Lady gambit, p.2
Lady Gambit, page 2
The light rap on the back door made Delphine jump.
Fearing Mr Flynn would enter the premises, she hurried to greet him. Oh, why had she concocted this hare-brained plan? The strain would kill her long before she learned the names of her parents.
She opened the back door, slipping into the yard before closing it behind her. There was no time to gather her wits. She swung around to face the gentleman and almost swooned.
“Mr F-Flynn?”
Good Lord! She’d been expecting a much older man, one who had to roll out of bed in the morning. One who spilled his dinner down his waistcoat because he functioned better when sotted.
The shock—and the sight of Mr Flynn’s athletic physique—left her somewhat lightheaded. Swaying slightly, she gripped the man’s forearm, which was another mistake. It was strong, like his powerful shoulders. Firm, like his sculpted jaw.
“Are you well, madam?” His tone was as smooth as fine wine. He clasped her upper arm to steady her balance, touching her where no man had ever touched her before. “Allow me to escort you inside.”
She stared at him, mesmerised by the amber flecks in his confident brown eyes. A little lost in the fullness of his lips and the fact his unruly brown hair was in contrast to his pristine black coat.
“Miss Heartwood?” He called her by the name she had invented to avoid any association with her brothers. “I must ask you again. Are you well?” His thumbs shifted, the unintentional caress stealing her breath.
No, she was not well.
Mr Flynn was a handsome man of thirty.
An earl’s ill-begotten son to boot.
If her brothers caught them together, they’d drag him to the altar, a pistol pressed to his back until he recited his vows verbatim.
“Let me help you inside.” Like a gentleman of good breeding, he was guiding her towards the door, not mauling her like a drunken oaf who conducted business from a tavern.
“No! Wait! I assure you, I am perfectly well. But time is of the essence. It’s imperative we discuss our business posthaste.”
His gaze moved to her bare shoulders, his grumbles incoherent. “Before we begin, allow me to convey my terms.” Aware they were still gripping each other like lovers about to part ways, he released her.
“Your terms?” She stiffened her spine and drew a calming breath, though she could still feel the imprint of his hand on her skin. “I was told the initial consultation was free.”
His expression turned as sombre as a judge donning a black cap. “It is, though I demand honesty from my clients. You have lied to me, madam. I want your name, not an alias, and I want to know why we’re conversing in Miss Darrow’s yard. If I’m satisfied with your answers, you may explain your problem.”
She was used to dealing with blunt men, so she replied with utter confidence. “I used an alias to avoid causing my family distress. We’re conversing in the yard because my brother Theodore is reading the newspaper and drinking coffee a mere ten yards away. He cannot know you’re here. The punishment will be worse than death if he finds us.”
Unperturbed, Mr Flynn said, “What is worse than death?”
“Marriage, sir.”
Doubtless many women dreamed of marrying a man as handsome as Mr Flynn. But good looks faded. Loyalty and kindness topped her list of desirable attributes. Wrinkles and a paunch did not destroy a lady’s soul. Deceitful words and deeds did.
“Marriage! Yes, a swift death is preferable to a life spent in shackles.” He glanced at the shop door but seemed distracted by the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “Perhaps you should explain your dilemma so I might consider your case.”
“My dilemma?”
“Why you seek to hire me?”
“Oh. My dilemma. Yes.”
Heavens! Her mind had turned to mush. She tried to focus on the reason she had lied to her brothers. That’s when the chill of trepidation shivered across her shoulders. A warning to leave the past behind and not poke the snake’s basket.
Aaron’s sensible words echoed in her head.
The dream we conjure in our minds is often far removed from reality. It’s human nature to seek happy endings. For most, the truth brings nothing but disappointment.
She should apologise for wasting Mr Flynn’s time.
But the emptiness inside was profound. It was becoming harder to breathe by the day. All the rules and restrictions made home feel like Newgate.
