My Kind of Scoundrel, page 9
Stolen! The thief had lifted the floorboards?
Was the villain after the book or the list of Miss Darrow’s clients?
Miss Lovelace glanced at Theo like he had committed a mortal sin. “I’m not sure we need to know every detail, Miss Darrow.”
Aaron was quick to respond. “With you being a wallflower, I imagine it unsettles your delicate sensibilities.”
“I am hardly delicate. I saw you without your shirt last month and didn’t swoon.”
The verbal spat left Miss Darrow more confused. “Was this before or after I arrived at Fortune’s Den?” She released a weary sigh as her eyes fluttered and closed. “I’m so tired I could sleep for a week.”
Gentry arrived promptly, wearing a black coat with fashionable oversized lapels and carrying his bulging leather case.
“You took your time,” Aaron said.
Gentry placed his bag on the low table. “I came immediately. I trust this is the lady who fell.”
Miss Lovelace rose and offered the physician a beaming smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr Gentry. Miss Darrow has suffered a head injury and has only just regained consciousness.”
Gentry spoke to Miss Darrow, observing her speech with keen interest. Then he stared into her beguiling eyes, checked her pulse and touched various parts of her body. “Tell me if this hurts?”
“No, sir, but I fear I must sleep.”
“Do you feel nauseous?”
“No.”
“Do you recall how you fell?”
Miss Darrow shook her head, though the action pained her. “I kissed Mr Chance,” she mumbled. “It is enough to make any woman giddy.”
Theo inwardly smiled. He’d found himself equally enthralled, though concern for Miss Darrow had him pestering Gentry for a diagnosis.
Gentry stood. “I suspect a mild concussion. Bedrest for a day or two should suffice. If you find you cannot rouse her, or there is blood from the nasal cavity or ear canal, fetch me at once.”
Aaron thanked him and gestured to the door. “I’ll show you out. We wouldn’t want to keep you from your patients.”
“I can show Mr Gentry out.” Miss Lovelace straightened her jaunty hat, and her gaze shifted to the doctor. A man who would make any woman swoon. “I hoped you might visit The Burnished Jade to give a lecture on the healing power of the mind. My ladies found your last speech most informative. Miss Moorland has spoken of little else since.”
Gentry bowed—though Aaron looked ready to murder someone.
“I would be happy to oblige. I shall check my diary and have my secretary send a list of suitable dates.” He raised a stalling hand and a confident smile. “There’s no need to see me out. I know the way.”
Miss Lovelace did not take her eyes off Gentry until he left the drawing room. Excitement oozed from her pores. Her eyes sparkled like polished sapphires. “Oh, my ladies will be thrilled.”
Theo wished it was dark enough to hide the taut lines etched on his brother’s brow. He wished he could screw his eyes shut to avoid seeing the signs of Aaron’s discomfort. As a child, he had watched Aaron build barricades to shield himself from pain. If those defences came crashing down, there’d be Armageddon.
But he couldn’t worry about Aaron now. Miss Darrow needed his help to tackle her problems, problems which were mounting by the day.
“Miss Darrow needs rest.” Theo was eager to leave before Aaron said something to chase Miss Lovelace away.
Sadly, Aaron failed to hold his tongue.
“Most women make a fool of themselves over Gentry.”
Miss Lovelace shot Aaron a questioning look. “They do?”
“He is married to his work.”
“And you think I am searching for a husband?”
“You seem eager for his company.”
The lady laughed. “Do you know how hard it is to get professional men to give a lecture to ladies? Practically impossible.” She took a step towards Aaron, but his firm stance didn’t falter. “I cannot afford to fail, Mr Chance. Encouraging gently bred ladies to visit the club is crucial to my survival.”
Aaron did not remind her women lacked the gumption needed to run a club. Nor did he suggest an Aldgate address would deter a certain class of lady.
“Tell me whose services you seek, and I shall ensure they make themselves available to you.”
Miss Lovelace stumbled a little. “You will?”
