My kind of scoundrel, p.7
My Kind of Scoundrel, page 7
“We will focus on Pickering,” he said, resisting the urge to break the black seal and read the scoundrel’s missive. “As all the notes are passed through him, we will persuade him to give us a name.”
Daventry’s gaze flicked between them. “Have a care. Something tells me there’s wickedness afoot, and I’m not talking about the immoral exploits of the ton.”
“What is there to fear?” Theo would keep Miss Darrow in his sights until they had the devil in custody and she could return to her shop.
“You’d do well to remember one important fact.” Daventry’s tone carried the weight of his warning. “Only the dead keep secrets.”
Chapter Six
With the rear entrance of Eleanor’s shop boarded to prevent intruders, they had no choice but to park the carriage outside the premises on New Bridge Street.
She shuffled to the edge of the seat, impatient to alight. Debtors’ prison awaited her. Salvaging the silk and Chantilly lace might raise enough funds to keep her from the Marshalsea.
“What’s the hurry?” Mr Chance opened the door and was first to the pavement. He extended his hand. “Allow me to assist you.”
The man was a monument to contradiction. Despite being a dangerous rogue who co-owned a gaming hell, he possessed a gentleman’s breeding. Goodness lay beneath his sinful facade. It was an attractive combination.
“Time is of the essence. There’s not a second to lose.” She poked her head out of the carriage and glanced left and right. The villain could be lurking in the vicinity, waiting to pounce.
Was that why she shivered?
Was she scenting danger?
“It’s four hours until your appointment with Pickering and his mobile library.” Mr Chance’s warm fingers grasped hers, his gaze falling to her ankles as he helped her descend. “We’ve plenty of time to attend to matters here.”
“We should avoid drawing undue attention.” The hairs on her nape prickled. Someone had their beady eyes fixed on them. Living with a distrustful father taught one to have a second sight.
“You fear the villain might be stalking the premises?”
“Yes, if he is keen to retrieve his note.”
“But you’re to deliver the note today. The damage caused to your property was to ensure you kept the appointment.” His gaze moved to the loose curl escaping her simple chignon. “I’m only grateful he took his temper out on the cabinets and not you, Miss Darrow.”
Although Mr Chance had seen her without a bonnet before, she felt a little naked beneath the weight of his stare.
“Doubtless he meant to frighten me.” The villain wasn’t her only problem. “The local shopkeepers will demand to know what happened last night. Gossip spreads like wildfire. Mudlarks who scour the Puddle Dock raided the cobbler’s yard last month. They will suspect the same happened here.”
Indeed, as she retrieved the door key from her pelisse pocket, the silversmith hurried across the street, calling her name.
“Miss Darrow. Thank heavens you’re well.” Mr Franklin—a man of thirty with wavy brown hair and a countenance that left her clients drooling—had thrown his coat on in a hurry, for the collar was askew. “I saw two constables searching your premises early this morning and haven’t slept a wink.”
Since the shocking theft at the cobblers, Mr Franklin kept his nose pressed to the window most days, searching for the elusive culprit.
“They suspect a vagrant entered my shop, hunting for food.” She hated lying but could not confess to being attacked in her yard and hounded by a devious devil. Wielding spades and batons, the shopkeepers would charge down to the Puddle Dock, determined to make someone pay for the crime. “Based on the damage caused, the vagabond must have been ravenous.”
She introduced Mr Chance and the air turned frosty.
The men scrutinised each other with obvious suspicion.
“You’re the gentleman who was shot by that thug last month,” Mr Franklin said, eyeing her companion. “Being so close to the Thames, we get all sorts of riffraff wandering up from the barges and merchant ships.”
Mr Chance hardened his stare. “I was shot while protecting my sister. Indeed, I’m duty-bound to ensure Miss Darrow receives no further trouble.” He drew his calling card from his pocket and thrust it into Mr Franklin’s calloused hand. “Miss Darrow will reside with a friend until her affairs are in order. Should you notice anything untoward, do your civic duty and report it to me.”
