When You Wish

by Alexandra Ivy

  As if emphasizing the danger of the accidental meeting, Lord Chance slowly turned to regard her with an unwavering gaze. “A most unusual gentleman.”

  She forced herself not to fidget beneath the piercing regard. “Uncle Pierre takes great delight in being unusual.”

  “You resemble him a great deal.”

  Blast those all-seeing eyes.

  “Perhaps a bit,” she hedged. “We are, after all, related.”

  A silence fell as he studied her determinedly bland expression. Then, quite unexpectedly, he gave a low chuckle. “All but the lips,” he softly teased. “Those are uniquely your own.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, wondering how she had ever considered herself a calm, unflappable maiden. Lord Chance somehow managed to make her as scatterbrained as Rachel. “My lord, please refrain from discussing my lips.” She attempted to sound firm, only to end up sounding breathless.

  He stepped closer, filling the air with the scent of warm skin. “Then shall we discuss the delightful shape of your legs?”

  “No.”

  His hand raised as if once again to touch her face, only to abruptly drop as he shook his head. “Perhaps it is a good thing your . . . uncle is in residence,” he murmured with a rueful smile. “Do you know I once considered myself quite above such foolishness?”

  She frowned warily. “What foolishness?”

  He waved aside her question, clearly not prepared to explain his enigmatic words. “I should be leaving. Oh ...” He appeared to have been struck with a sudden thought. “I almost forgot to tell you that my mother wishes you to visit her tomorrow.”

  Sarah stepped back in horror. “What?”

  He appeared remarkably indifferent. “Some silly nonsense about writing the charades for her Christmas party.”

  “I cannot visit your mother.”

  He shrugged, a smile playing about his mouth. “Very well, but be prepared to have her descend upon you here. My mother is very tenacious once she takes a notion into her head, and she is currently convinced that the very success of her gathering hinges upon your contribution.”

  Have Lady Chance visit her here? Perhaps even encounter the Devilish Dandy? It was not to be thought of.

  “You must do something.”

  He lifted his hands in a helpless motion. “I am no match for a determined hostess.”

  She could not conceive what he found humorous in the situation, unless he did not fully comprehend the significance of such a visit. “My lord, think of the scandal if it becomes known I have been in your mother’s home.”

  “Who is to know?”

  Really, for a sophisticated gentleman he was being extraordinarily dense. Did he not care about his mother’s reputation? “The servants at the very least,” she pointed out tartly.

  “A brief visit by an unassuming miss is hardly the sort of thing to shock the natives,” he perversely argued. “Besides, I can see no way out of it.”

  Her eyes narrowed in exasperation. “You could if you wished to.”

  He gave a wicked chuckle. “Ah, but you have just sternly stated you do not wish to have your . . . er ... reins in any way tampered with. I would not dream of interfering.”

  Sarah was unaccustomed to having her words so efficiently tossed back in her face. Lord Chance might be the most disturbingly attractive gentleman she had ever encountered, but that did not halt him from being the most aggravating as well. “Very well then, I will call on your mother. And when the gossip begins it will be upon your head.”

  Far from horrified, Lord Chance’s grin merely widened. “I shall contrive to bear the scandal.”

  * * *

  At promptly eleven o’clock, well before most visitors would be arriving, Sarah presented herself on Lady Chance’s doorstep. It had been a dreadful walk across London. Not only had it been a great distance, but the sharp wind had easily cut through her cloak, and the endless puddles had soaked her feet.

  She could, of course, have hired a hack. It had, indeed, been her first inclination. But the realization that in this particular neighborhood such a vehicle would attract more than one pair of inquisitive eyes had halted the impulse.

  Not that it wouldn’t have served Lord Chance right, she seethed. After all, he could easily have fobbed off Lady Chance. His indifference to his mother’s delicate reputation was reproachful.

  Quite reproachful.