“I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.”
That was a lie. Every word spoken to this woman was intended to push her away and keep Aaron’s armour intact.
“What would you want in return?”
Aaron did not need time to think. “For you to remain on your side of the street. For you to close your curtains before you undress for bed. For you to pick someone other than Gentry to give a talk on the humours.”
While the lady stared at him, dumbfounded, Theo crouched beside Miss Darrow. The need to see her resting comfortably in bed and to talk without interruption had him scooping her into his arms.
“I am taking Miss Darrow upstairs.”
Aaron nodded. “Come to my study when she’s settled. I want to know what Daventry said today and how you plan to tackle these mounting problems.”
“Will you arrange for Mrs Maloney to come and sit with her?” Theo’s gaze fell to the woman in his arms. Fate had dealt her a poor hand. It was up to him to shuffle the cards and redress the balance. “Miss Darrow shouldn’t be alone, at least not for the next twenty-four hours.”
“I’ll visit Mrs Maloney and explain the situation.”
Aaron was being surprisingly accommodating.
“Thank you.”
Theo was about to leave when Aaron called, “You have my full support in all matters. I just ask that you keep me informed of your plans. I’d rather not hear the news from Daventry.”
“I trust your counsel.” Keen to show Miss Lovelace there was no finer man than Aaron, he added, “You always act in the best interests of this family. No one’s opinion matters more.” Aaron was the anchor that kept them all grounded.
A silent look passed between them.
The unbreakable bond of brotherhood.
“Whatever you need, it’s yours,” Aaron said.
Theo thanked him again but was conscious of the woman in his arms—the only woman he had ever held like this—and so made his excuses and withdrew.
Miss Darrow’s eyes fluttered open when he reached the stairs, and she smiled, albeit weakly. “I think you enjoy playing the knight errant. Perhaps that’s why you stole my sewing box. So you might display the qualities of a hero.”
“I’m hardly a hero. I’m the scoundrel who stole your box so I had something to trade for your arousing kisses.”
Her hand came to rest on his heart. “You owe me a forfeit,” she uttered as he mounted the stairs. “That’s not why you stole my box.”
“No, but you do have the mouth of Venus.” And he was more than happy to pay a penance if it pleased her. “Kissing you is like drinking the nectar of the gods. And don’t challenge me on that. I mean every word.”
“I believe I’m supposed to say thank you.” Her smile faded, and he felt her strength seep from every muscle as she nestled into his chest and closed her eyes.
Fear crept into his heart.
What if this was their last conversation?
What if he never got to truly make amends?
What if guilt would forever be his companion?
Chapter Eight
Eleanor woke to find herself in a dark bedchamber—Mr Chance’s bedchamber. The midnight blue curtains were drawn, though she could hear the hustle and bustle of daily life outside on the street. Dogs barked. Carriages clattered over the cobblestones. A costermonger proclaimed his apples were the juiciest this side of the Thames.
Inside the opulent chamber, all was quiet.
Someone had tucked in the bedsheets. Sheets that smelled of his cologne. Sheets that were warm and smooth against her bare legs.
Merciful Lord, her legs were bare.
Someone had stripped off her clothes.
Eleanor came up on her elbows, wincing because her head throbbed and every muscle ached. Her mouth was as dry as old parchment, though that was the least of her concerns.
Panicked, she peered under the covers. Her gaze settled on the delicate muslin nightgown clinging to her curves and the silk ribbons fastened into a bow under her bust. The pretty garment did not belong to her, yet wearing another woman’s gown was not what played havoc with her insides.
Seeing her bare thighs resting on Theodore Chance’s bedsheets caused a strange fluttering in her belly. Being cocooned in his intimate space brought a profound sense of closeness to a man she should keep at bay.
Her gaze shot to the pillows.
Had he slept beside her?
Had his leg stroked hers in the night?
Had his hand skimmed her hip?
