Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Theo left the Olympic Theatre twenty minutes after Miss Darrow and returned to Fortune's Den. The club was still open. Gas lamps cast a warm glow over the mahogany card tables, where fifteen elegant men sat engrossed in games of chance. Cigar smoke hung spectre-like in the air, obscuring the men's vision and blinding them to the risks.

Their avarice knew no bounds. The thrill of outwitting one's rival proved more intoxicating than the pursuit of wealth. Losers left with mounting debts and no semblance of pride. Winners paid homage to the green baize until their luck ran out. Some players wore masks of concentration, while others had the same conflicting look Theo had seen in Miss Darrow's magnificent eyes—a curious blend of determination and fear.

What was the lady's secret?

He knew one thing with absolute certainty. Miss Darrow would not wait until tomorrow to enter Fortune's Den. The flash of fire in her eyes said she wanted her sewing box tonight. All he had to do was warn Aaron, dim the lights, climb into bed and await her arrival.

He saw Aaron speaking to the glum Lord Deacon. The peer stood on shaky legs and almost swooned when Aaron gestured to the study across the hall—a formidable place where men signed away their souls to settle their debts.

Aaron caught Theo's gaze and gave a nod of recognition. He warned Lord Deacon not to move a muscle before crossing the room. "Back so soon? I trust the evening went as planned."

"Wrotham arrived with Mrs Dunwoody. Wiping the smug grin off his face brought immense satisfaction." Not wishing to dredge up the ghosts of the past, Theo made no mention of Lucille Bowman. "I assume Deacon's debts are mounting and you're about to give him an ultimatum."

Aaron glanced at the lord and muttered a curse. "Until Deacon's affairs are in order, he's barred from the club. Had I not intervened tonight, the fool would have staked his Mayfair abode on one game of whist."

A sudden cheer at the Hazard table stole their attention. The Marquess of Rothley—a devilish gentleman in his own right—wrapped his arms around the mountain of coins and vowels on the table and gathered it to his chest like a beloved child.

Aaron called a footman to fetch a bottle of their best Burgundy and deliver it to the marquess' table, then faced Theo. "Watch the croupiers while I have a private word with Deacon. I'll not have these devils accuse us of cheating."

"Is Christian not here?"

Their brother lived with his wife in Ludgate Hill and usually remained at the club until the last patron staggered over the threshold .

"He left half an hour ago. I can manage these profligates on my own. Most deserted the tables when Rothley announced he would empty everyone's purse."

"No doubt the marquess needs the funds. They say he keeps a harem at the aptly named Studland Park." If anyone needed advice on how to embrace bachelorhood, they should ask the Marquess of Rothley. "Perhaps that's how he gained the fresh scratch on his cheek."

Suspicion lurked in Aaron's dark eyes. "Rothley is hiding something at Studland Park, but I doubt it's a harem."

Theo pulled his watch from his fob pocket and checked the time. By his estimation, he had an hour at most until his nemesis arrived. "Do you have any objection if I close the club? I'll persuade the players they have a better chance of recouping their losses if they return tomorrow."

Aaron narrowed his gaze. "As few men will sit down with Rothley tonight, your suggestion has merit, though the shifty look in your eyes says you have an ulterior motive."

He gave Aaron a brief account of the night's events, omitting the part where he had traded information for a lingering kiss and lied about being betrothed to Miss Darrow.

"I expect Miss Darrow will come tonight," he said, dismissing the pang of excitement as simple anticipation. "Like Rothley, the lady has something to hide. I'm determined to discover what."

"Why do you care?" came Aaron's direct reply.

The question stumped Theo.

The wager had nothing to do with the contents of the box.

Besides, how interesting could the modiste's secret be?

"Delphine credits Miss Darrow with helping her find happiness," he said, struggling to think of another answer. "Though I have a personal gripe with the woman"—which had vanished into the ether when they'd kissed—"I respect their friendship. I would hate to think Miss Darrow is in trouble." Particularly since he had been treating their verbal spars like a game.

