by Cheryl Holt
Where was a man supposed to go? How was he to establish himself?
He deemed the world a very unfair place. He was the son of a French count, and his father had purportedly loved his mother madly and passionately. But because they’d never wed, he was no one at all.
He had three half-siblings in France, two brothers and a sister, but he’d never met them. He didn’t know any details about them, not where they lived or how they carried on.
His father had lost most of his land holdings during The Terror. Had his half-brothers been able to retrieve any of it? He hoped so. He wasn’t a petty person and liked to think they were thriving. He liked to think some of his father’s grandiosity and high status had benefitted them.
That old position of pomp and opulence certainly hadn’t provided any advantage for Chase.
How could he be so smart and so educated, so crafty and knowledgeable of people and their ways, but have so few options? He wished he could start over and make his mark, but England was so stratified that a fellow couldn’t improve himself.
Perhaps, once he debarked in London, he should book passage to America. There were wild rumors about the country, that a man could put down roots and earn his fortune. Maybe that was the answer to his dilemma.
He sighed and studied his surroundings. He’d always known he’d eventually leave the villa, but he simply hadn’t expected the end to arrive so abruptly. He’d sworn to Ralston that they’d all depart together, but he was having such misgivings. It was lunacy to yearn to stay, but then he’d never considered himself to be exactly sane.
He peered down the sand, surprised to see Faith approaching. Her wimple was off so her pretty hair was dangling down her back, the wind blowing the lengthy strands out behind her.
She wasn’t wearing her habit either, but a flowing native dress that showed off her slender arms and shapely breasts. She’d hiked the skirt to her knees and tied the hem in a knot. She was wading in the waves, laughing as the water surged and retreated.
It seemed a scandalous moment, as if he’d caught her running about naked. Obviously this was a private episode he shouldn’t view. If he’d been any sort of gentleman, he’d have spun away and left her to her fun.
He’d been avoiding her, confused by their encounter in the bathing pool. He felt better around her and didn’t understand why she had such a soothing effect, but he didn’t like it or want it to occur.
She hadn’t noticed him yet, and he was disturbed by how much he enjoyed watching her. He paused a few yards away, dawdling, gawking, and the oddest affection was stirring, which he refused to acknowledge.
“Faith,” he finally said.
She stopped and turned. Their gazes locked, and the most potent charge of emotion leapt between them.
“Hello,” she said.
He might have been a clumsy lad with his first girl, but he shook off his temporary affliction and marched over to her. She stood her ground, and as he neared she actually reached out her hand. He clasped hold and linked their fingers.
“I’ve never been on a beach before,” she told him.
“I was wondering if you had.”
“I didn’t realize the tide pulled so hard. It almost topples me over when it sweeps across my feet.”
She was smiling, happy, appearing young and free and nothing like the fussy, grumpy nun who’d initially arrived. The villa did that to a person. It was a magical place that had you disregarding the outside world that was crammed full of rules and routines.
“You changed your clothes.” He was smiling too.
“Are you shocked?”
“No.”
“Well, I am. I’m utterly shocked.”
“I’m rubbing off on you. You’re adopting my bad habits.”
“You might be correct.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She wagged a finger at him. “No compliments.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re a deranged female who doesn’t like to be flattered.”
“You make me forget myself, you bounder, and you know it too.”
He dipped in and kissed her, but she quickly drew away.
“No kissing!” she admonished.
“Why not?”
“Because someone might see.”
“Let them.”
She stared up at the villa, at the marble verandah that protruded out from the cliff, but it was deserted.
“There’s no one watching,” he said. “We can misbehave.”
“I don’t think so.”
She tugged on his hand and strolled down the beach. It was an astoundingly intimate interlude, but he couldn’t figure out why. They were just walking.
“What’s come over you?” he asked. “Are you sure your name is Faith Newton?”
“Do I appear wanton and reckless?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Good. I want to feel like someone else today.”
“Someone other than Sister Faithful?”
“Yes, someone very different from her.”
“You’ve succeeded.”
“You’re dangerous to me, Chase Hubbard.”
“I’ve always been dangerous. It’s simply my nature.”
“You make me yearn and covet.”
“What have you been yearning for and coveting?”
She didn’t reply, but her expression was enigmatic and mysterious, as if she had secrets she’d share if he begged in the right way.
“A maid offered to wash my habit, and she brought me this dress to wear while the other was being cleaned. Typically I’d have cowered in my room in a robe, but for once I thought, why not? Why shouldn’t I put it on and enjoy myself? As you constantly remind me, who is there to see?”
“No one who matters.”
“Precisely, and it’s been so long since I had any pretty garments, and I’ve never, ever acted outrageously. You won’t faint because you’ve peeked at my bare feet, will you?”
“I’ll do my best to remain standing,” he dryly retorted.
