Chapter Thirteen
C hase pulled a bottle of port from the tantalus Lord Foxmoor so graciously provided to his ball guests in the morning room. Graciously provided in that Foxmoor had squirreled away his best liquor here, where his guests would never expect to find it, in a room that was off-limits to the party.
Which was exactly why Chase was here. It was the one room in the grand Weymouth house where he knew he could be alone.
Thank God.
He pulled the stopper from the bottle and gave himself a generous pour. It had been a hell of a two days since he’d lost his mind during the storm and since Tessa, Winnie, and Lady Bentley had left the castle. The place had become even more silent and empty than before, impossibly cold, and unbearably lifeless without them. Even Bates seemed at a loss without Winnie underfoot.
The silence and lifelessness bothered him so much, in fact, that he’d taken the unusual action of riding to the estate village’s tavern last night for dinner, just so he could have the company of bar maids, gamblers, and drunks to distract him. Yet the evening left him feeling even lonelier.
“So why not go further into hell by attending tonight’s ball?” he muttered to himself as he snatched up a cigar from the box beside the tantalus and turned back to the fireplace whose banked fire he had stirred to life a few minutes earlier. The light shimmered through the ruby-colored port in the crystal glass as he lifted it to his lips to take a welcomed sip.
The truth was that he didn’t have a choice about attending the ball tonight. He was here only because of Tessa.
He bit back a curse as he took a splinter from the spill jar on the mantel and lit it in the flames. As her closest male relative, even if only by marriage, Chase needed to be in attendance tonight. Robert Renslow was escorting Tessa for the evening, which meant she couldn’t dance with anyone else. Which meant that everyone in Weymouth would know Renslow had designs on marrying her, even if the man hadn’t yet asked Chase for his permission.
And that , he concluded grudgingly as he lit the tip of the cigar and hurled the used splinter into the flames, meant Tessa had given hers.
He watched the trail of smoke rise toward the ceiling in the faint din of party noise around him. It would be odd—downright improper, in fact—for Chase to be absent. His presence tonight would give tacit approval to the match and make the courtship, and the inevitable engagement and marriage, smoother for Tessa…even if he planned to avoid her all evening.
He hadn’t lied to her in the garden. He couldn’t protect her from himself. But he might be able to protect her from society, or at least make life a bit easier for her and Winnie.
And so he was here, hiding in the ladies’ morning room and stealing another man’s port.
The door opened, and a footman stuck his head inside, casting a quick glance around the room. When he saw Chase standing near the fireplace, he quickly pulled up straight with a deferential nod.
“Your Grace?”
“Unfortunately,” Chase muttered around the cigar clamped between his teeth.
The man blinked, confused. “Sir?”
“Yes,” Chase answered, exhaling a long breath. “I’m Greysmere.”
Relief flooded over the young man’s face as he hurried forward. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, sir.”
Wisely, the young man knew not to say anything about finding him in an off-limits room. “What for?”
He held out a note. “I have a message for you, sir. From Cuillin Castle.”
Bates. Chase accepted it. “Thank you.”
He waited until the footman left and closed the door after himself before he cracked the wax seal to read it.
Bates had found the soldier he’d been seeking, a man named Jonathan Healey who had been a serjeant in Albright’s light company at Genappe. Healey had agreed to meet with Chase tonight at midnight in Upwey at the Old Ship Inn.
Chase checked the longcase clock in the corner—half past ten. He carefully refolded the note, then dropped it into the fire and watched the flames devour the white cardstock.
He would do his duty tonight, the same way he had done his duty against Boney in the wars. He would serve Tessa by giving his blessing to Robert Renslow in front of all of Weymouth society, and then he would serve her late father by meeting with the serjeant at an inn where he was as likely to get his throat slit as to find any usable information. Then he would go home and spend another sleepless night cursing the darkness, the past, and most of all himself.
He flopped into a wingback chair in front of the fire, indecorously kicked his boots onto the ottoman, and settled in for the wait. He had nearly half an hour before he had to stalk back into the ballroom, find Tessa, and take her for a turn about the room before handing her off to Renslow, all with a happy and accepting smile on his face.
“Further into hell, indeed,” he muttered, repeating his earlier words, and sank lower into the chair.
He’d reached the bottom of his glass and was contemplating shoving himself out of the chair to refill it when the door opened. For a moment, he suspected the footman had returned, perhaps with another message from Bates about—
“There you are.”
