Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Breadwell's was the prominent bakery Jules had mentioned. Located on The Strand, its reputation for excellence meant the place was thriving. The queue was out the door, and an impatient crowd hogged the oak counter.

Many were servants sent to procure sweet treats: Chelsea buns, Belgian buns, Eccles cakes and scrumptious fruit tarts.

Miss Darrow licked her lips as she gazed upon the plum pies with lattice crusts. "Do you think I might purchase a pie before you harass the baker? Instinct tells me this won't end well."

"You may have whatever your heart desires." Theo bent his head and whispered, "In some cultures, plums are an aphrodisiac. Though if you need to eat a pie to find me physically pleasing, I shall have to join a monastery."

She laughed but didn't look at him. "An aphrodisiac indeed. It seems you're desperate to flap your wings and cluck like a chicken. You already owe me one forfeit. Now it's two."

Had they been in the privacy of his bedchamber, he would have willed her to turn her head. Their lips would touch, and like a spark to a hay barn, a fierce passion would ignite.

"It's the truth. Have you never read Greek Mythology? Aphrodite invented the plum tree as a symbol of passion and pleasure."

"I know the story of the golden apple," she said in quiet challenge. "Paris gave Aphrodite his apple in exchange for Helen of Sparta. And I know the pomegranate is sacred to her because it represents?—"

"A woman losing her virginity," he said, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. He imagined her sprawled naked in his bed, the pretty nightgown tossed to the floor. "Shall we ask for a pomegranate pastry?"

She turned to face him, a little gasp escaping when she realised they were inches away from kissing. "It represents the consummation of marriage. As we're not marrying, we have no need to ask." She glanced at the other patrons. "People are staring."

"At the pastries, not at us."

She looked flustered, unnerved by their close proximity. "This is a terrible idea. We should have come first thing in the morning. The baker won't speak to us in a shop full of people."

"He'll oblige us. I can be quite persuasive."

"As well I know." She was referring to their intimate interactions. "It's that devilish grin of yours. Is it something they teach at Scoundrel School?"

"The way you wrap me around your little finger, you must have attended every lesson."

She laughed, her eyes sparkling like the dance of sunlight on the ocean. She was so beautiful when unburdened. He made a silent vow to see her smile every day.

"I'm sorry," the words left him without thought.

She blinked in surprise. "Sorry for what?"

"For robbing you of that smile. For stealing the light from your eyes. For those wasted hours when you lay awake hating me."

Miss Darrow stared at him, an intense look that seemed to penetrate his soul. "I could never hate you."

She had every reason to despise him.

Her noble spirit had him gawping in awe.

"I was rude to you."

"At the theatre?"

"No. The day I found Delphine in the yard with Dorian. The day you lied to me." He was the fool they'd deceived so easily. "I wasn't angry with you. I was angry with myself for being blind. For failing my family."

She touched his arm, sending an unknown force charging through his veins. A sudden need to feel close to her.

"You did nothing wrong. Delphine was determined to keep the meeting a secret. You were honourable throughout." Her fingers firmed around his forearm. "The kind way you spoke to her, the concessions you made, never have I respected a man more than I did in that moment."

The compliment touched him deeply. "Then I ruined everything by stealing your box."

"You ruined nothing. Are we not good friends now?"

They were more than friends.

It was only a matter of time before they were lovers.

"Are you deaf?" The maid beside him nudged his arm. "Three times he's asked you to step forward and place your order. Can't you see there's a queue? I ain't got time to waste."

The crowd grumbled in agreement.

Theo grinned, their annoyance playing into his hands.

He approached the counter and addressed the man with a beer barrel for a belly. "I'll take the largest plum pie in the cabinet." He presented the Home Secretary's letter. "You have been named as a witness in an official investigation. You're required to close the shop so we can speak privately."

"Did you hear that?" a customer cried. "He's closing the shop."

Like a run on the bank, the crowd pushed forward, waving their hands and shouting their orders. Amid the cacophony, the baker raised the wooden countertop and beckoned Theo and Miss Darrow forward.

"We're not closing," the baker reassured his patrons, gesturing to the woman in a white pinny. "Gertrude will serve you. Form an orderly queue." Then he turned and ushered them through a door at the back.

Two women were busy rolling pastry on a long oak table in the large kitchen. The heat hit Theo the second he entered. The poor boy stoking the ovens had a face as red as a berry.

"What's this about?" The baker stood with his folded arms resting on his paunch. "What am I supposed to have witnessed?"