Mr Franklin arched a brow as he read the elegant script. “You’re a gambling man,” he stated with a touch of disdain.
“I run a gaming club. Only a fool stakes his future on the dice.”
Mr Franklin clearly feared for Eleanor’s safety. He leaned forward, his brows furrowed in quiet concern. “If you’d like to remain in Holborn, we have a spare room. Anna would be glad of your company. You’ve been of great help to my sister. Her needlework is much improved.”
Eleanor smiled. “That is most kind, sir. Miss Franklin is an excellent student, but I hope to return home in a day or two. I have merely come to assess the damage.”
Mr Franklin looked a tad disappointed. “Well, the invitation stands if you change your mind.”
“I doubt she will,” Mr Chance said bluntly.
A tense silence ensued before the silversmith mentioned the vagrant. “I suppose the rascal ruined your silk. I saw Emily moving the bolts this morning. Well, I say this morning, but it was just before dawn. The poor girl was up with the larks.”
While Eleanor reeled from the surprising news, Mr Chance said, “Emily?”
“A seamstress I employ when work demands it.” She kept a calm tone though many questions danced in her mind. Emily had no reason to visit the shop, and certainly not at the crack of dawn. “Emily mentioned borrowing her father’s cart, hence the early hour.”
That was another lie.
But how else was she to gain information?
“Yes, she came with an older man I didn’t recognise.”
“I’m visiting Emily this evening to take an inventory of the stock she saved. I’m sure she will be relieved to learn business will resume soon.” She thanked Mr Franklin and bid him good day.
Mr Chance waited until the fellow crossed the road before offering his expert opinion on the minds of men. “Franklin wants you.”
She wasn’t being vain when she said, “I know.”
“I expect many women think he’s handsome.”
“I expect they do.” Her fingers shook as she unlocked the door. A fear of what she might find was the cause, though Mr Chance presumed otherwise.
“Does Franklin always make you nervous?”
She might have fed him a tale as part of their game but could not risk paying a forfeit. “He doesn’t make me nervous. You’re the only man who raises my pulse.”
“I am?”
“Don’t sound so pleased. Most of the time I’m angry.”
The overhead bell tinkled as Eleanor entered the shop. The once welcoming melody had a sad ring to it now. Her gaze fell to the mess on the floor, her property scattered like the remnants of a shipwreck washed ashore. She doubted anything was salvageable.
“It grieves me to admit it, but I have made a dreadful mess of everything.” Tears welled. Misfortune had plagued her since birth. This shop was her mother’s dream, her father’s legacy. Disappointed, her parents must be turning in their graves. “I have felt powerless many times. None more so than now.”
The stab of failure cut deep.
The gentle touch of Mr Chance’s hand on her back preceded his thoughtful comment. “Things aren’t as bad as they seem. I could have the place straightened in no time.”
To prove the point, he retrieved two pairs of gloves, dusted them off and placed them neatly on the glass counter.
The man’s charm was impossible to ignore. Confidence oozed from every pore. Eleanor stole a glance at his muscular thighs as he crouched to complete the task. While the sight roused heat in her belly, the kind gesture made her heart race like a runaway carriage.
She bent down to help him.
Their fingers brushed as they reached for the same glove.
“You don’t need an excuse to touch me,” he said, a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “You don’t even need to ask.”
Like a moth to a flame, his allure was irresistible. “After our interlude at the theatre, why would I want to touch you again? You satisfied my curiosity.”
His smile turned sinful. “Did I? I don’t see how. The things a man can do with his hands are limitless.”
It took mental strength not to conjure an erotic image.
“Mr Franklin said a similar thing only last week.” The lie left her lips before she could reclaim it.
Being as sharp as a tack, he grinned. “You owe me a forfeit, Miss Darrow.” He looked at her lips, and she felt sure he would demand another kiss. “I believe I shall claim it now.”
