A Heart for the Taking (13 page)

Chance’s brow rose. Softly he taunted, “But you did not call me a knave, Duchess. You called me a bastard.”

Rashly she snapped, “And would do so again a thousand times from the rooftops of every house in a thousand cities!”

Chance grinned, his blue eyes mocking her. “You truly dislike me very much, do you not, Duchess?”

“Dislike you?” Fancy murmured sweetly. “No, of course not. I do not dislike you; I
loathe
you.”

Chance might have continued baiting her, but to Fancy’s profound relief, Hugh and Ellen returned. That they had both heard her words was obvious from the wary expressions on their faces. Forcing a bright smile, Fancy said gaily, “Oh, there you are. You were gone so long that I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to you.”

Ellen carried a small iron pot filled to the rim with dark, plump berries. Setting it down, she said, “We wanted to pick sufficient to take with us, and it took a while to find enough.” She smiled over her shoulder at Hugh. “Hugh said it looked like a bear had beaten us to all the very best places.”

The awkward moment passed, and for the next several minutes they were busy eating breakfast and then breaking camp. It didn’t take long, and before the sun was very high in the sky, they were moving quietly through the forest.

Chance set a steady pace, but, mindful of the women, he called for frequent halts and unobtrusively gauged their degree of exhaustion. It was apparent that though they tried to conceal it, the days of near starvation had taken their toll and they tired easily. Again, Chance found himself admiring the two Englishwomen and was furious with himself for doing so. His mouth twisted. The
baroness
had certainly made her feelings about him crystal clear. She and Jonathan would, no doubt, spend the rest of their lives together discussing precisely how much of a bastard he really was.

Having allowed Hugh to take the lead for present, with Ellen following close on his heels, Chance eyed Fancy’s stiffly held back as she walked in front of him. Like Ellen, her hair had been captured in a long, thick braid that hung almost to her waist. As they traveled through the green shadows of the forest, he found himself nearly mesmerized by its gentle sway. She was the most baffling, beguiling,
danger
ous
creature he had ever come across, and for his sins—she utterly fascinated him.

To his deep disgust, he discovered that the memory of her soft mouth beneath his would not leave his brain, nor had her angry words and cool manner made her any less desir
able to him. In fact, he found that her very dislike of him aroused the hunter in him. That, and the knowledge that she was to be Jonathan’s bride. Jonathan had cuckolded him, had lain in his bridal bed and made love to his wife—what was wrong in paying his enemy back in kind?

It was difficult for Chance to push aside thoughts of revenge against Jonathan, especially if the revenge gave him something that he wanted very badly for himself. He didn’t delude himself into believing that he
didn’t
want the baroness. His problem was that he was having trouble separating the two—revenge against Jonathan and his desire to take the cat-eyed temptress in front of him to bed. The trouble, he conceded grimly, was that he wasn’t certain that if he ever did get her into his bed, he’d be able to let her go.

He scowled, suddenly disliking her almost as much as she disliked him.

Perhaps only Hugh noticed that Chance seemed to wear a perpetual scowl in the days that followed and that he seemed unusually short-tempered. Fancy was very aware that he treated her with cool, barely concealed contempt. His attitude nettled her. What did
he
have to be upset about? She was the one who had been unceremoniously jerked into his arms and kissed so fiercely. He was everything Jonathan had implied, she told herself grimly. He was crude, rude, hateful, arrogant, and insulting. She shouldn’t spare him a second’s thought. But to her complete dismay, she couldn’t stop thinking about him, and that cataclysmic kiss they had shared.

The situation wouldn’t have been so bad if they could have simply avoided each other. Unfortunately, that was not possible. Day after day it was just the four of them. And Fancy’s uneasy conscience couldn’t forget that she was dependent upon Chance for her continued survival. It went very much against the grain to treat Chance as she did, and Fancy was deeply ashamed of her manner toward him every time he returned to camp with fresh meat or fish or every time he reached out a lean, warm hand and helped her over a nasty stretch of woods or water. Every night, as she lay on
the ground, wrapped securely in one of the blankets provided by Chance, her belly full of food provided by Chance, she writhed with shame, knowing that somewhere in the darkness he was standing guard,
protecting
her even as she slept. Guilt smote her hard.