  She had repeated those stern words throughout her long walk. Absurdly, it was either that or allow the perfectly ludicrous notion that he did not find her so utterly sunk in scandal to blossom to life. Stamping her feet to attempt to bring life to her frozen toes, she sighed in relief as the butler smoothly pulled open the door.

  “Miss Cresswell.”

  After taking her bonnet and cloak, the servant led Sarah through the vast home to a private salon. Sarah struggled not to be overwhelmed by the oppressive wealth that was displayed with such grandeur—not an easy task when each step brought her past prominently displayed Rubens and at least one Gainsborough. There were gilt side chairs and a French oval parquetry table with Derby porcelain figures, even a gilt and bronze candelabra.

  Little wonder Lord Chance possessed such natural arrogance, she ruefully acknowledged. Who could not be affected by such surroundings?

  Entering the bright green and ivory room, Sarah discovered Lady Chance on a small sofa.

  “My dearest, I thought you would never come,” she cried.

  Sarah shifted uneasily, feeling a fraud. “Lord Chance said you wished to discuss the charades.”

  Lady Chance waved an airy hand. “Oh, the charades are but one of a dozen difficulties.” She gingerly scooted over to make space for Sarah on the sofa. “Please have a seat, and I shall ring for tea to sustain us.”

  With decided reluctance, Sarah forced herself to move forward and perch upon the cushion. Lady Chance was so genuinely pleased to see her that it made the entire situation even more ghastly.

  Her faint pangs of guilt, however, were swiftly forgotten as Lady Chance launched into the details of her upcoming Christmas party.

  There were conundrums to decide upon, carols to choose, the appropriate amount of holly to hang, and the precise spot for the mistletoe. She also demanded Sarah write down the proper recipe for the wassail bowl.

  After nearly two hours, Lady Chance sat back, smiling with satisfaction. “How terribly clever you are, my dear. My party shall be the greatest success, and it shall all be due to you.”

  Sarah could not help but smile at the effusive flattery. Although she had never moved in Society, she was well aware the success of such gatherings depended far more upon who attended rather than what occurred. “I am certain my efforts shall have very little to do with the success of your party.”

  “But you are too modest,” Lady Chance insisted. “How happy I am Oliver discovered you.”

  Knowing the older woman would not be nearly so happy should she discover the truth, Sarah gave a vague shrug. It was clearly time to take her leave, but before she could find the words to extricate herself, a deep voice spoke from the doorway.

  “No more happy than I am,” Lord Chance said in soft tones.

  In spite of herself, Sarah discovered her gaze clinging to his elegant male form. Hardly surprising, she was forced to concede. Unlike most gentlemen, he wore the tight blue coat and buff pantaloons to advantage. Rather than revealing his various imperfections, they instead emphasized sleek muscles that moved with fluid grace.

  With a sudden realization she was staring, Sarah abruptly lifted her gaze to meet his dark, probing regard. Her heart did its familiar leap, but thankfully Lady Chance provided a welcome distraction.

  “Oliver.”

  Lord Chance performed a slight bow. “Mother. Miss Cresswell.”

  “I did not expect to see you today.”

  “I thought you would wish to know I have been to Brighton.”

  Lady Chance clicked her tongue. “So terribly odd of Ben to visit Brighton at this ti
me of year.”

  Sarah unconsciously bit her lip as she waited for Lord Chance’s response.

  “I believe he desired a less hectic pace,” he said smoothly.

  Lady Chance seemed to accept the lie with swift ease. “Poor dear, he did appear a bit drawn when he last visited.” She heaved a sigh. “I do not believe London agrees with him.”

  A sardonic expression settled on Lord Chance’s countenance. “He is always welcome to return to Kent.”

  Lady Chance could not have looked more surprised if Lord Chance had suggested her youngest son sail to the colonies. “Goodness, what would he do with himself?”

  “There are any number of duties I would be delighted to share.”

  Lady Chance wrinkled her brow. “I do not believe Ben cares for such duties.”