Not the footman. “Tessa.”
She closed the door, then leaned back against it and leveled a hard gaze across the room at him.
Good God, she was beautiful. Her pale-blue ball gown accentuated the red highlights in her chestnut hair, which was piled loosely on her crown in a riot of curls that seemed poised to tumble down around her slender shoulders of its own volition. And what a damnable shame that would be, too, if it did and he was forced to help her pin it back up, to run his fingers through her silky tresses and over her shoulders where the neckline of her gown threatened to fall away…down the sides of her body where the empire waist hugged her bosom and from where the skirt of her gown fell straight to the floor, hiding all traces of her narrow waist, round hips, and silky thighs beneath.
But he knew what she looked like beneath that satin. He’d seen her with his own eyes when her night rail had been plastered wet to her warm flesh, the same night rail he had peeled away so he could take shameless pleasure in her. Just as he could now see her completely naked in his imagination. She was a vision of grace, softness, allure…an angel.
She narrowed her eyes on him.
An angel come down to earth to wrought God’s wrath on his head, that is.
In fact, from the way she crossed her arms with the scolding stare of a governess and pressed her pink lips together into a firm, hard line, that wrath was about to erupt at any moment. Her palpable irritation was helped not at all by the way he pushed himself out of the chair like a gentleman at her arrival, although he certainly felt anything but gentlemanly as he helped himself to another lingering look at her.
“I heard you were here,” she said in an icy voice that could have frozen the Thames. “Lord Foxmoor could barely contain himself that Greysmere would deign to appear at his ball, completely uninvited, no less.”
“My invitation came from a higher power.”
“Your conscience?”
“Much higher than that,” he answered, deadpan. “Lady Bentley.” Then he held up his port. “Would you like a glass?”
“What I would like is to know is why you’re here.”
“To give my approval for Renslow’s courtship of you.” He somehow managed to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“No other reason?”
“Well,” he mumbled as he carried the glass back to the tantalus to refill it, “also because Lady Bentley would have skewered me if I didn’t.”
She didn’t laugh as he’d hoped. “And now you’re here, hiding in the morning room, of all places.”
“I wouldn’t say hiding.” He splashed the ruby-red liquid into his glass and replaced the stopper with a soft clink. “I would say drinking. This is where Foxmoor keeps his best liquor during parties.”
That didn’t amuse her either, apparently, because she repeated, “Why are you here, Chase?”
“I told you.” He turned to face her. “To give approval for your courtship.”
“No,” she corrected, pushing away from the door and walking slowly forward. “Why are you here in the morning room? And please don’t try to tell me it’s because of the port.”
Because spending a single moment more than necessary in your presence would undo me. But those words would never pass his lips. Instead, he pointed his glass of port at her. “Have you seen all the people in attendance tonight?”
“Of course. It’s a crush.”
“There’s your answer.”
He returned to his chair, once more kicking up his feet onto the ottoman and rolling the cigar between his fingers. He watched the trail of smoke rise toward the ceiling and avoided looking at her. She had no idea how alluring she was, especially when she confronted him like this, all fierce and fiery. Tessa was the only woman he knew whose irritation made her even more beautiful.
She crossed the room to him, but instead of stopping before him, she had the audacity to perch her hip on the chair arm, facing him.
His breath hitched at her nearness, his lungs filling with her scent…lavender and lemon. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating.
“That isn’t an answer,” she countered doggedly. “You can’t give the appearance of accepting Robert’s courtship if you spend all evening hiding.” She paused. “Unless you truly don’t want to give it.” A second, even longer pause. “Is that it?”
Any answer he gave to that question would either be a damnable lie or break her heart. He wanted her to have the husband, family, and home she deserved, the kind of happily married life he’d been unable to give Eleanor. Yet he didn’t want her to marry Renslow. Find a different man, he wanted to say. Any other man except this one, who seemed so perfectly right. Was perfectly right. Which was why Chase disliked him so. Because he had no good reason not to like him.
He lowered his gaze to his port as he slowly swirled it, so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eyes, and dodged, “Are you still set on marrying him?”
“Yes.”
He popped the cigar back between his lips. “Then I want what you want.”
Tessa took the cigar from his mouth and dropped it into his glass.
He looked up at her and grimaced. “That was a waste of perfectly good port.”
“Nodcock.”
He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Not this again.”