“My story begins sixteen years ago, sir. When my adopted brothers found me injured and crying in the rookeries.” Saying the words aloud to a stranger released a tidal wave of emotions. Gratitude for the men who treated her like kin. Sadness for the years spent mourning her parents. A fearful curiosity for a life she could not remember.
“Adopted brothers?”
“Four boys ousted from their Mayfair home by their wicked stepmother and left to perish on the streets. The oldest was fifteen at the time.”
Even then, Aaron had learnt to bury his emotions. He was ruthless, brutal with others. Protective and loyal to her and his kin.
“The oldest being Aaron Chance?” Mr Flynn said, taking a small step back. Most men would run until their legs gave out.
Her shoulders sagged. Mr Flynn had every reason to refuse her request now. “You worked at Bow Street. I presume my brother’s reputation precedes him.”
Mr Flynn’s mouth curled into a slow smile that softened his rugged features. “A friend, Lucius Daventry, informed me of the complexities of this case. Evading your brothers might prove more problematic than finding your parents.”
She frowned, a tad annoyed. “If you know who I am and why I called you here, why not say so in the beginning?” It would have saved them precious time. “It’s as if you’ve come for the pleasure of refusing my request.”
He seemed to find her mild rant amusing. “Few men in London would pit themselves against your brothers. Only a fool answers a beautiful woman’s summons. But I’m compelled to accept your case without hearing the evidence.”
“You are?” Somewhat surprised he’d implied she was beautiful and that she’d hired his services so easily, she said, “But we haven’t discussed your fee. Are you certain you can find my parents after all these years?”
Mr Flynn’s weary sigh said he regretted his decision already. “There is no fee. A benefactor settled your account, along with all necessary expenses. As for finding your parents, the chance of locating them after all these years is slim.”
A benefactor?
But few people knew of her forgotten past.
“Who paid the fee?” Who cared if she found her parents? Not Aaron. Otherwise, he would be standing beside her, a strong shoulder of support. “I demand to know his name, sir.”
Mr Flynn smiled, the sight making her stomach flip. “Mrs Sybil Daventry,” he said, shocking her to the marrow of her bones. “She believes you deserve to know the truth. She believes in happy endings.”
Mrs Daventry? Good heavens! During their brief conversations, the lady’s kindness had shone through. But to pay Mr Flynn’s fee? It beggared belief.
“Why take the case if the outcome is grim?”
“Because Lucius Daventry once saved my life and has called in the debt. He believes I’m the only person who can help you.”
Mr Daventry was right. She had warmed to the gentleman instantly. His cordial manner put her at ease. Then she remembered Miss Darrow’s warning. Anyone who wasn’t afraid to tackle her brothers must be dangerous indeed.
As if keen to prove the point, Mr Flynn hardened his tone and said, “Before we begin, there are a few things you should know about me, Miss Chance. I bow to no man. I’m no pretty lady’s lackey. And I would rather die than admit defeat.”
Chapter Two
Lucius Daventry would regret saving Dorian’s life. If Daventry sauntered into Miss Darrow’s yard, Dorian would throttle him with his own cravat.
The sleuth’s urgent visit to the Old Swan this morning made perfect sense now. He had come to persuade Dorian to take the case. He had revealed Miss Chance’s real name and explained her predicament, though had failed to mention the most obvious fact.
Delphine Chance possessed an inherent beauty.
A means to distract a man from his intended course.
She had appeared as a vision in gold silk. A goddess of Olympus in a gown that hugged her figure like a glove. He’d tried not to stare at her bare shoulders and imagine brushing his mouth over her soft skin. It had been so long since he’d held a woman in his arms. It was doubtless the cause of his body’s fierce reaction.
Daventry had misled him. He had used the word spinster to imply the lady was beyond marriageable age. He’d not said she was undesirable or that she preferred to chase her independence. But few people spoke of Aaron Chance’s sister, and so Dorian had assumed no one wished to cause offence.
“There are some things you should know about me, Mr Flynn.” She spoke quickly, her gaze darting to the door of Miss Darrow’s shop. “Confident men do not intimidate me. In theory, you might consider me worldly. There’s nothing you could say that would shock me. In reality, I have very little life experience.”
