A Gentleman By Any Other Name by Kasey Michaels Page A

front of the fire, then sat in the other one, a low table between them holding a brandy decanter and two snifters.
    Ainsley lifted his snifter, swirled the liquid a time or two, then sipped. With the glass still in front of his face, he looked at Chance over the rim. “Once more, Chance, my condolences on the loss of your wife. Or perhaps you didn’t receive my letter. The others would have come to you—”
    â€œIf I’d let you all know in time. Yes, I’m aware of that. Arrangements were necessarily rushed. Beatrice was interred in her family’s mausoleum in Devonshire.”
    â€œI know her father died a few years ago, but didn’t her mother offer to take Alice for you while you’re so busy in London?”
    Chance held his own snifter, pretended a great interest in the swirling brandy. “Priscilla wed again last year. Beatrice’s brother holds the estate now, and Priscilla is off traipsing some moor in Scotland with her new husband.” He looked at Ainsley. “But if you don’t feel Alice can stay here, I—”
    â€œAlice will be fine here. The girls can’t wait to see her, spoil her. I only worry that she’ll rarely see her papa. When were you last at Becket Hall, Chance? I believe that was when Alice was a mere infant in arms. She’s—what—five now? Six?”
    â€œFive,” Chance said, still looking straight at Ainsley. “Beatrice didn’t care for the country.”
    Ainsley smiled one of his rare slight smiles. “Don’t blame a dead woman, Chance. That isn’t gentlemanly. How long have we two been together?”
    Chance turned his gaze toward the fire. “I was nine or ten when you bought me from Angelo, seventeen when…when we left the island.”
    â€œSo now you’re a grown man of thirty years, and I’m nearing fifty. Thirteen years, Chance. I won’t ask you to forget, but can’t you find some forgiveness somewhere? I lost her, too.”
    Chance put down the snifter and got to his feet, turned his back to the man. “You make it sound as if I was in love with her.”
    â€œWeren’t you? With all the ardor of a seventeen-year-old boy? That’s nothing to be ashamed of. She was only two years your elder.”
    â€œAnd your wife,” Chance said. “ You let Edmund—”
    â€œI did, yes,” Ainsley said, also getting to his feet. “Look at me. Look at me, Chance. No more running, no more hiding from the truth. I accept all blame. None of it is yours. I had everything. At last, I had everything. But I wanted more, and that’s what destroyed us. Not Edmund. Edmund was what he was. I am responsible. For her, for all of them.”
    â€œGod. Oh my God.” Chance collapsed into the chair, pushed his fingers through his hair, not even aware that the ribbon holding it in place had slipped off so that his darkly blond hair now was thick and loose to his shoulders.
    The years fell away.
    Ainsley felt a stab of regret, once again seeing Chance as he had been. Young, strong, unafraid. Before pain and loss had turned him inward, before civilization had smothered all his fire. The Chance he’d watched grow to young manhood could climb the rigging like a monkey, a knife between his teeth to slice away sail in a storm, then triumphantly yell into the wind, dare it to blow him into the sea. The Chance he’d known had loved life, every moment of it. Ainsley felt the loss of that boy, he felt it keenly.
    But now the past was here with them, in the open at last. Now, maybe, they could finally make their peace.
    Ainsley sat down again, folded his hands in front of him or else he knew he’d be unable to restrain from leaning forward, stroking the boy’s hair. “What’s wrong, Chance?”
    Chance turned troubled eyes to Ainsley. “I didn’t know you knew. Did she know?”
    Ainsley didn’t make the mistake of thinking