  Sarah bit her lip again, this time to prevent her hasty words. Had Lady Chance ever considered the notion that Lord Chance might not fully care for the burdens he must shoulder? Or that it was hardly fair that Ben be required to care for nothing beyond his own pleasure?

  “It would do him no harm to learn a lesson in responsibility,” Lord Chance said in neutral tones.

  Lady Chance pressed a hand to her breast, her eyes pleading. “He has endured too much, Oliver. We must be patient.”

  Sarah thought the earl’s masculine features hardened, but he gave a ready nod of his head. “As you wish.”

  A rather awkward silence descended. Well aware she was out of place, Sarah rose to her feet.

  “I should be returning home.”

  Lord Chance promptly turned in her direction. “I will drive you.”

  “There is no need.”

  “I insist.”

  Well aware that Lady Chance was regarding her with a curious gaze, Sarah had little choice but to concede to the inevitable. “Thank you.” Moving forward, she stiffly placed her hand upon his offered arm.

  “You will ensure Ben is well, Oliver?” his mother demanded.

  “As always.” He glanced down at Sarah’s troubled eyes. “Come, Miss Cresswell.”

  Nine

  Rumbling along in his carriage, Chance heaved a rueful sigh.

  The morning had dawned with a gray drizzle. Warm in his bed, he had lingered far longer than usual before at last rising and making his way down to his breakfast.

  Only when he was leisurely enjoying his slice of ham and lightly boiled egg had he been struck by a horrid thought: Surely Miss Cresswell would not be so foolish as to walk to his mother’s. It had taken less than a heartbeat for him to have his answer.

  For goodness sakes, the woman frequented brothels and placed her school in a neighborhood not even the Watch would enter. She would think nothing of strolling alone halfway across London.

  Burning with frustration, he had called for his carriage, nearly pacing with impatience by the time he was at last on his way.

  He would never forgive himself if she became ill because of his thoughtlessness, he told himself, especially since he did not even have the excuse of having forgotten her meeting with his mother. He seemed unable to forget anything connected with Miss Cresswell.

  On how many occasions had she disrupted his concentration—and not just at night, when a gentleman’s thoughts might reasonably turn to satin skin and enticing lips?

  He had assured himself his preoccupation was merely because she was so firmly out of reach. He was like a child who desired a toy simply because it was being denied him.

  Well, perhaps not quite like a child, he ruefully acknowledged as he allowed his gaze to study the maiden seated across from him in the carriage. There was nothing childlike in his reaction to her proximity.

  Drawing in a deep breath of the lilac-scented air, Chance studied the pure lines of her features and the unreasonable temptation of her lips. Damn, but she was an intoxicating minx, he was forced to concede. More intoxicating than a maiden had a right to be.

  His gaze lifted and, with a tiny start, he realized her wide brow was furrowed in a faint scowl.

  “You are frowning,” he abruptly ended the silence. “Was my mother so horrid?”

  She lifted her head and blinked in surprise. “Of course not. She was very gracious.”

  His lips twisted with a hint of self-mockery. “Then I suppose I am responsible for such a grim countenance. Truly, I wished only to spare you a miserable walk home.”

  Expecting a tart reply, Chance was startled when she gave an awkward shrug.

  “It is nothing.”

  Intrigued, Chance leaned forward. “Come, I have shared my troubles with you.”

  There was a long moment when Chance feared she might refuse to confess. Then, entwining her fingers on her lap, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

  “I suppose I find it unfair that you should be expected to care for your family while Ben is encouraged to live as he pleases.”

  Chance stilled, caught off guard by the low words. It was the first occasion anyone had expressed concern for the responsibilities he shouldered. Certainly neither his mother nor Ben considered the vast amount of work their numerous estates entailed. He was the eldest son, and it was his born duty. Until this moment, he would have briskly dismissed any foolish notion that he desired sympathy for his position. Now, however, he could not deny a flare of warmth at the edge of annoyance in Miss Cresswell’s tone.