The lady was definitely chaste. It explained why she feared being caught alone with a man. Why her brothers would force her to marry. That said, Aaron Chance would likely kill Dorian before welcoming him into the fold.
“Is there anything else you need to know?” she added.
Yes, he needed to know why such a beautiful woman was seldom seen about town. Why had she not approached her brothers to ask for their help? They were powerful men. Dangerous devils. Why was Daventry so damned keen for him to assist her?
“In these cases, people rarely find what they’re looking for.” It was only right he cautioned her before she revealed sensitive information. Most women had unrealistic expectations. “The truth is often ugly.”
The day he learnt the truth about his own tainted lineage was a memory he’d sooner forget. A child had no need to question his parents’ relationship. He didn’t wonder why his father came home late at night and left before dawn. Why his mother’s favourite chair faced the window. Along with every punch, the pampered boys at boarding school were quick to offer explanations.
He’s Retford’s by-blow.
His mother is a common whore.
His mother had been Lady Retford’s maid.
Miss Chance stepped closer, the seductive notes of her perfume waking him from his reverie. “You may be right, but ignorance won’t stop the nightmares. Who am I, Mr Flynn?” She opened her arms, tempting him to examine every delightful curve and contour. “I have no notion.”
“Our parents do not define us, Miss Chance.”
If they did, he would be a weak man, controlled by his appetites. He’d be a philanderer who lied at every given opportunity. A pathetic creature filled with his own self-importance.
“That’s easy for you to say. You know your parents.”
Dorian snorted. “Trust me, I wish I didn’t.”
Undeterred by his cold response, she pressed her case. “One of your parents must have dark brown hair. Someone in your family must be tall and broad. From whom did you inherit your proud nose?”
With a bitter taste in his mouth, he said, “My father.”
She gave a little huff. “You see my point? Is my mother’s hair as dark as mine?” She pulled an ebony tendril loose and let it slip through her dainty fingers. “Are her lips as full?” Said lips formed a perfect pout. “Who in my family has long eyelashes?”
Whoever it was possessed a pleasing countenance. And yet, the kindness in her eyes and the determination in her voice held him entranced.
“I dislike mussels.” She wrinkled her nose, ensuring he knew how much they turned her stomach. “There’s no logical reason I should.”
He found himself smiling. “Miss Chance, I cannot begin an investigation with nothing more than a hatred of mussels.”
“I’m a gifted horsewoman, though to my knowledge, I’ve never had a lesson. I’m quite pedantic when it comes to tidiness. I find beauty in small things—the shimmer of sunlight on the water, the first blooming buds of spring. The tragedy of Romeo and Juliet makes me weep inconsolably.”
He raised a hand to silence her. “I’m not here interviewing for a wife.” Though he could not deny she was adorable. Thank heavens he need only spend a short time in her company. She would test any bachelor’s resolve. “We’re the sum of our experiences. Traits aren’t always inherited. Now. Tell me about the day you met Aaron Chance.”
She nodded and was about to begin when a harried Miss Darrow appeared at the door. “Your brother is asking to see you in the gown again.” The modiste spoke in frantic whispers. “He insists I finish it today and deliver it to Fortune’s Den. He won’t take no for an answer.”
Miss Chance’s breathing quickened. “But you can’t. It’s not my gown.” Keen to offer an explanation, she turned to him. “Miss Darrow suggested I meet you wearing my undergarments and a silk dressing gown. I’m sure you agree that would be inappropriate.”
“Most inappropriate.” A picture formed in his mind. An erotic picture of gossamer and ribbons, of soft breasts and a sensual silhouette. A picture that would haunt him for days, weeks, maybe months to come.
“Just step into the corridor so he can see you.” Miss Darrow flapped her hands and looked like a frightened bird about to take flight. “I told him we disagree on the neckline and that you’d rather the dress was blue.”
Miss Chance faced him again. “Will you wait a moment, sir?”