He stopped and pulled her to him, and he kissed her again. While she didn’t exactly protest, she let him continue when she probably shouldn’t have.
They started off yet again and rounded an outcropping so they weren’t visible from the villa. She didn’t have to worry about Rowena or the girls spying on her.
A wave came in that was bigger than the rest, and it surprised them, slapping into their thighs and pushing him into her so she nearly fell. He reached out to steady her as she laughed and tossed her hair.
The sight of her—so relaxed and so merry—rattled him in ways he didn’t like. He glanced away, refusing to feel as if he was under some sort of spell, as if he’d been bewitched by her.
She went over to a boulder and snuggled her bottom on it. He was several feet away, over by the water, the surf lapping at his ankles.
“You seem sad,” she said.
“I seem…sad? How ridiculous that you’d assume so.”
“Why?”
“I’m never sad.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Then you’re very fortunate.”
“Are you sad occasionally?”
“I’m sad more than occasionally,” she blurted out, and she shook her head. “Oh, listen to me bewailing my plight. There’s nothing wrong with my life.”
“Except that you’re not cut out to be a nun.”
“Who says I’m not?”
“I do, and I know women better than any man.”
“Because you’re a libertine.”
“Yes, and I’m telling you, you shouldn’t go back to the convent.”
“I suppose I could leave, but I’d have to return to my father’s house, and Lambert would begin wooing me again.”
“You’ve been away for months,” Chase pointed out. “Maybe he wed while you were traveling.”
“I’d never be that lucky. Plus, with my father remarrying to such a young girl conditions are odd at home.”
/>
“Your stepmother is what, nineteen?”
“Yes.”
“And your father is fifty? Sixty?”
“Sixty.”
He snorted. “Your family is more crazed than mine.”
“Who are your parents? You never have told me much about yourself.”
“I’m an orphan. They died when I was five.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. My mother died birthing me, and my father was busy with his various businesses so I never saw him. I was mostly raised by a nanny who enticed me with stories about the saints.”
“Ah…now I understand what happened to you.”
“What happened?”
“You were convinced when you were too little and gullible to ignore her.”
“Perhaps,” she mused.
“My father was a French count,” he suddenly exclaimed, and he was curious as to why he would.
Acquaintances in London knew the depressing tale, but it wasn’t the type of dreary saga that should be bandied to a woman who was practically a stranger.
“You’re joking,” she said.
“No, he was. Truly.”
“Then are you a French count?”
He leaned nearer and whispered, “A by-blow. A natural born son, but I’m told he liked me best of all his children.”
“Who told you that?”
“It must have been my mother, but she wasn’t around much so I don’t have many memories of her.”
“Who was she?”
“His favorite mistress of course.”
“Oh, of course.” She studied him keenly, then laughed and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he gruffly asked.
“I believe this is the most scandalous discussion I’ve ever had. It certainly tops the list since I joined the convent.”
“In my mother’s defense, my father would have married her, but he was already married.”
“Ah!” She laughed harder and clapped her palms over her ears to prevent herself from hearing more salacious admissions. “Don’t confess any other details. I might be struck by lightning.”
He staggered away. “Let me get out of the way, so I’m not struck too.”
Her merriment calmed, and she sighed. “Did you inherit from him?”
“Why? Are you hoping I might be a rich husband for somebody? Maybe you?”
“No, I’m simply trying to figure out what drives you.”
“Nothing has ever driven me. I’m lazy and vain and impossible. And usually penniless.”
“How have you supported yourself in London?”
“I gamble and swindle people.”
“You do not.”
“I do.” He grinned. “I’m good at it too.”
“I bet you are.”
He walked over to her, and he braced himself on the boulder. He widened his thighs and pulled her over so her back was pressed to his front, her bottom to his loins, their toes dug into the sand. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his nose in her hair.
They stared out at the sea, observing as the sun continued to set and the sky went through a myriad of color changes.
“This is delicious, isn’t it?” she murmured.
“It is,” he agreed. “I’ve seen a lot of beautiful places in my life, but never one like this.”
“I can understand why it lulled you into complacence.”
“It wasn’t difficult. I always wanted to live like a wealthy, indolent king.”
“And you have your own perfect kingdom.”
“Yes, and I’m a despot too.”
“I don’t know about that,” she countered. “You’re not so bad.”
“I’m not? Obviously we’re making progress.”
The notion crossed his mind again that he shouldn’t depart, and more strikingly he wondered if he shouldn’t persuade her to stay too. With her morals lagging and her stern nun’s countenance being tossed aside, he thought a remarkable bond could be forged.
But she wasn’t a doxy or a pleasure slave. If he seduced her, he’d have to make promises. All of his acquaintances could verify that he never made promises because he never kept them. Nor had he the means to promise, and even if he had, he never intended to wed unless it was to an heiress where such a sacrifice would be worthwhile financially.
