathlessly, “I hated those lessons. I only took them so I could dance at your wedding.”
“I remember that, too. I would have sworn you stepped on my feet on purpose.”
“Perhaps I did.” She attempted a grudging little sniff, but her surprise undercut all attempts at iciness.
His chest warmed with hope that she might be softening toward him. “Then take the chance to ruin another pair of Hoby’s finest boots.” He once again held out his hand. “Dance with me, and give me the chance to speak with you privately before your chaperone interrupts us.”
A moment’s uncertain hesitancy passed over her, just long enough for her to bite her bottom lip in indecision. Then she surprised—and relieved—him by placing her hand lightly in his.
Before she could change her mind, he led her to the dance floor, pulled her into position, and twirled her into the waltz.
She moved smoothly with him, easily keeping up as he led her through the steps and spun her around the floor. He couldn’t help but notice how fluidly she moved, how graceful every turn. She had matured from the seventeen-year-old who had to be coerced into dance practice. Back then, she had been little more than a willow sprig in his arms, all rough edges and gangly limbs. Now, she was soft and pliant, responding easily to every change in his lead, no matter how slight.
He slowed their pace until they moved in half-time with the music, letting the other couples twirl on around them.
“I regret that I ever caused you and your family pain.” He stared down into her upturned face. “It was never my intention to cause harm to any of you.” He pulled in a long breath. “I hope you believe me when I tell you that I’ve changed. I’m not the man you knew before.”
“I hope so.”
I know so. Now it was simply a matter of proving it. “That’s why I came to the assembly rooms tonight. I wanted to apologize for the way I left and didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.” He softened his eyes on her. “You’ve already waited three years. You shouldn’t have to wait any longer for me to apologize for being an arse.”
“Yes, you were.” Then she blinked hard as she added quietly, “Apology accepted.”
A weight lifted from him, and he squeezed her fingers in his, not trusting himself to speak.
She cleared her throat as she collected herself. “So that was the apology.” Hiding behind a facade of teasing, she slid him a challenging look from the corner of her eye. “I believe begging forgiveness was also mentioned… So go ahead.” She gave an imperial wave of her gloved hand at his shoulder. “Beg away, please.”
Laughter rumbled in his once-hollow chest, and he flashed her a grin. Being with her like this was almost like old times. Almost. Because he wasn’t the only one who had changed in the past three years.
As he whirled her around the dance floor, he couldn’t help but stare at her. When he’d first met her, she had been little more than a stick with big ears, big eyes, and hair that wouldn’t stay put no matter how many pins the maid used to style it. Temperamental and boisterous with a curiosity that would have killed a cat and an adventurous spirit that was always miring her into trouble of one kind or another, she preferred fencing and riding to needlework and music lessons, ventured into the gardens only to dig up worms for fishing, and flummoxed Eleanor’s parents to no end with her dreams and schemes. If given half a chance, she would have followed her father into the army. God help Napoleon if she had.
But now, Chase never would have recognized her among the crush if not for her eyes, which were still large and a shade of golden amber that reminded him of fine whiskey, and her chestnut hair, which even now had a stray curl daring to slip free of its pins and bounce with every step she took. She’d matured into a creature who was still slender but now possessed the grace and fluidity of movement that even aristocratic ladies in Paris would have envied, and her angles had softened into lithe limbs and full curves, her skin smooth and fair. In all, she was simply stunning.
A less scrupulous man would have dared to beg for more than only her forgiveness.
“How have you been, Tessa?” He turned her through the waltz, silently imploring her to share and put his mind at ease. “You must be taking the season by storm, although I don’t know why you’re in Weymouth instead of London.”
When she looked at him, her bright eyes seemed almost startled. She froze for only a moment, but that single beat was enough for her to trip in her steps, forcing him to catch her by pulling her closer.
When she recovered, her voice emerged so softly that it was almost a whisper. “You haven’t heard…?”
“About what?”
“My father.”
His smile faded. He hadn’t thought anything she said could have made him feel worse about not contacting her during the past three years, but the mention of her late father was a fresh punch to his gut. “I heard he died, and I’m so terribly sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how much. News reached me a year after his death and…” His voice drifted off. Words of condolence were useless when confronting grief. He knew that better than anyone. Except, he could give her some of the begging she deserved. “I wasn’t there for you and Winnie… Forgive me for that.”