“You kissed me during the storm, and I kissed you back.” She arched a brow. “And you want me to believe that hiding away tonight in the morning room has nothing to do with that?”
He had no intention of answering that. He set aside the ruined glass and shoved himself out of the chair and past her, growling, “We did a hell of a lot more than kiss.”
“And I enjoyed it,” she confessed as he stalked over to the fire and snatched up the poker, more to keep his hands busy than because the fire needed to be stirred. Idle hands were the devil’s playthings, the old saying went. God only knew how damning empty hands would be when she stood so easily within reach. “A great deal. Didn’t you?”
He had no intention of answering that either. “Shouldn’t you be in the ballroom dancing with your fiancé?”
“Robert isn’t my fiancé.”
Chase’s heart had no business happily skipping the way it did.
“Not yet anyway.”
But it certainly deserved the slice those words cut from it. He stabbed a half-devoured chunk of coal on the grate and stated the inevitable, “He will be after tonight, I’m certain.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I want what you want,” he repeated. “And you want Renslow for a husband.” He paused as a thought struck him, and he looked up at her. “But what if you didn’t?”
“What do you mean?” She frowned, an odd expression darkening her face. “Why wouldn’t I want Robert?”
“I don’t mean Robert, necessarily. I mean any man.” He returned the poker to its stand. “What if you didn’t want a husband at all?”
“But I do want one,” she admitted quietly.
“Yes, because you can’t afford to keep Winnie and yourself without a husband’s income. But what if you had your own income, enough that you and Winnie would never have to worry about money for the rest of your lives?”
“So we’re discussing fairytales now, are we?” She let out a long sigh and shook her head. “Winnie and I will never have that kind of security, not even if we both became governesses or nurses. You know that.”
Yes, he did. Which was why he’d asked Porter about establishing a trust for them. It would take every nearly ha’penny Chase possessed, but he could do it. He could give her and Winnie everything.
“But if you did,” he pressed, not yet willing to share with her the details of what he’d planned. He couldn’t. Because she might very well hate him for it. “Would you still want Renslow for a husband?”
“Yes.” Her answer was barely louder than the din of the orchestra coming from the ballroom. “I would.”
He couldn’t help but throw Lady Bentley’s words at her. “Because he has two thousand pounds per annum, and no one will care that he’s an industrialist?”
“They won’t care very much,” she corrected. “And no, that’s not why. It’s not about money.” She dropped her gaze to the seat of the chair and plucked idly at the embroidered flowers in the fabric. “I want a family…lots of children to love and raise, and you can’t do that without a husband.” A forced smile pulled at her lips. “Well, not easily without one, I suppose.”
He returned her small smile although he didn’t feel at all amused.
“Robert respects me and values my opinions, which means he’s a thoughtful and patient man, and he’s kind to Winnie.” She added with a sigh, “Which means he’s a very patient man.”
Chase couldn’t bring himself to even chuckle at her attempted humor.
“And I’d be fortunate to have such a man want to marry me regardless of my situation, dowry or no…my father’s reputation unsullied or not.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” he admitted as he walked back toward her and the chair.
“So why are you hiding here in the morning room, then?” She slipped down into the seat, taking the chair before he could, and cast a determined look at him.
He crossed his arms as he frowned down at her. He was running out of patience. “You’re worse than a dog with a bone, you know that? Once you get an idea in your pretty head, you won’t—”
“I think it’s because you kissed me.” She leaned back in the chair and kicked her slippered feet onto the ottoman, mimicking his earlier posture. “What I can’t figure out, though, is if you’re hiding because you feel guilty about what happened…” She tilted her head, exposing a long stretch of tempting neck. “Or if you want to do it again?”
Did rain fall in the spring? Of course , he wanted to do it again. And more, God help him. It certainly didn’t help having her sitting there like that, half-lying in the chair with her bodice sagging deliciously across the swells of her breasts and her silk stockings exposed where the hem of her skirt rose up over her calves.
“We were caught up in the excitement of the storm,” he explained. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
“Yet it did.” Her eyes gleamed with a mix of confidence and nervousness that was utterly captivating. “And I wouldn’t mind terribly if it happened again. Would you?”
Christ. Lucifer himself couldn’t have made a more tempting offer for his soul. “It can’t.”