But worse than the guilt or shame that ate at her, much worse than having to put up with his disturbing presence all through the day, were the explicitly carnal dreams that tormented her at night. It was humiliating and infuriating that even in her dreams—dreams over which she had no control—he could tempt her and rouse her body in ways that even her husband’s most intimate caresses had not. She longed most ardently for this wretched journey to be ended and for Chance Walker to disappear into the wilderness and never to darken her path again.

The journey would have been unendurable if it hadn’t been for Hugh’s and Ellen’s presence. They were like a pair of merry puppies, full of enthusiasm, unflagging energy, and easy, lighthearted camaraderie despite the seriousness of their situation. Seeing them laughing and teasing together around the campfire at night, Hugh’s dark head bent attentively near Ellen’s blond one, Fancy was relieved that her sister’s inexplicable, initial stiffness around him had abated.

Fancy smiled to herself. But then it would have been very hard for anyone to dislike Hugh Walker. Not only was he kind, considerate, and unfailingly polite, he was also handsome, charming, affable, and amusing. Something, she thought with a tightening of her fine jaw, his cousin was not. Well, she amended reluctantly, Chance
was
handsome, she wouldn’t deny him that.

There was one other thing that made the journey bearable: by unspoken consent Fancy and Chance did not allow their differences to spill over onto the other pair. During the day, it was simple to conceal their animosity; there was seldom time for conversation, beyond the necessary and most mundane. But when they would stop and camp for the night . . .

Fancy dreaded the fall of darkness, dreaded those moments of enforced intimacy when they all gathered around
the small fire to shut out the encroaching darkness. Invariably Chance sat directly across from her, and like one mesmerized, she would watch the dancing firelight caress his lean features, the broad forehead, the bold nose, and the hard mouth. Garbed in his buckskins, his face dark from the sun, the thick black hair falling carelessly to his broad shoulders, he could easily have been mistaken for an Indian, except for his growing beard and those eyes, eyes that could gleam with amusement at the others or become cold and bleak when they rested upon her.

Fancy learned much of the Walker history during those nights. Hugh and Chance, both being excellent raconteurs, were able to spin fascinating tales of the Walkers that kept the two women riveted. They told of an early Walker who had turned pirate, raiding and plundering the high seas at will. And of another who had reputedly loved an Indian princess but had given in to the demands of his family to marry a white woman. There had been the Walker who had killed a panther with his bare hands. And finally they spoke of the tragedy that had overtaken Sam and Letty when their only child, a son, had been born dead.

“Oh, how sad,” Ellen exclaimed as Hugh finished the story this particular night, about eight days into their journey. “Mr. Walker seems like such a nice man, and I am sure that his wife is every bit as nice. It is so very tragic that after all those years of wishing for a child, the son they’d longed for so ardently should be born dead.”

Dryly Chance replied, “Sadder still that Sam’s heir is now his half-brother, our dear cousin Jonathan.”

“Jonathan Walker is a fine man,” Fancy said sharply. “And it would behoove you not to make disparaging remarks about him when he is not here to defend himself.”

Chance’s eyes glittered mockingly in the firelight as he looked at her. “What a wonderful bride you will make him, always loyally springing to his defense and putting the black-hearted villain who dares speak against him in his place.”

“Um, I do not think that is what Fancy meant at all,” Ellen
said, casting a nervous glance at her sister. “Jonathan is our host, and it is because of him that we are in Virginia. It would be terribly rude of us to repay his many kindnesses by talking about him in an impolite manner.”

Fancy noted uneasily that Ellen did not correct Chance’s mistaken impression about which one of them was here as Jonathan’s prospective bride. This wasn’t the first time her sister had done so, either. It had become increasingly clear that Ellen had no intention of enlightening either gentleman to the true state of affairs.

Which gives me just one more thing to wonder about and to brood over, Fancy thought wearily.

In marked contrast with the way he had greeted Fancy’s rebuke, Chance merely grinned at Ellen. “I stand corrected, little one. On my honor, I swear that for the remainder of the journey you shall not hear one uncomplimentary word from me about your sterling host.”