"A barrow boy brought a letter here some months ago," Miss Darrow said. "It was a small letter, an inch square. It was so tiny it would be memorable. We need to know if the recipient works here or if someone came to collect the note. It was sealed with green wax."

The baker remembered the incident clearly. "Yes, the boy handed me the note. I asked who it was for, and he said he didn't know."

"Did you open it?" Theo said, daring him to lie.

"Yes, the writing was so small that the wife had to use a magnifying glass." He jerked his head to the buxom woman behind him. "It was the oddest thing."

"But she read it?" Miss Darrow asked.

That's when the baker winced in obvious discomfort. "It's private business. Nothing that should concern anyone else."

Theo showed the baker the letter again. "You don't need a hand lens to see the official seal. You'll answer our questions here or at Bow Street."

After exchanging odd expressions with his wife, the baker confessed. "It said I was to appeal to Thatcher's & Sons solicitors in Fetter Lane, and a certain debt would be settled in full."

"We were glad of it, sir," the wife blurted. "The debts were mounting, and all requests went unanswered. Getting the note was like a blessing from heaven. Within days, all the bills were paid."

"We will need the name of your debtor." Theo mentally scratched his head. Why would Lucille Bowman have debts at a baker's shop? And why had her father not settled her account?

"Does it matter?" the baker said, raising his voice to compensate for the rowdy noise in the shop. "It would be wrong to reveal the name of such a prestigious client."

"It matters," he snapped. "We know Lady Lucille Bowman sent the note. We need you to confirm it was the case. "

The baker's brow creased in confusion. "There must be some mistake. The debt belonged to a gentleman, sir."

"A gentleman?" Miss Darrow tapped her finger to her lips. It took her mere seconds to make sense of the conundrum. "Then the debt belonged to her father, or her affianced? I would guess Lord Wrotham ran up the debt."

While the baker remained tight-lipped, his wife said, "He ordered cakes by the dozen most days. He spent ten pounds one week."

"Ten pounds? On cake?" Theo had to laugh. The lanky fop was all skin and bone. "How much did he owe in total?"

Bowing his head in shame, the baker said, "Almost a hundred and fifty pounds. It's been a problem for over a year."

"Since settling his account, he's not been back," the wife added.

So, Lady Lucille was secretly paying Lord Wrotham's debts. Theo would wager the bookshop owner and perfumer told a similar tale. A visit to the solicitor's office would confirm as much.

But who lived at Finch Lane, Cornhill? Another creditor? And how was it linked to the damage at Miss Darrow's shop?

"We'll ask Daventry to find out why Wrotham cannot settle his own accounts," Theo muttered in Miss Darrow's ear. "We can visit the office tomorrow."

She looked at him and nodded. Plagued by a sudden tiredness, she failed to stifle a yawn. "Forgive me. It's been such a long day. I'm not sure I have the strength to visit anyone else."

"We should go home. Nothing is so important it cannot wait until tomorrow." He thanked the baker and led Miss Darrow through the crowded shop and onto The Strand. "You've not eaten all day. Perhaps that accounts for your flagging spirits. We'll dine with Aaron before the club opens at eight. Then you should rest upstairs."

She glanced at him through tired eyes. "What about our game of piquet? You have debts to pay. You owe two forfeits."

He resisted the urge to stroke her cheek and say something wicked. "They'll be your stake in the game tonight. I shall do my best to win them back. Assuming you're well enough to meet me for a midnight liaison."

She smiled before yawning again. "What might I claim if I win? I shall have to give the matter a great deal of thought."

"I'm a man of many talents. I suggest you choose wisely."

"Hello!" The baker's assistant came hurrying out of the shop, something wrapped in parchment in her hands. "You forgot your plum pie. Your wife seemed keen to take one home."

His wife?

Theo did not correct the misconception. He thrust a few shillings into the woman's hand despite her insisting it was a gift. He did not take advantage of the hardworking classes. He was not his cousin Wrotham.

They settled into the carriage, Miss Darrow cradling the wrapped pie in her lap. "We should have it with our claret at the card table tonight."

He didn't care for gaming or plum pie but longed for their secret rendezvous.

"It occurs to me I need to win back one forfeit, not two. You thought I'd lied about plums being an aphrodisiac. Perhaps tonight, I shall prove I'm right."

Aaron held his chin between his thumb and forefinger, his expression a mix of contemplation and concentration. "Everyone knows money runs like water through Wrotham's fingers. But to have Lady Lucille mop up his mess is downright embarrassing."

