A Gentleman By Any Other Name (11 page)

C
HANCE STOOD IN THE
shadows, his arms folded across his chest, and watched as Odette approached Julia's bed.

She carefully turned down the bedspread, exposing the sheets, then moved to the top of the bed, to the pillows. In the light of the small bedside candle Chance could see that, unbelievable as it seemed, Odette had begun to show her age.

Not that anyone would dare ask how old she was, not even while on a ship just setting sail for the other side of the world, and the person shouted the question across the water while Odette was trussed to the dock with a stout rope.

There were threads of silver at last in the heavy rope of braids Odette wore tightly coiled around her head, and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles was squeezed onto the bridge of her short, wide nose. She dressed all in black and had ever since that final day, all her vibrant colors gone. Her tall frame had at last begun to thicken, along with the swollen bare ankles he could see above the decrepit carpet slippers she always wore.

The pillow on the near side of the bed had been pushed aside now, and Chance watched as Odette reached into one of the many pockets she had sewn into all of her gowns and withdrew a small cloth bag.

He could hear the mumble of her voice but not quite decipher the words of her melodic chant. He waited as she touched the bag to the sheets. Here…here…there.

Only when she'd put the bag back into her pocket did Chance step forward, saying, “Was that in aid of keeping her here or sending her away? And don't try to hand me a bag of moonshine that you've begun to practice anything but white magic.”

Odette didn't flinch. Nor did she turn to look at him. “She will stay where you stay, go where you go and never betray you.”

“That's almost poetic. And this works? This bag of weeds and bones or whatever the hell you've got there? Did it work on Beatrice? I think not.”

Now, at last, Odette turned around to face him. “I did not bother with that one. She did not have your heart and you did not have hers. Come to me tomorrow. It is more than time to renew your
gad
in the
mavangou.
There are bad
loa
here now, and there will be more.”

Chance involuntarily put his hand to the middle of his chest, his fingers rubbing against the browned alligator tooth that lay there. He was a grown man and didn't believe in Odette's voodoo ways. But old habits die hard. “I don't believe in bad
loa.
Just bad luck. Bad luck and stupid decisions. I only wear this to keep a fanciful old woman happy.”

“And you are only in this room because you want to make yourself happy, no matter what the master says. I've turned down the bed and spread the welcome. The rest is up to you.”

“I don't know if I should wonder if you've been listening at keyholes or believe in your powers and thank you for your help—or curse you for thinking I'd need it.”

Ah, finally. He'd roused a smile from the woman, as well as one of her deep, rumbling laughs. “Cassandra helped me prepare this year's
mavangou,
and it is very potent. Both gunpowder and Shrove Tuesday ashes. But do not come to me until nine tomorrow morning,” she said, moving slowly toward the door. “These bones grow old in the cold and damp of this inhospitable island, and I don't move as I did in the warmth of the sun.”

He watched Odette go as the affection he felt for her took him back to the days when she had fed him, watched over him and more than occasionally let him feel the back of her large-knuckled hand across the back of his head. She'd cared for all of them, taken them all under her wing, into her heart.

But never the way she had with Isabella or with Cassandra. It was Odette's curse on herself that she hadn't seen what would happen that last day, that her religion, her beliefs, all her charms and chants, hadn't revealed the evil.

Yes, Odette had aged far beyond her years. They all had.

Chance mentally shook himself, pushing away the memories, and looked at the bed. Julia's bed.

He needed to do what had to be done. Odette's powers to one side, the best way to ensure Julia's silence was either to kill her or make love to her, and killing her wasn't an option. But women became more malleable once they were bedded, if the man bedding her knew what he was about.

Beatrice had been the exception. Only after Alice's birth had he discovered that she'd been in love with another man even before their marriage. If he'd known then what he knew now, he would have given them a fat purse and his best wishes, then pointed out the way to Gretna Green.

But then, Chance knew as he straightened the pillow on the bed so that it lined up with the others, he wouldn't have Alice.

The clock on the mantel chimed the hour. Ten o'clock. Where the devil was the woman? He needed to be back downstairs by midnight to help Courtland go clean up his mess.

But they'd all agreed. Julia Carruthers was here, she knew too much and they couldn't really let her go right now. Ainsley had told him, “Control her. I believe she understands she is to keep silent. But never put all your coins on only one number, Chance. Better to cover your bets.”

“That means cover
her,
if you're not understanding this, my grand stallion.” Jacko had laughed then, and Chance had taken a swing at him, only failing to connect with the man's grinning face because Ainsley had caught his arm in midpunch.

“London life making you slow, pup? I remember when you moved better than that,” Jacko had said, still holding a mug of his favored rum. The man hadn't so much as flinched or taken up a defensive posture. Then he'd smiled and stroked at his beard. “If you don't want her…”

“Jacko,” Ainsley had said quietly, lightly placing his hand on Chance's chest. “Why don't you go see what the others are up to in the morning room? I'll join you shortly.” Once the man was gone, he'd turned to Chance. “Let it go, son. Jacko's old now. He lives in his past and fights with his mouth.”

Chance had done his best to shake off his anger and only said to Ainsley, “Yes, thank you. I'll join you later.” Then he'd grinned and said the words that still echoed in his mind, shaming him, as they'd been said to bolster his feelings at Julia's expense: “Ah, the sacrifices I must make for my brothers.”

He turned now as he heard the sound of the door latch being depressed and waited for Julia to see him as she entered the room carrying a candle in a glass-topped holder.