She should be glad she could not remember. Mr Chance had a way of slipping under a woman’s skin and taking command of her senses. Yet the weight of disappointment was prevalent. She had missed another chance to feel something beautiful, something other than loneliness and fear.
She might have buried her face in his pillow, but the muttering voices on the landing drew her attention to the door. As the knob turned slowly, Eleanor fell back on the pillows and feigned sleep.
She recognised Mr Chance’s rich baritone before he stepped into the room. The timbre of his voice was permanently etched in her memory.
He turned to the elderly woman accompanying him and said quietly, “Stay with her. I shall be two hours unless Pickering needs a hard lesson in integrity.”
Pickering?
Mr Chance was to visit the travelling librarian without her?
Surely they had missed their six o’clock appointment.
“Take as long as you need,” the woman said, a gentle softness to her voice. “I bought a healing tincture from the apothecary in Cornhill. It’s meant to restore one’s vigour. Let’s pray it has some effect.”
Eleanor peered through narrowed eyes and saw it was Mrs Maloney. They had met at Delphine’s wedding. The woman had given the family lodgings when they were children and was like a mother to them all.
Mr Chance hung his head. “This is my fault. Miss Darrow wouldn’t be in this predicament were it not for my foolish antics.”
“And you’re doing everything you can to make amends.” Mrs Maloney rubbed the man’s arm like he’d just come in from the cold. “You weren’t to know the poor girl was in trouble. Just as she didn’t know that helping Delphine would see you shot.”
“But what if she never recovers?”
“She will. She needs rest, that’s all. Happen she’s barely slept these last few weeks. And I expect you’re basing the theory on past memories.”
“Perhaps.” His sad sigh tugged at Eleanor’s heartstrings.
Mrs Maloney moved to the washstand and filled the porcelain bowl with water from the pitcher. “Aaron said you refused to leave this room last night. Have you slept?”
“A little. Though I have a crick in my neck from that darned chair.”
The woman looked at the offending article. “I’ll stay here tonight.” She swished a linen square in the water and wrung it out. “When you return from visiting that Pickering fellow, I suggest you rest, too.”
Mr Chance stepped closer to the bed. “Gentry said it’s normal for someone with a head injury to sleep for three days, but I find it hard to be optimistic.”
Three days!
Eleanor had spent three days in Theodore Chance’s impressive bed? During sleepless nights, she had imagined climbing into bed beside him, but she was always a lucid participant in her dreams.
“I never meant to hurt her.” He sat on the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands. “I pray she will understand why I’ve taken it upon myself to attend to the issues at her modiste shop.”
Eleanor’s heart missed a beat.
What had he done? Boarded the windows? Sold everything of value? Given the landlord her notice?
She didn’t need him riding roughshod over her ambitions. After a lifetime of subservience, she’d sworn never to be anyone’s puppet. And yet, that’s precisely what she had become. A pawn for the ton’s amusement.
Mrs Maloney came to join him at Eleanor’s bedside. “I’m sure Miss Darrow will be most grateful, especially when she learns how hard you’ve worked.”
The press of cold linen on her forehead tore a gasp from her dry lips. “Good Lord.” She was so parched the words were barely audible.
Mr Chance jumped like he’d sat on a pin. “Miss Darrow?” he panted, his voice laced with relief. He reached for her hand and clasped it tightly. “Can you hear me?”
Eleanor lifted her eyelids and gazed into his magnificent blue eyes. “Y-yes.”
Mrs Maloney hurried to the chest of drawers, pulled the stopper from a green bottle and poured water into a glass. “Have a sip of this, dear. It’s boiled, and I added a sprig of rosemary. It’s said to aid the memory.”
Mr Chance helped her to sit and propped the pillows. The brief touch of his fingers on her back sent a delightful shiver to her toes.
After taking a long drink of water, Eleanor clutched the glass and tried to gain some clarity. “How long have I been sleeping?” It couldn’t have been three days, but to her dismay, Mr Chance confirmed as much.