  “It seems to be the lot of the eldest child,” he said softly. “Do not say you are not expected to be responsible while your sisters do as they please.”

  “I ... perhaps,” she was forced to concede.

  Chance allowed himself a small grimace. “I will not say, however, that Ben should be encouraged to continue his frivolous existence. I fear the influences of London have sadly altered his character. He is in need of something to capture his attention and keep him occupied.”

  She gave a slow nod, perhaps thinking of her own siblings. “A difficult task.”

  “Yes.” Chance determinedly changed the subject. “Tell me what you accomplished this morning.”

  “You cannot be interested.”

  “Of course I am. Since I will be expected to participate in the various activities, I feel I should be properly warned.”

  He had intended to tease a smile to her pale face, but instead she abruptly stiffened as if she had been slapped. “I assure you it is all quite harmless.”

  Belatedly realizing she had taken his words as doubting her respectability, he gave an impatient frown. “I never thought otherwise.”

  “Even from the daughter of the Devilish Dandy?”

  Chance felt his familiar distaste at her mention of her father. Really, harboring that roué of an uncle was bad enough—if he were indeed her uncle. There seemed little need to constantly advertise her connection to a notorious jewel thief.

  “Why do you do that?” he demanded.

  She regarded him warily. “What?”

  “Refer to yourself in such a fashion?”

  “It is no less than the truth,” she insisted. “Just as you are the son of Lord Chance.”

  Hardly the same thing, Chance inwardly acknowledged. “No one would know Miss Cresswell was in any way related to the Devilish Dandy if you did not make such an effort to announce the fact.”

  A guarded expression descended upon her countenance. “You believe I should dissemble?”

  “It might make your path smoother.”

  Something that might have been disappointment darkened her eyes. “I cannot pretend my father’s behavior is anything but reprehensible, but he is my father and I love him,” she said with quiet dignity. “I will not lie.”

  The very simplicity of her words made Chance flinch. Good gads, he was not usually so insensitive. To have actually suggested she disown her family and lie to the world ...

  And why?

  So he should not be ashamed to claim her as an acquaintance?

  He was a perfect cad.

  “No,” he said softly.

  “It is who I am. I will not apolo
gize,” she said, as if she felt she must emphasize her point.

  “Forgive me, Miss Cresswell,” he said ruefully. “My words were thoughtless.”

  She shrugged. “It must be difficult for you to understand.”

  Chance could not prevent a sudden laugh at the sheer irony of his situation. He leaned back into the soft leather. “Oh, yes. Unlike you, I have no notion of what it might be to possess a relative willing to pinch a necklace or tiara.”

  Despite her best efforts, her lips gave a telltale twitch. “It is not at all the same, as you well know.”

  “It is enough to teach me the difficulties of accepting a loved one regardless of his faults.”

  She lifted a brow. For the moment, neither were aware of the passing houses or the gray drizzle that dampened the cobblestones. “Quite an admission from the Flawless Earl.”

  He gave a mock shudder, pleased to note a sparkle had returned to her eyes. “Good gads, do not use that ghastly title.”

  “You are not proud of your impeccable reputation?”

  “It is absurd,” he retorted, wondering how the devil she had ever managed to hear of the Flawless Earl. “As you have so admirably pointed out, I have many flaws.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Chance gave a bark of laughter. “My dear, whatever pride I might have possessed you have effectively shredded beyond repair.”

  She wrinkled her tiny nose. “Pooh.”

  “I am not in the habit of being poohed.”

  “Then perhaps it is time you were,” she promptly retorted.

  Chance thought of all the maidens who had fawned and pandered to his vanity. Not by look or word did they dare imply he was anything but perfect.

  Lud, it was no wonder he found Miss Cresswell’s pert honesty so refreshing.

  “Perhaps it is,” he admitted softly.

  Their gazes tangled. For a breathless moment, Chance found his thoughts once again turning to satin skin and enticing lips. Then, as if sensing his mounting desire to reach across the carriage and pull her into his arms, she rushed into speech.