Julia turned to shut the door and turn the key in the lock. She'd had enough of people traipsing in and out of her bedchamber as if it lay en route to the dining hall or some such thing. She pocketed the key, then sighed wearily, because Alice had wakened when she'd gone in to her and she'd had to read her two stories before the child had fallen asleep once more.

What a long day, what a long few days. A month of days all tightly packed into three interminable, eventful days. She was already reaching behind her with one hand to begin unbuttoning her gown as she turned toward the bed. And at last sensed that she was not alone.

“You.”

Chance, who had been leaning against one of the tall bedposts, stepped forward, smiling. “Yes,
me.
And now that we know where I am, where have you been?”

Julia walked over to a table and put down the candle holder before he could see it trembling in her hand. “I have been with your daughter, saying good night to her for the second time, which is one more time than you said good night to her. Sir.”

Chance winced. “Christ. How could I have forgotten…?”

“I imagine if something is not done regularly, that something is easy to forget,” Julia said, deliberately refusing to acknowledge the quick flash of guilt in the man's eyes. “And now, if you don't mind, I'll ask you to leave. I'm tired and I wish to go to sleep.
Darling.
”

Chance stayed where he was. “We'll assign a maid to you tomorrow, to take care of your personal needs. In the meantime, perhaps you'd like some help with those buttons.
Sweetheart.
”

Julia felt her chin go up and her hands ball into fists at her sides, both automatic, stubborn responses to what her body, at least, felt to be the threat of imminent attack. “You weren't amusing the first time and you promised there would not be a second time.”

“Amusing?” Chance smiled as he began walking toward her and she, wonderfully brave or helpfully inquisitive, stood very still and watched him. “Is that what you call what happened between us this morning, Julia? Amusing? I think I'm insulted.”

“Really?” she said, her heart pounding. “I'd say you were insulting.” Then she walked away from him, all the way across the room, to stand with her back to the closed draperies, her arms crossed below her breasts. “Now go away.”

“I can't,” Chance said, spreading his arms. “You've locked the door.”

Julia pushed her hands into the pockets of her gown, her fingers closing over the cool metal of the large key. “Oh, blast,” she said angrily, then took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “All right. Say what it is you came to say and then go.”

She believed he'd come here to
talk?
Lord love the woman. But very well, they'd talk. “I wanted to thank you for today, Julia. Ainsley was quite impressed. My sisters believe you to be extremely pleasant, my brothers are envious of me and my daughter, it would appear, would be a sad child indeed if you weren't here. And you didn't stab me with your fork when I kissed your cheek in front of my family tonight at dinner. So for all of that—” he spread his arms again, palms up, as if to show that they, and he, were empty of anything in the least nefarious “—thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Julia said, then lowered her head, looked at him through her lashes, totally unaware of what she was doing. But she did feel flattered and quite pleased. What a pathetic fool she was, she should be ashamed of herself. “Your sisters like me? I think they're very nice. Very different but very nice. Callie is a rare handful, isn't she?”

“They all are, in their way. Except for Eleanor. Although I will warn you, that little bit of nothing has a will of iron. I, for one, would think twice before I crossed her.”

Julia couldn't help herself. “I noticed that she walks with a slight limp. Callie says her leg gives her pain.”

“And you, uncurious as ever, want to know what happened to her, yes? Was she born that way? Was there an accident?” Chance said, moving closer, shortening the distance between them.

“No,” Julia said quickly. “No, I don't. If Eleanor wants me to know someday, she'll tell me. I won't ask about Eleanor or any of your sisters or brothers. I won't ask about Ainsley and I most especially will not ask about Jacko or Billy or any of the others I've encountered thus far. Mr. Becket's servants, that is.”

“And a motley collection they are, yes. All colors, all shapes, all sizes and more than a few languages among them. At least two missing a hand each, one of those a woman. And one with a wooden leg—that would be Bumble, our cook. I don't think there are more than three or four who have all their own teeth, either. We had one who'd lost an eye, wore a fine black patch, but I've heard Ricardo put his good eye to finding himself a fine countrywoman in Dymchurch who doesn't mind his feet stuck under her kitchen table.”

Julia put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile. “Certainly none of them remind me of your fine London butler or your footmen in their fancy livery. Everyone here…everyone just seems to be here because they want to be here, and as long as they're here, they'll help out.”

“What a lovely and very apt way of putting it,” Chance said, shortening the distance between them yet again. Slowly. Slowly. All good things come slowly.

Julia shrugged. “The house is so formal, but the people are not. I…I do think it
is
all very lovely, frankly, although I believe I can understand why your late wife wasn't quite so delighted. Becket Hall is most certainly not Upper Brook Street.”

“Becket Hall is our land ship,” Chance said, realizing his words were very close to the truth. “Stone and mortar rather than wood and sail. An aging crew, retired from the sea. Someone should write an epic poem.”

“Perhaps someone has, in a way,” Julia said, nervously twisting her hands together. “‘The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; Yet never a breeze up-blew. The mariners all again work the ropes, Where they were wont to do. They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—We were a ghastly crew.'”

Chance stepped back as if she'd slapped him. “Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”

“‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,' yes.” Julia shrugged her shoulders. “I'm sorry. I don't know why that came into my mind.”

“No, no, that's all right. It's a fanciful story. The mariner saved by an albatross, only to slay the bird and have it hung around his neck as penance. Ainsley puts more stock into that fantasy than most.”