Theo swallowed a tender piece of beef and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "Why order The Vampyre from Pickering's library? What are the odds she would innocently pick the villain's book?"

"Extremely poor." Aaron reached for his wine, took a sip and looked at Miss Darrow, seated to his left. "Are you sure you've told us everything?"

Appearing quite revived, she nodded. "I have no need to lie or keep secrets." Her gaze drifted to Theo. "Honesty above all else. That is our motto."

Aaron's mocking snort rang through the dining room. "There is no such thing, Miss Darrow. Everyone manipulates the truth for their own advantage."

Theo did not challenge Aaron's opinion. He had professed to be Miss Darrow's friend when he wanted to be her lover. "You should know. You're an expert. You ask Miss Scrumptious to close her curtains, then grumble to yourself when she does."

Aaron shot Theo a murderous look.

"Miss Scrumptious?" Miss Darrow said .

"It's Miss Lovelace's moniker," Aaron snapped. "My brothers find childish games amusing. I ask that you refrain from repeating it outside these walls. As competitors, our relationship is often strained."

Miss Darrow's playful shrug mirrored her teasing smile. "I'm sure Miss Lovelace would see it as a compliment. What lady wouldn't want to be considered scrumptious?"

Aaron downed his wine. "An intelligent woman wants a man to worship her mind, not her physical attributes. I would hate for her to think I encouraged my brothers' juvenile banter."

"All women like to feel attractive. I'm sure men are the same, too." The glint in her emerald eyes said she had mischief in mind. "You're an incredibly handsome man, sir. I'm sure Miss Lovelace has a similar moniker for you. I've seen her admiring your physique on numerous occasions."

Aaron placed his cutlery on his plate and pushed out of the chair. "I suspect she was looking for ways to weaken my resolve. If you'll excuse me. I must change before we open the club." He glanced at Theo. "I'll require your assistance tonight. Pendleton has a death wish, and Rothley won't rest until every lord in London is declared bankrupt."

"I shall forsake dessert and meet you in the card room. Miss Darrow kindly offered to share her plum pie later." While Aaron wasn't looking, Theo smiled at her and winked. "We'll devour it while attempting to solve a puzzling theory."

"A theory?" Aaron said. "About the case?"

"No, about Greek Mythology and foreign cultures."

Miss Darrow was quick to add, "Though I will devise a plan of action for tomorrow. We have many lines of enquiry. Above all, I must discover why Emily removed the bolts of silk."

Tomorrow would be another tiring day, following pointless leads and listening to endless lies. Miss Darrow would suffer another disappointment. Her trusted seamstress was a sly thief.

"I took the liberty of having your things moved to Delphine's old room, Miss Darrow." Aaron glanced at Theo, a silent warning that he was tired of having a woman living under their roof. "With Gibbs installed at your shop, you may want to return home soon. Theo has gone to great lengths to ensure you can accept clients again."

Though Miss Darrow smiled, she had clearly heard the veiled message. "And I am grateful beyond words. I shall visit the shop in the morning and speak to Mr Gibbs. If he agrees, I see no reason to delay."

Theo shot daggers at his brother. A deep sense of loss settled in his chest at the thought of her leaving. "Miss Darrow, you may stay at Fortune's Den until we've caught the villain."

"I'm sure Miss Darrow knows her own mind," Aaron said, determined to have the last word before withdrawing from the room.

They finished their meal, though the potatoes were cold.

Theo glanced at the mantel clock. "You should retire upstairs before the first patrons arrive. Aaron fears he cannot protect you when the house is teaming with degenerates."

Miss Darrow arched a brow. "Oh, dear. That lie left your lips with such ease, Mr Chance. Your brother is afraid of nothing or no one."

Aaron was afraid of being alone.

He was scared of being thought inadequate .

He was terrified to lower his guard and love a woman.

Still, Theo laughed and raised his hands. "Another penalty for me, then. At this rate, I shall be your servant for an eternity."

"I rather like the idea of having you at my beck and call."

"Some ladies hire handsome servants to bring them the bliss Mrs Langdon seeks. I shall do whatever it takes to please my mistress."

Miss Darrow gave a curious hum. "I see a problem. You'll want one who's willing, and we only have one plum pie."

The card room smelled of smoke and sweat and spilled liquor. A veritable den of vice. An undercurrent of tension still rippled through the air. Rothley had come with one mission in mind—humiliation. Much to Aaron's annoyance, and having won a small fortune, the marquess had gone outside to smoke his cheroot and spent ten minutes studying The Burnished Jade.