The pleading look in her eyes made it impossible to refuse. He had no option but to take the case and wanted the matter dealt with swiftly. Still, she needed to know he was not a servant to be summoned.
“Be quick. I have an appointment across town in an hour.”
Her grateful smile left him holding his breath. Cursed saints! He would strap Lucius Daventry to the rack for this and take pleasure in turning the crank.
Miss Chance hurried inside, leaving the door ajar.
Eager to learn more about the lady’s relationship with her brother, he moved closer, hoping to hear their exchange.
“Miss Darrow said you’re not sure about the gown,” came the man’s strong voice. “She said you’re not struck on the neckline or the colour.”
Through the gap in the door, Dorian could see Miss Chance in the corridor, wringing her hands and struggling to stand still. “It’s not what I’m used to, Theo. You know I love blue. And where would I wear such an elegant gown? My social calendar begins and ends at the circulating library.”
For some unfathomable reason, Dorian’s heart constricted.
“You look exceptional in gold,” Mr Chance said affectionately.
Being an honest man, Dorian silently agreed.
“We’ll persuade Aramis to have a party. Another excuse to celebrate his wedding. He’ll do anything to please his wife. Wear it then.”
A mocking snort escaped her. “They prefer to spend time alone.”
“We’ll speak to Aaron and see if he’ll permit you to attend Miss Lovelace’s club for ladies.” Theodore Chance was undeterred in his effort to please his sister. “The Burnished Jade is across the road from Fortune’s Den. I can’t see why he would refuse.”
Miss Chance sighed. “You know why. We’ve been told to avoid Miss Lovelace at all costs. We’re not to speak her name or look in her direction. Heaven forbid we were to pass pleasantries.”
“Then we must persuade him otherwise.”
She hesitated before shaking her head. The ebony lock she’d pulled from her chignon caressed her cheek. “The gown is awfully expensive, Theo. It seems such a waste if it’s to remain in the armoire.”
“We’re not scavenging for crumbs anymore, Delphine.” Resentment coated her brother’s words, though it was not aimed at his sister. “She’ll have the gown, Miss Darrow. Measure her for another in a similar style but in pale pink.”
Two things became apparent in their brief conversation.
Theodore Chance loved his sister.
Beneath Miss Chance’s cheerful facade lay a deep sadness that would tug on any man’s heartstrings. Indeed, Dorian was keen to find the lady’s parents. If only to prevent her from ruining her relationship with her brothers.
“Thank you. You always did know how to make me feel special,” she said, sniffing and dabbing her fingers to her eyes. The tenderness in her voice spoke of love and admiration for the brother she’d been forced to deceive. “I promise I won’t be much longer. Miss Darrow will fetch you more coffee.”
“Take as long as you need.”
Miss Chance disappeared behind a door. Seconds later, she slipped back out into the yard. “I’m sorry for abandoning you, Mr Flynn.” A tear slid down her cheek, and he resisted the urge to dash it away. “Forgive me for wasting your time. I know it’s extremely precious. Please tell Mrs Daventry I have had a change of heart. I no longer require your services.”
Evidently, her brother’s affectionate response had made her reconsider.
He should be relieved. He could put this woman from his mind and never think of her again. But there was one thing he loathed more than his father—injustice.
“You’re certain?” he said, keeping an indifferent tone.
“Quite certain.” A sob caught in her throat.
The tension in the air was palpable. He could see the strain on her face, the furrows of an inner conflict etched on her brow. More tears fell.
Hell, he didn’t know what the devil to do.
He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. “Allow me.”
“Thank you.” She took the linen square and dried her cheeks. “Heaven knows what you must think of me.”
He thought she was a little broken inside. That this was the most genuine display of emotion he had ever witnessed. “It’s clear you’re in a difficult predicament.”
She stepped closer. The crackle of an invisible force charged the air. An obscure connection that made no logical sense. “Have you ever had a recurring dream? One so vivid you can recall it with absolute clarity?”