“Have you talked to Rowena?” he asked.
“Since when?”
“This afternoon.”
“No, I’ve been down here for hours. Why? Has something happened?”
“I suppose you could call it something.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What is it?”
He’d already told Ralston they were leaving so he didn’t comprehend why it was so hard to discuss it with her. He felt as if he was standing on a high cliff and about to jump off, and it dawned on him that he’d never be with her like this again.
She’d don her nun’s habit and cover her hair. She’d close herself off and focus on how to reestablish herself at the convent. All of it seemed a great personal loss to him that left him melancholy and distressed.
He shook off his maudlin emotions and said, “How would you like to return to England?”
“I would like to, but I have no idea how to accomplish it.”
“I’ll take you. I’ll take all of you.”
“But…how?”
“When I was fussing with those criminals in town, I forced them to give me some money.”
“It must have been a substantial sum.”
“It was.”
“Enough to pay all our fares?”
“Yes.” He could sense she was reeling with questions, with comments, and when she chuckled, he asked, “What?”
“I was actually about to say that I don’t want to go, that I want to remain here forever.”
“It’s that kind of spot, isn’t it? It lures you in and holds you captive.”
She spun so she was leaning into him, and he could feel every inch of her. She wasn’t wearing a corset so her breasts were unbound and they were pressed to his chest, riveting him with their presence.
“You’ll come with us?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s occurred to me that I shouldn’t let you out of my sight. You’d land yourself in too much trouble.”
“Mr. Robertson will come too?”
“Yes. I could never leave him behind. We’ll protect you and ensure you get home in one piece.”
“You’re so happy here, and I know you don’t usually have much money. Are you certain you should spend it on us?”
“I don’t mind, Faith.”
She smiled and studied his eyes, searching for a truth he doubted she’d find.
“You’re a good man, aren’t you, Chase Hubbard? Deep down, you’re good.”
“No, I’m not. I’m rotten to the core. I just think I should probably head for England.”
“And you decide on it when you’ll have to drag two women and three little girls with you.”
“It won’t kill me to help you.”
“Stop pretending,” she scolded.
“About what? How am I pretending?”
“You bluster about, wanting others to deem you callous and horrid, but you’re not. I’ve discovered your secret. You can be quite gallant when the situation calls for it.”
“You’re deluded, but if you wish to believe I’m amazing, I won’t dissuade you.”
“When will we go?”
“I expect I’ll require a few days to prepare.”
“You don’t even have a decent shirt.”
“I’ll have to buy one, won’t I?”
At the prospect, he was terribly dejected, and she laughed. “You look as if you’re about to stagger off to the barber to have a tooth pulled.”
“There has to be a bit of the native savage in me. I’ve enjoyed loafing and strutting about without any clothes. I can’t imagine being all buttoned up in a tight coat and trousers. The notion makes my skin crawl.”
“I’m predicting
you’ll be dashing in a British suit.”
“I’m predicting I’ll be miserable and grumpy.”
“You poor thing.”
She stretched out and draped her arms over his shoulders. She was so close, he had to kiss her. He was only human. What else could he do?
He drew her to him and reveled. He ran his hands over her hair, up and down her back, and even occasionally stroked her bottom. She didn’t protest at all, and he was a tad shocked by how reckless she was being, but he wouldn’t complain. He was cad enough to take advantage.
She asked, “Will I ever see you again once we’re in Britain?”
“Not unless you keep your pretty self out of that idiotic convent.”
“Would you want to see me again?”
He shrugged, realizing they were tiptoeing out onto dangerous ground. “Would there be a point to it?”
“We’re friends,” she said.
“Are we?”
“Yes, we are. Don’t you dare deny it.”
He supposed, considering he’d rescued her from slavers and had put his fingers into her most private places, they were definitely friends. And maybe more than that. Was there a word to describe it? If there was, he couldn’t guess what it might be.
She would never consent to being a paramour, and he couldn’t afford a mistress or fiancée. What was left? There was no role she could occupy.
“We might be friends,” he allowed, “but if you mention it in polite company, I’ll insist we’re not. I’m much too manly to have a female friend.”
“Yes, you’re very manly.”
“I didn’t use to be. I’ve reinvented myself since I arrived in Africa.”
“I appear to be reinventing myself too.”
“Who and what will you be when you’re finished?”
“I have no idea.”
He started kissing her again, and odd as it sounded, he felt it was the very last time and he’d never have another chance. Which was ridiculous.
They had some days at the villa, then there’d be several weeks at sea where they’d be in close quarters on the ship. There would be plenty of future opportunities for mischief, but he ought to be careful in what he perpetrated. She was already hinting at a continuing connection, apparently wondering if he’d agree.
He never would.