While they needed to discover Rothley's motive for frequenting Fortune's Den, his attendance worked to Theo's advantage.

Aaron had retired to his study. The gamblers had left long before the stroke of midnight, leaving Theo free to partake in a game of high stakes.

He lit the censer, filling the room with the sensual smell of frankincense, rose and myrrh. He shuffled the cards, opened the wine, poured two glasses and waited .

He lounged in a chair, a primal hunger simmering in his blood. A vision of Miss Darrow slipped into his mind. What was it he found so appealing? What was it that spoke to his soul?

The answer came when she pushed open the door and peered into the candlelit room. It was everything. Eyes with the healing power of malachite. Hair a vibrant cascade of copper. A body he'd glimpsed only once beneath the fine nightgown yet had pictured every second since. A sharp mind he wanted to explore and unravel.

"Welcome." He crossed the room, a stirring in his loins. They were to play cards and eat pie, not fornicate on the tables. "I feared you'd fallen asleep."

To endure another day without a kiss would have killed him.

"I was waiting for the chime of the tall-case clock, but then the house fell quiet, and I came to investigate."

He beckoned her inside. "You were impatient. Desperate to beat me at cards and prove I lied about that plum pie you're holding."

"I can't see how a plum could stir a lady's passions."

He was quick to enlighten her. "A plum drawn over the mouth would raise the required response. A plum stolen from between your lips would have the desired effect." He closed the door and turned the key in the lock. Plum juice licked from her breasts would have her writhing in pleasure. "We can test the theory if you think I'm lying."

"Perhaps." She stepped farther into the room, inhaling the aromatic scent from the Orient. "I expected it to smell like cheroots in here."

"It did, but I thought oil of frankincense might soothe your aching muscles." He took the pie from her and placed it on the walnut console table, next to the silver cutlery, napkins and two china plates.

"Are you always so thoughtful?" She ran her fingers over the green baize, noting the neat deck of cards and poured wine.

"The occasion calls for a concerted effort."

"Are we not to play a simple game of piquet?"

"Yes, but I mean to win back my forfeits and prove a point."

She faced him, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. "Is that the only reason you asked me here? Do you not have another motive for wanting time alone together?"

"What other motive could I have?"

A sweet hum escaped her soft lips. "Perhaps you seek to explore this strange energy that flows between us." Her gaze dipped to his mouth. "Whatever the reason, consider our motto before you answer."

The minx knew how to lure a man into a trap.

"The truth would have you fleeing the room. I'll not ruin a wonderful evening before it's begun."

Something he'd said made her smile. "Very well. We'll play for confessions. Let's make a wonderful evening a magnificent one."

Miss Darrow had a siren's allure. The enchanting timbre of her voice promised a night of pleasure. The sensual haze in her eyes spoke of a slow, subtle seduction.

He drew out a chair. "Shall we begin, Miss Darrow?"

"Eleanor. Friends use their given names."

Lovers did, too.

"Would you care to sit, Eleanor?" Saying her name tightened the muscles in his abdomen. "Drink some wine. Relax. "

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Theo?"

"Not at all. I want you awake and alert when we kiss again."

She chuckled. "You seem so sure we will."

"If you want a confession, you must earn it." A thought struck him. Based on her inexperience, a round of piquet could take up to an hour. Why waste precious time when he had a different game in mind?

He sat beside her, shuffled the cards and dealt four each.

"Highest card wins," he said, before sipping his wine. "Look at your hand. Decide which one will win a confession."

The urge to win would see her using her best cards first.

Like a miser clutching gold, she held them close to her chest, giggling with excitement as she scanned them twice.

"Place your card face down on the table." He threw down his lowest card, the four of clubs. "Remember what you're playing for. You want to know why I'm sure we'll kiss again."

She pursed her lips as she studied the cards. Then she drew one and slapped it on the baize. "Who will turn first?"

"A lady always goes first."

She turned over her card, an eight of spades. Interesting. He suspected that wasn't her highest card. This woman knew how to mess with his mind.

"You beat my four of clubs." He held her gaze and hit her with the truth. "Something happened the first time we kissed. Something indescribable. The second kiss ignited a blazing fire of passion between us. We're both longing to see what would happen a third time."

The lady gulped. "Yes, it's like a terrible addiction."

"Terrible?" he scoffed. "Your mouth is glorious. "

"Terrible in that we might ruin a friendship if we pursue these romantic urges."