She shook her head, slowing until they were barely dancing at all now, the rest of the couples swirling on around them. “No, not that,” she whispered, so softly her words were almost lost beneath the strains of the waltz. “The other.”
An uneasy chill curled up his spine. “Other?”
“The War Department accused him of dereliction of duty at Genappe.” Her lips trembled, and he was surprised he could hear her at all. “They claimed he ignored orders to advance, that his inaction cost them the battle.” Her voice broke when she added, “That he was a coward.”
Jesus. Chase stared at her, stunned. What she was saying couldn’t possibly be true. He’d fought with Major General Albright on the Peninsula and knew him to be a consummate officer and natural-born leader.
“The general was no coward,” he assured her. “Tell me everything.”
She didn’t look at him as she shared the events surrounding her father’s role at Genappe, keeping her face turned away, her gaze fixed at some unknown spot at the far side of the room. Chase listened silently, not interrupting as she shared what she knew—which wasn’t very much. Apparently, the general had told her little about that day.
Chase knew how chaotic battles could be, how communication lines easily broke down, how orders that should have been followed might never have been relayed, if given at all. He’d known Major General Albright well and had held the utmost respect for him, both as a man and a soldier. He couldn’t fathom the man not following orders.
But he could certainly believe the War Department’s damning response. Whenever they needed to deflect the fault from themselves, they often blamed someone like the general, and Albright had been far too dedicated of a soldier to challenge their decision.
“What do you think, Tessa?” he asked gently. “Do you believe your father abdicated his duty?”
She slowly shook her head, only for the gesture to end in a shrug of her slender shoulders. “I don’t know what to believe. But I do know it’s my responsibility now to care for Winnie and to protect our futures.” She pulled in a deep breath and announced, “Sir George Bentley and his wife were kind enough to sponsor me for the season. Lady Bentley explained—and I agreed—that given my situation, Weymouth would be a much better place for me than London.”
He fought hard to control his countenance and not let his surprise show. What she truly meant… “You’ve decided to marry.”
“Yes.” She gave him a reassuring smile, but he’d been in enough battles to recognize the truth behind that expression—she’d surrendered to her fate the same way soldiers did right before they rushed to their deaths. “In fact, I’m going to tell one of the gentlemen tonight that I’m accepting his courtship.”
“Who?” Chase didn’t know why that news should bother him, but it did.
“Mr. Robert Renslow.” Her strained smile widened as if under duress. “He’s a partner in a Derwent River mill and has good prospects for the future.”
“Congratulations.” Chase hoped his own smile was believable, because he felt like a fraud.
“And now that you’ve returned to England,” she continued with forced brightness, “perhaps you can help me with all the courtship details, since you are my closest male relative, of a sort.”
Of a sort. Yes, he was certainly that.
As Eleanor’s second cousins by marriage, Tessa and Winnie were both so far down the family tree from his late wife that one could be forgiven for thinking they existed on a completely separate sapling. But Eleanor had considered Tessa and Winnie to be her sisters. Which meant so did Chase.
Rather, he had when he’d last seen Tessa. But now when he looked at her, he wasn’t seeing her as a sister. For the first time, he saw her as a woman, full of capability and vivacity—if still as brash as ever. She’d always been the most confident, self-assured woman he’d ever known, caring not at all what people thought of her. Age had only solidified those traits, apparently. When he’d married Eleanor, he had thought it odd that two women who were so close in age and raised as siblings could be so different from each other. But then, he’d also thought Eleanor’s more serious, demure, and controlled demeanor would make her a good marriage match for him.
He’d been wrong about so many things.
But he couldn’t do what Tessa wanted, and not because he disliked the thought of handing her over to a stranger. “Sir George would be a better choice for helping you.”
The waltz ended, and a smattering of applause went up around the room for the musicians and dancers. Chase let her step back from his arms and bent into a low bow as she curtsied.
“Why would Sir George be better?” she asked as she rose, then placed her hand on his arm to let him escort her from the dance floor.
“Because I’m not staying in Weymouth,” he explained as he led her back toward the refreshments table. “I’m only planning on being here a few weeks, only as long as it takes to close up the castle.”
“Close Cuillin?” she asked, puzzled. “Why would you do that? You’ve only just returned.”
“Because I’m leaving England again,” he said quietly. He kept his gaze focused on the far side of the room so he wouldn’t have to see any flash of recrimination in her eyes when he added, “And I’m never coming back.”