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‘I do not think the English have had a duel on Corfu yet,’ she remarked objectively. ‘They have not been here long enough. I do feel you were little harsh—after all, it is a very easy conclusion to jump to, is it not?’
‘I have not apologised for that yet, have I?’ His smile was rueful.
I wish it were true, I wish we could…The shocking thought jolted through her, almost wrecking her hard-won poise. ‘You did not believe it, in the face of all the evidence—that was apology enough. And I should have thought how it would appear, taking those men into my bedroom. The trouble is, I am too much used to being independent, to relying on myself alone. I do not have to explain myself to anyone.’
‘Nor do you have to apologise for supporting yourself. But you should not have to do so.’
‘Just because I am English, just because my father was an officer, should I then give myself airs and sit around, reading novels? We would pretty soon starve, my lord!’
‘Chance. No, of course I do not mean you should starve out of pride. But neither should you have to work to support yourself if we can locate your family.’ He was sounding exasperated, like a teacher confronted with a pupil who was wilfully failing to understand a simple addition.
Alessa found herself frowning back. We must look a pretty couple, glowering at each other, she thought, with a flicker of humour. ‘Why should they have the slightest interest in me, let alone wish to support me? By all accounts Papa was wild to a fault, Mama was a foreign widow two years older than him and from a country with which we were at war, and they have never set eyes on me in their lives. And I have two children from whom I will not be parted,’ she added defiantly.
‘Why should you be? Alessa, however unknown, they are your family. It is their duty, and I am sure will be their pleasure, to welcome you and look after you. It is not as though you would be imposing on some humble folks who must put money before family. Of course, you would not understand it so clearly, but the English aristocracy would not see a relative fall on had times.’ Chance was obviously in deepest earnest. For some reason he felt strongly about this. Then something he had said penetrated.
‘Aristocracy? What makes you think my family is noble? What do you know about them?’ How could he know anything? I never told him my last name. ‘And why should you care, anyway?’
‘I assumed,’ Chance said awkwardly. He looked uncomfortable, perhaps feeling he had been tactless. ‘And I care because I am an English gentleman and it is my duty to care about Englishwomen in distress.’
‘Do I appear to be in distress?’ Alessa bristled.
‘No.’ Chance quirked an eyebrow and the simmering tension between them suddenly vanished like a soap bubble in the sun. ‘But you look capable of inflicting considerable distress on presumptuous men.’
Alessa bit the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing—Chance did not need encouragement—and took a sip of orange juice. It felt very strange to be sitting here, waited upon, in company with a gentleman. ‘I do not wish to discuss my English relatives, assuming I have any,’ she said mildly.
‘Very well.’ Chance gestured to the waiter for more drinks. ‘May I ask you a personal question?’
‘Yes.’ Warily. ‘I may not answer it.’
‘I would hate to do business with you,’ Chance said appreciatively. ‘All I was going to ask was, do you always wear the traditional costume?’
Alessa nodded. ‘Ever since we started travelling in the islands. The French, and now the English, immediately discount you if they think you are just a peasant, and it is much easier to work in.’
‘Really?’ Chance put one elbow on the table and cupped his chin on his palm. ‘Why?’
‘There’s plenty of movement in the skirt and the bodice,’ Alessa rolled her shoulders to demonstrate. ‘And no corsets…oh!’ Think before you speak!
Chance was gazing appreciatively at the minor disturbance caused by her shoulder-rolling. ‘Mmm. I see.’He lifted his eyes back to her face. ‘You blush so charmingly.’
‘Thank you.’ Her attempt at dignity only made his eyes sparkle and a dimple appear at the corner of his mouth. It should have made him look less uncompromisingly male, but if anything, it made his lips seem even more kissable. Alessa shut her eyes for a moment while she got her unruly imagination under control and thought of something repressive to say. ‘Of course, I do not wear the full, traditional, costume, which includes the cows’ horns.’
‘Cows’ horns? Now you are teasing me.’
‘No, truthfully. The country women braid up their hair and fix a pair of horns into it, then they drape a headscarf over the top.’
Chance reached forward and took her hand. ‘Promise me something?’
‘What? Not to wear horns?’ She should free her hand, of course, that was only prudent and proper. Only his fingers were warm and gentle, their hold compelling, and the faint movement of the tips over her pulse was mesmerising.
‘Yes—hell!’ Chance dropped her hand as though it had stung him and sat back. ‘Lady Trevick and her daughters!’
Sure enough, the Residency ladies were making their way along the Liston followed by a footman carrying parcels. Alessa had never met any of them, although she knew them all by sight, and, if so minded, could have described what they were wearing down to their skins. After all, she laundered all their fine linen.
‘So it is.’ She frowned at Chance, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘Tip your hat so they can’t see your face,’ he hissed, leaning forward and batting the edge of the wide brim so it dipped down on the roadward side.
‘What? Why?’ Then it dawned on her—Chance did not want to be seen by the ladies from the Residency hob-nobbing with some laundry maid. And why would that be? Sheer snobbery? Or perhaps he was courting one of the Misses Trevick. Whatever his motives, it made his protestations about wanting to aid her complete hypocrisy.
