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Chance’s expression as he eyed the bush warily released all the pent-up tension in Alessa. The laughter built and bubbled until she could contain it no more. ‘You don’t need to worry—it doesn’t make you impotent,’ she managed to gasp, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Just chaste.’
‘You,’he observed severely, ‘are very bad for a man’s self-esteem. First you rescue me, then you lecture me, now you laugh at me.’
‘I expect you deserve it. Have you anything to eat in your boat? I am starving.’
‘No, nothing. I was going to sail over to that bay. There must be a village.’
‘Yes. My village. Would you like to come and eat with us?’ She got warily to her feet, suddenly very shy of being close to him, yet anxious not to let him go now she had found him again. And her head was buzzing with the impossible news that he had found a relative of hers—an aunt, of all things—here on the island.
‘Are the children with you?’ She nodded, too preoccupied to speak. Chance pulled her rowing boat into the water and tied it to the stern of the skiff before handing her in. ‘Is that all your household?’ She noticed how competently he handled the little craft, it seemed an odd skill for an English nobleman. Perhaps he kept a boat on the lake that his country house would doubtless have. She could imagine summer picnic parties, all the ladies in elegant light gowns, the servants spreading a feast on crisp white cloths over an immaculately scythed lawn, the gentlemen amusing themselves with sailing boats. Another world…
‘Are the three of you alone?’
Alessa started, realising he had already asked her the question. She must have caught the sun—how else to account for this ridiculously light-headed feeling? ‘My friend Kate Street is staying with us. And old Agatha lives next door. She is the nearest thing I have to a grandmother, I suppose.’
‘I should have checked further.’ Chance frowned. ‘I was so pleased having identified your aunt and linked her to your father that I didn’t note the rest of the family, although your paternal grandfather is dead, I’m afraid. You have an uncle, as well as the aunt on your father’s side. Your father was the Honourable Alexander William Langley Meredith?’
‘Yes.’ Alessa nodded, noticing the look of relief on Chance’s face. He had told her more abruptly than he intended in the shock of their meeting. How would she feel if he had made a mistake? Disappointed? She was not at all sure how she felt now, when it seemed he was correct. ‘Yes, Captain the Honourable Alex Meredith.’ She hesitated, then stretched out a hand to touch his as it lay relaxed on the tiller. ‘Thank you.’
‘You are not sure you truly are grateful, are you?’ His smile was disarmingly rueful. ‘You must understand it would be dishonourable of me to abandon an English gentlewoman.’
‘Even one who was not in distress?’
‘Even so. When you are safely back in England, you will realise it was the right thing to do, believe me.’
Alessa eyed the elegant, assured profile as Chance scanned the shore ahead, adjusting the steering towards the pebbled beach. So arrogantly sure of himself, of his place in the world. So certain he knew what was best for her, and so fixed on following the dictates of his honour, whether she wanted it or not. She should dislike him and resent him, and part of her did. But the other part yearned for him and for the feel of his mouth on hers again, the touch of his hands on her body, the times when they seemed so much in harmony they hardly needed to speak.
‘There.’ She pointed. ‘The children have come down to the beach.’ The entire village gang of under-tens was skirmishing along the shoreline, skimming stones, splashing in the surf, playing tag.
‘Where did you find your two?’ Chance was smiling at the sight and her heart warmed to him. Unbidden the thought struck her: He would make a good father.
‘Demetri’s father was in the boat with my father when the storm caught them. He never came home either, and his wife had died the year before. Dora I did, literally, find that same year. She was sitting by the side of the road, blood all down her face, crying and clutching a filthy rag doll.
‘Eventually I found the priest of her village. Her mother was a widow who took up with a fisherman who beat them both. One day he went too far and the woma
n died. Dora ran away.’ She shrugged. ‘She had no one to look after her, so she stayed with me. Now they think they are brother and sister and I do not remind them of the past. One day, perhaps, they will want to ask.’
‘When you take them to England, Demetri will do well at school. He will grow up an English gentleman.’
‘He is Greek, Corfiot,’ Alessa said sharply.
‘When he is a man he can choose what he wants to be. And Dora will marry—’ He was cut off short by Alessa’s muttered exclamation. ‘What? Do you not believe in marriage?’
‘Perhaps. It is not the be-all and end-all. And who will want to marry a Greek peasant girl in England?’
‘Someone who wishes to ally himself to the Merediths by marrying their ward. Your life is going to change in ways of which you have no idea, Alessa.’ Chance lifted a hand in greeting to the children who had gathered round the landing stage, calling and waving.
Whether I like it or not. Alessa stood up as the skiff grounded and untied the painter of the rowing boat, tossing it to Demetri to make secure. He scrambled to take it, greeting her with his wide, affectionate grin. An English gentleman, with all the advantages that would bring him. What could he become, given the opportunity? And Dora? A whole world would open up to them. Am I being selfish, or just proud?
‘See who I have found,’ she greeted them as she hopped out of the boat into the surf. ‘Lord Blakeney is coming to eat with us—will you run on ahead and tell Aunt Kate?’
‘Yia sou.’ Chance smiled at the children.
‘Yia sas,’ they chorused back, wide-eyed at his sudden acquisition of a colloquial phrase, then took to their heels and headed up the steep hill.
‘You have been learning modern Greek,’ Alessa commented as she led the way over the shingle to the foot of the track way.
‘I have about ten phrases now. I try to practise on the servants, but they all think I am mad and insist on addressing me in English, so I am not making much progress. When I get stuck I start to think in classical Greek and then I get in a muddle.’ He reached out, took her hand and tucked it into the crook of her arm. ‘This hill is devilishly steep.’