“You woke a few times but were not always coherent.” A weak smile touched his lips. Was he recalling something she had said while in a stupor? “Let’s just say I may have new information to trade.”
He was teasing her, playing the jester to settle both their fears. Nothing about her mundane life was worth trading for one of his heart-stopping kisses. Still, the desire to see his smile broaden left her keen to reply.
“As this is a gaming hell, perhaps we might take command of the tables and make a proper wager.”
“Ah, you refer to the piquet and claret evening you mentioned at the Olympic. Once the lords desert the tables, we might command the card room and indulge in a midnight game of chance.”
“Having slept for three days, I think I can cope with one late night.” Bantering with Mr Chance made her forget her woes. “Does that mean you accept the challenge?”
He hesitated, pursing his lips as his gaze moved over her face. “Of course I accept, but only when I’m certain you’re on the road to recovery. I feared you would never wake.”
Mrs Maloney had a grasp of the situation. The pressure to deliver the notes had taken its toll. Trying to prevent her life from crumbling around her was exhausting. Emily had stolen the silk. Someone had taken the books hidden beneath the boards. And someone had pushed her down the stairs.
No wonder she’d not woken for days.
“You’re to blame, sir. This is a comfortable mattress.”
“I only sleep on the best.” One look at the delicate lace neckline of her nightgown and his smile returned. “I trust you found the nightwear just as comfortable and approve of fine muslin from Bengal.”
“Indeed.” Her cheeks grew hot beneath the weight of his gaze. “Though I must question who this sumptuous gown belongs to.”
As if wishing to give them a little privacy, Mrs Maloney busied herself with tidying the washstand.
“I bought it for you. When I unpacked your valise, you had nothing suitable for bed. I walked to Nightingale’s, and Mrs Maloney undressed you upon my return.”
She wore a nightgown Theodore Chance had purchased? One bought specifically for her? The gesture was borne out of necessity, but that didn’t stop the coil of intimacy tightening in her belly.
Eleanor swallowed deeply. “Thank you. My father forced me to make my own clothes. No one has ever bought me anything new.”
His smile faded. “Forced you?”
“Encouraged me in such a way I could not refuse.”
“Your talent for dressmaking must have been apparent from an early age. Did your mother teach you to sew with such skill?”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly, her heart pounding with remorse. She breathed against the churning in her gut. “My mother died in childbirth. I never knew her. My father raised me.”
“Oh.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I’m sorry. It must have been difficult.”
“Too difficult to explain in words.”
Something passed between them. A sense of empathy that came from shared suffering. A silent look of solidarity. The need to lose themselves in another soul-deep kiss.
He must have sensed she wished to change the subject. “Daventry sent word this morning. Pickering’s mobile library will be in Hart Street at noon. We plan to accost him and drag a confession from his devious lips.”
“Excellent. I’m coming with you.” Before she engaged her brain, she pulled back the sheets and eased herself out of bed. “Give me a moment to dress.”
A strained hum rumbled in his throat as he studied her nightgown. “You seem intent on punishing me, Miss Darrow. All things considered, it’s no less than I deserve.”
She could have stood there, stone-still, his eyes devouring her all day. Men had admired her before, but no one had ever made her feel the way he did—like she was the most desirable woman in the world.
“Oh, you’ll catch your death in that flimsy thing.” Mrs Maloney appeared, draping a wool blanket over Eleanor’s shoulders and drawing the edges across her bust. “I don’t know what possessed him to buy something so impractical.”
“A man is never practical when buying a lady nightwear.”
“You’re lucky she didn’t catch a chill.” Mrs Maloney wrapped a motherly arm around Eleanor’s shoulders and drew her to the washstand. “I’ll help you dress and tidy your hair, dear. You shouldn’t be left alone. Not until we’re sure you’re fit and well.”
Mr Chance took that as his cue to leave. “I’ll wait downstairs. During the journey to Hart Street, I shall explain all that’s occurred since your accident.”
Was it an accident?