“What do you want me to do, Mr Chance? Cluck like a chicken?” She wasn’t ready to kiss him again. Not when he weakened her defences.
“Where’s the pleasure in that?”
She swallowed hard. “What would give you pleasure?”
“Education is everything, is it not?” Still crouched, he flexed his fingers. “The touch of a man’s hand was the catalyst that brought down Troy.”
She suspected the feel of his hand would be her ruin, too.
“Let me begin with something simple to prove my point,” he said softly. “Let it be an exercise in the power of anticipation.”
He waited for her permission to begin.
“I’ll not stop until you demand it,” he warned her before caressing her cheek in slow, mesmerising circles.
The heat of his skin warmed her face and soothed her restless spirit. She closed her eyes briefly, finding solace in his touch. Tenderness was a potent drug for a lonely heart. Everything about this man was addictive.
“Relax,” came his whispered command.
Her shoulders sagged as if willed by the gods.
“I’ve never seen lips so plump,” he said, an undeniable hunger in his gaze as he traced the shape with his thumb. He worked closer to the seam, seeking entrance. “I’ll never forget how soft they were. You’d drunk wine before coming to the theatre. That, or you always taste like dark berries.”
“You’ll never know.”
His languid smile stole her breath. “There’s always a way to achieve one’s goal,” he said, penetrating the seam where her mouth was moist. He wet his thumb before taking it in his own mouth and sucking hard. “Hmm. I feel a thorough inspection is needed. But not today.”
Her heart pounded now.
Perhaps he saw the rapid beat of her pulse in her throat. Perhaps he knew the muscles in her abdomen were tight. That heat pooled between her thighs.
Exploring further, he drew featherlight fingers down over her lips and chin, down the column of her throat.
The hairs on her nape prickled. Tingles ran down her spine. She thought of halting his in-depth study, but the thrill of anticipation left her eager to know what he planned to do next.
He paused, his fingers lingering at the base of her throat, his brow rising in silent challenge.
“Is something wrong, Mr Chance?”
“Not at all.”
“Does that conclude the end of the lesson?”
“Not quite. Shall I continue?”
The answer should have been no, but she nodded.
Those dangerous digits moved again, trailing slowly southward, leaving a scorching path in their wake. His wicked blue eyes remained fixed on her, waiting for her to say stop.
He paused again when he reached her left breast.
She arched a brow, daring him to continue.
The pads of his fingers grazed her nipple.
She inhaled sharply. Not because she felt his touch through the layers of material or because lust had her in its powerful grip. The fire in his eyes stole her breath. The slight tremble of his fingers said these feelings were not one-sided. This wasn’t part of the game.
“I think that concludes the lesson for today, Mr Chance.”
A sensual hum escaped him. “Thank the Lord. You’re killing me, Miss Darrow.”
Eleanor smiled to herself as she gathered more gloves off the floor and rose to her feet. “I concede. A man might work miracles with his hands if his partner is willing.”
“A fact we may explore if you lie to me again, madam.”
“I won’t make the same mistake, sir,” she said, placing the gloves on the counter. They couldn’t be sold as new, but that was the least of her concerns.
“Mistakes are regrettable.” He rose and adjusted his trousers. “Nothing that happened between us a moment ago could be deemed so.”
Being careful not to lie, she said, “No, you did a superb job of proving your point. There’s a reason they call you the King of Hearts. I’m told you collect hearts and break them. I mean to guard mine with my life.”
“You, of all people, should know not to listen to idle gossip. Particularly when it comes from the mouth of Lady Lucille Bowman.” He did not give her an opportunity to refute the claim. “Where did you leave the book the villain placed in the coal shed?”
“Under the boards in my bedchamber.” Glad of a distraction, she dusted off her hands and beckoned him to follow her upstairs. She realised the room might be in a dreadful state, too. “Did you happen in there last night?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Yes.”