Ellen beamed at him. “Thank you. And now would you please tell us the story about how Hugh’s father came to bring you to his cousin Andrew? It sounds so very mysterious and exciting.”

Hugh nearly choked on the coffee he was drinking, and he shot his cousin a wary eye. “Er, I did not mean to tell her—it just sort of slipped out once when we were talking,” he said to Chance apologetically.

“Just slipped out?” Chance repeated sardonically. “For having known the lady for barely a week, you seem to be on uncommonly friendly terms—especially if you have been regaling her with stories of old family scandal.”

A blush suffused Ellen’s cheeks, and, looking very embarrassed, she said defensively, “These have not been normal circumstances. We have all gotten to know each other much faster than we would have if we had met in a more conventional manner. And as for the other—Hugh meant nothing by it—he was just talking to entertain me and to take my mind off our situation. If it embarrasses you, I am sorry for it and we shall talk of something else.”

“It does not embarrass me,” Chance said levelly, “I just do
not believe that my antecedents, or lack thereof, is a suitable, or very interesting, subject.” He sent Hugh a dark glance. “And I would suggest that something else be found to talk about in the future.”

The topic was hastily dropped, but Chance’s desire
not
to talk about it only aroused Fancy’s curiosity. She was determined to wheedle everything she could about Chance’s history out of Hugh at the first opportunity. An occasion arose the next afternoon, when they sought a shady area in which to rest from the worst of the heat. Chance decided to scout around and see if he could find something to add to their meager diet. Once everyone was settled, he glided away, leaving Hugh with the two women.

The conversation was desultory for several minutes until Fancy said idly, “You know, I am rather curious why Chance did not want you to speak of that incident between your father and his cousin.” She sent him an arch look. “Was it so very disgraceful?”

Hugh moved uneasily, clearly torn about revealing more, after Chance’s rebuke the previous night. “No, it was not,” he finally said. “Chance is just sensitive about his background.”

Ellen raised melting blue eyes to him. “Oh, Hugh, please tell us the tale. Please?” When Hugh hesitated, she asked eagerly, “Is it true that he really does not know who his parents are?” Her cheeks burned as she realized what she had said. “Oh, dear! That was terribly rude and forward of me.”

Hugh smiled at her and shook his head. “Not at all. As you said last night, we have met under most unconventional circumstances, and I think that the normal rules of polite society do not apply to us.” His smile faded. “And Chance’s parentage has been fodder for the Walker family for years.” He flushed and said awkwardly, “Most people believe that my father, Morley, is his father, that Chance is his bastard son, and that for reasons of his own he chooses not to acknowledge him.”

Fancy gasped. “You mean Chance is your half-brother?”

Hugh hesitated, then said, “I am not certain. And since my father will not discuss the subject, it is a mystery.”

“But that is impossible!” Fancy exclaimed. “Surely Chance has some idea who his parents are?”

Hugh made a face. “The only one who can answer that question, my father, steadfastly refuses to do so. The story is told that my father simply showed up one April morning at the home of his cousin Andrew, with Chance wrapped in a blanket. Andrew and his wife, Martha, were childless, and they did not ask too many questions when my father thrust him into their arms and asked that they care for him until he could make other arrangements.”

“Other arrangements?” Fancy inquired with a little frown. “What did he mean by that?”

“No one knows, but the ‘other’ arrangements never came about. Chance grew up living with Andrew and Martha. From what I have heard, he could not have asked for better or more loving parents—for the short time that he had them.”

“What happened to them?” Ellen asked.

Hugh sighed. “Martha died of fever the fall of his tenth year, and Andrew was killed by Indians the summer he turned sixteen. Immediately after that, Chance promptly set out on the trail to find the savages who had murdered Andrew.” Proudly he added, “Alone, he tracked them down, and after he found them, he strode boldly into their camp and demanded to know which one had murdered Andrew.” Hugh shook his head slightly, still amazed by the thought of what Chance had done. “The leader of the band was so impressed by Chance’s bravery—foolhardy though it was— that he allowed him to meet Andrew’s killer. Both of them were armed only with knives in a fight to the death.” Hugh shot Fancy a half smile. “And since he is still here, it is obvious that he succeeded in his quest for revenge against Andrew’s killer.”