“Because you think you have to protect me? I’ve told you. I don’t want your—”
“Because I’m the devil himself.” That was the god’s truth. He put his hands on both chair arms and leaned over her until his eyes were level with hers. He wanted no misunderstanding about what he was saying. “Because if I kiss you again like that—if I even dare to so much as caress your cheek—I won’t stop there. I will ruin you, Tessa, and I don’t mean only your innocence. I will ruin your life, the same way I ruined Eleanor’s, and the guilt of harming another woman I care about would simply end me.”
“Is that what you think you did to Eleanor?” Her voice was little more than a throaty whisper. “You harmed her?”
“I know so.”
“You’re wrong.” She pushed herself out of the chair and rose to stand closely in front of him. Too close for his comfort. When she placed her hand on his arm to reassure him, her touch was simply torture. “What happened to Eleanor wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. You have to stop blaming yourself. You will always grieve her loss, as will I. But you shouldn’t feel guilty about her death.”
He didn’t mean the shipwreck. But there wasn’t time to explain…or any possibility that Tessa would ever understand if he did. Even now, the longcase clock struck the hour, and eleven loud and jarring chimes echoed through the quiet room.
Chase stepped back, putting several feet’s distance between them. “I suppose I should do what you want and take you for a turn about the ballroom so everyone can see me hand you off to Renslow.”
“Do I not even get a dance? I’ve saved a waltz for you.”
The thought of holding her in his arms again, even for a chaste twirl around the dance floor, tempted him more than he wanted to admit. Which was another good reason he needed to stay away. “I need to leave the ball.”
“So early? The party will go until at least four in the morning, if not dawn.” A sardonic smile twisted her lips, and she drawled, her pique with him as strong as ever, “Surely, you’ll want to take a second turn about the room with me for those guests who arrive late. Lady Bentley will insist upon it.”
“I’ll accept her wrath.” He paused, then admitted, “I have an appointment to meet with someone who has information about your father.”
Her mocking smile faded. “So Bates was successful after all in finding him.”
He gave a sharp nod. “Healey was present at Genappe. He can tell me what happened from the soldiers’ perspective, what orders they were given and when. I want to see how much of what happened matches the War Department’s story. He’s agreed to meet with me tonight.”
“When do we leave?”
“We don’t. I’m leaving at half past.” He folded his arms. “A tavern at midnight is not the place for a lady.” He raked a slow gaze over her and murmured, “Certainly not one dressed like that.”
When her cheeks flushed, he cleared his throat and took another step away from her. There was safety in distance.
“I’ll change.”
“Into what?”
“Well, I can…” Chase could practically see her mind whirling for suggestions, then her excitement as she landed upon an answer—“I can bribe one of the hired footmen for his street clothes.”
He nearly laughed at how ludicrous her idea was. “Do you really think anyone will believe you’re a man?”
Wisely, she ignored that and reminded him instead, “You promised I could go with you when you met with him.”
“Not tonight, Cinderella. You’re in the middle of a ball, and you’ll be missed.”
“Not if I tell Lady Bentley that I need some fresh air.” She waved her hand as if the solution was obvious. “After seeing the two of us walk through the ball, she’ll be beside herself with glee, gossiping to all the other ladies and not caring what I do after that. Besides, she knows how much I despise a crush, so she’ll think I’m out walking in the garden. No one will notice I’m gone until I’m back.”
“You’ll be gone for over an hour.”
“It’s a very big garden,” she answered, deadpan.
It was a very flimsy excuse. But Chase couldn’t deny that having Tessa with him for the meeting might prove helpful. She knew her father and his military decisions, including what the general had told her about that particular battle, and she would be able to discern if Healey was telling the truth better than a Bow Street interrogator.
But one more problem stood in their way.
“What about Renslow?” Chase drawled. “Isn’t he dancing attention upon you tonight?”
“Like I said,” she repeated, but this time her voice lacked enthusiasm, “no one will notice I’m gone.”
Which made him dislike Renslow even more. “Fine.” He blew out a long breath of surrender, which she greeted with a victorious smile. “You can come along.”
“Wise decision.” Ignoring the warning scowl he shot her, she held out her gloved hand. “Now please escort me on a turn about the ballroom, if you would, then tell me where I can find your carriage to meet up with you. And God help you if you try to leave without me.”
“Of course not.” He took her hand, rested it on his jacket sleeve, and repeated straight-faced, “I want what you want.”
She patted his arm as he led her from the room. “Best to remember that.”