His tense shoulders told her all she needed to know.
“Prepare yourself,” he said, mounting the stairs beside her. “The room is a shambles. The intruder left no stone unturned in his search for your box.”
Part of her wished she had inspected the upper floors last night. Then she would know the face of her tormentor—assuming she had lived to tell the tale.
A whimper escaped her when she peered inside the storeroom and saw the empty shelves. The small tapestry boxes had been tossed aside. Gold and pearl buttons littered the boards like pretty shells on a beach. She stood rigid, gripping the doorframe before her knees buckled and she collapsed in a heap.
“I’m ruined.” The words were a whisper, but they hit her like a punch to the gut. “I pray Emily took the silk for safekeeping. I have no hope of raising the funds to replace what’s lost.”
Mr Chance stood behind her, his warm hand settling on her shoulder. Like a sturdy shelter in a storm, his presence brought a sense of calm.
“Write a list of what’s missing and I shall have it replaced.” His thumb moved in soothing circles on her nape. “You have troubles enough without worrying about bankruptcy.”
“I cannot take your money.”
“You can and you will. I’m to blame for this debacle.”
“You’re to blame for taking my sewing box. You’re not to blame for this. I agreed to play the messenger. My father always said I lacked my mother’s common sense.”
“I imagine he would eat his words if he knew you dressed the most prestigious ladies in London.”
“He would find fault. Nothing was ever good enough. I could never reach the mark.” There was always room for improvement. The beef was never tender. The chunks of apples in the pie were too big. She read too slowly. Ate too quickly. Walked with a sloppy gait.
“Criticism is rooted in insecurity. Perhaps your father blamed you for his own failings. Noting your flaws boosted his own sense of worth.”
Eleanor faced him, confusion and wonder fighting for supremacy. She had been conditioned to believe the problem lay with her.
“You surprise me, Mr Chance. I never expected you to be so—”
“Sensible?”
“Wise.”
“We all play roles, Miss Darrow. How does the youngest of four fearsome men find his own identity?” He answered before she could. “He becomes what his brothers are not. Playful. The jester. The King of Fools. An amusing distraction amid life’s troubles.”
“You do yourself a disservice.”
“I do?”
“You’re a better man than you claim.”
Love for his sister had shone from him like a brilliant beacon. His kindness towards Delphine knew no bounds. He was fiercely loyal. Strong. Dangerous. Unafraid to fight for what he believed.
“You have seen the best and the worst of me, Miss Darrow. You’re one of the few people who knows me as I really am.”
While she still felt the imprint of his teasing fingers, his remark fostered a deeper intimacy. Warmth gathered in her chest, not her loins.
“In a world where most people wear masks, know you can always be yourself with me, Mr Chance.”
His slow smile said he had mischief on his mind. “I’m glad you said that. Veracity is something to be admired. Might you permit a scoundrel to show his gratitude?”
The sudden pounding in her throat made her swallow. “I spoke the truth. There is no need for me to pay a forfeit.”
“This has nothing to do with our game,” he said, wetting his lips. “I cannot concentrate on any task until I’ve paid homage to the only woman who understands me. Consider it my way of saying thank you.”
“You’re referring to a kiss, I trust?”
“I wouldn’t presume to ask for anything more.”
“Very well.” Suppressing a grin, she offered him her cheek. “You may kiss me, Mr Chance. After which, you will pay a forfeit.”
“For what?”
“You don’t want to kiss me out of gratitude. You’ve had the same sinful look in your eyes since you touched me downstairs.”
He laughed and slapped his hand to his heart. “I confess, you have the measure of me, madam, though you’re wrong. I’ve had the same sinful thoughts since our interlude at the theatre.”
That kiss had stayed with her, too.
She had been out of her depth, floundering in a wild sea of emotions. During those amorous seconds, the weight of her burden had lifted. The touch of Mr Chance’s lips had made her feel like someone worth loving.