"Not if we're honest about our feelings." It sounded simple, yet he grew more needy by the day. "It's my turn to play for a confession. Why come if you know I had an ulterior motive for inviting you?"

They placed their cards.

He won, his nine of hearts beating her seven.

"Confess, Eleanor."

"Because I want to kiss you, but you'll have to earn it. You need to give me a reason why I should."

He relaxed back in the chair. He had solid reasons for every decision he'd ever made, until he kissed her at the Olympic. His mind had not been his own since.

"The truth is, you should avoid me. I cannot leave Aaron here alone." The thought was more than he could bear. "I can offer companionship and stolen moments of pleasure. You deserve more than I could ever give."

He expected to witness the chill of recognition in her eyes, to watch her physically withdraw. To feel the ache of loss. The opposite was true. She smiled as if he'd given her the greatest compliment.

"Don't underestimate the attraction of stolen moments. No one can say what tomorrow will bring. One should live for today."

"Are they not the words of a scoundrel?" he teased.

"We're kindred spirits. Two people trying to escape the pain of the past. Life is precarious. We both know that."

The words hit a nerve. But the body he pictured at the bottom of the stairs wasn't his mother's. Miss Darrow might not have woken from her stupor. Was that the reason for her devil-may-care attitude? Did it account for his urgent need to bed her, too?

"The next question is yours," he said.

She reached for her wine and took a large gulp, shaking visibly from its potency. "It's late. Shall we skip to dessert? I know you're keen to prove your point."

His pulse rose more than a notch. "Perhaps you'll permit me to pay my forfeit and act your servant. Let me feed you, Eleanor."

He moved to the console table to retrieve the plum pie, his cock already swelling in his trousers, lust drumming a potent beat in his blood.

Eleanor stood, taking the napkins and cutlery from him. "Where shall we eat? I wouldn't want to get plum juice on the green baize."

"Here. Stand still. Close your eyes." The pie was cold, but it didn't matter. He scooped a tiny amount of stewed plum onto a spoon. "Open your mouth, Eleanor."

Clasping her hands in front of her body, she did as he asked.

The first touch of the spoon on her lips made her quiver. Her chest rose rapidly, but Theo kept his attention on her mouth.

"Lick the spoon, love."

The rapid flick of her tongue was almost his undoing. She lapped every drop of sweetness and sighed.

"Given the chance, I'd devour you in much the same way. Are you not aroused, Eleanor?" Hell, he was so hard he was about to split the seam of his trousers.

"What's next?" said his willing protege.

"Now you must take a whole plum and suck it gently." He spooned one out and placed it between her lips. "Don't let it fall. Don't eat it yet. Don't be greedy." He watched the juice trickle down her chin. "Do you need your servant to mop up the mess?"

She nodded, peeking at him through narrowed lids.

He gripped her hips with both hands and sucked her chin clean. "That plum is too big to eat by yourself," he whispered. "There's more than enough for two. Are you good at sharing, Eleanor?"

She nodded, threading her arms around his neck.

He wanted to crush his mouth to hers, but first he needed to get rid of the damn plum. One bite, and he swallowed his half whole.

Eleanor did the same. She licked her lips. "What now?"

"Now I beg for a kiss from?—"

Her mouth was on his, hot and insistent—a kiss like wildfire, untamed and unbridled. Heat infused him, turning his blood molten, every muscle as hard as stone. His heartbeat quickened.

God, he wanted her, here on the table.

Later, in bed. Tomorrow, in the carriage.

Anywhere the next day and the one after that.

But not before he'd plundered her senseless.

He cupped her face in his hands, sliding his tongue between her lips, smiling as she moaned into his mouth. She wanted him just as badly.

A point she proved when their tongues mated with an urgency that defied logic. The strokes were fast and deep. Arousal pumped so hard through his body he could scarcely stand still.

He didn't want the kiss to end.

He didn't want the case to end, yet he knew they would find the culprit who'd ruined her stock. Everything would change. He would lose her, lose this beautiful, unexplainable thing that flowed between them. He needed no one but his family, but he was beginning to think he might need her.

"Tell me, Eleanor, are plums an aphrodisiac?" He cupped her neck, brushed his lips over hers, pressed a tender kiss to her temple.

Her breath came quickly. Her eyes were the most vibrant shade of green he had ever seen. "I concede. I have never been so aroused." Driven by the same urgent need for physical contact, her hand glided over his chest in slow, caressing strokes. "Is that the end of the lesson, Theo?"

How could it be?

There was no end to what he would do with her.

"No, love. It's only the beginning."