Aaron did not dismiss the notion as folly. "Although Miss Darrow expressed regret over the shooting outside her shop, I found it odd she abandoned her work to nurse you. When she comes for the box, I suggest you ask her directly."

He had every intention of doing just that. "I've given Miss Darrow a key. She should arrive within the hour. All I ask is that you remain in the study and allow her to reach my chamber unchallenged."

Witnessing Lord Deacon edging covertly towards the door, Aaron said, "I need to deal with that reprobate. I'll ensure Sigmund knows not to wrestle Miss Darrow to the ground. Come to my study once she's left. I expect a full explanation."

Theo nodded, though he doubted Miss Darrow would tell him her darkest secret. They had forged their bond in the fires of distrust. Every wary glance and guarded word was a testament to their fragile relationship.

Besides, there was nothing sinister in the box. Perhaps the threads concealed small gems, the simple cotton wrapped around her life's savings. Perhaps she was toying with him, keen to rouse his concern and teach him a lesson.

After ushering the last gambler out of the club and securing the door, Theo could not shake the suspicion that he was a mere pawn in her intricate game.

Should that be the case, his next move would be seduction .

At the very least, he would claim another kiss tonight.

That thought kept him warm as he stripped off his clothes, washed and climbed into bed. He looked inside the box and studied the wooden appliqués on the sides and lid but found nothing of interest.

Then he waited in the gloom.

Miss Darrow was right.

When a boy was forced to sleep on the streets, he used the shadows to hide from predators. At night, it was easier to evade detection. In the darkness, he was the same as everyone else, not the weakest of the pack.

He must have told her that while mumbling in his sleep. Lord knows what he'd said while dosed with opium. Miss Darrow undoubtedly had more weapons in her arsenal. It was just a matter of time before she used them.

Theo cupped his hands behind his head and relaxed against the mound of pillows. Midnight came and went. Every creak and groan drew his attention to the bedchamber door. The anticipation roused a host of erotic thoughts.

Miss Darrow had a body made for sin.

She had luscious lips and bountiful breasts.

All made sweeter by the fact she had no need to marry.

Those thoughts occupied him for a few minutes. He made no excuse for the subject of his fantasies. Tonight's game with Miss Darrow had sparked a fire in his blood.

Long minutes passed.

He climbed out of bed, strode to the window and peered through a gap in the curtains. Across the road, candlelight shone in an upper window of The Burnished Jade. Perhaps that was the reason for Miss Darrow's hesitance. Was she waiting for the lights to dim, knowing that's when Aaron would drag himself from the study and fall into bed ?

More time ticked by as Theo studied the deserted street.

Miss Darrow wasn't coming. Having honed his instincts over the years, he felt it with absolute certainty. It made no sense. The desperation in her eyes and voice was undeniable.

My troubles are my own.

An icy chill shivered down his spine.

Had those troubles caught up with her tonight?

He would not rest until he knew.

Dressing quickly, he snatched the box off the bed and descended the stairs to the study. He found Aaron lounging in his throne-like chair in the dark, cradling a large glass of brandy, watching Miss Lovelace's club.

Theo didn't dare question his eldest brother's actions. Aaron's preoccupation with the beautiful owner of The Burnished Jade was his own business. Only a man with a death wish would demand to know why.

"I have a strange suspicion Miss Darrow isn't coming," Theo said. His breathlessness came as no surprise. His heart raced, the sound beating in his ears like a drumroll. A sudden sense of foreboding gripped him, refusing to let go. "I've decided to return the box to her tonight. I'll not bother rousing Godby." He could not wait for their coachman to ready the carriage. "It's a thirty-minute walk to Miss Darrow's shop, and I could do with the air."

If he quickened his pace, he could cover the distance in fifteen minutes. Yet a persistent voice in his head told him to run.

Aaron stood and returned his glass to the drinks tray. "To win the wager, you must keep the box until midnight tomorrow. That's what you told Miss Darrow. Perhaps you were mistaken and housebreaking isn't on her agenda tonight."

"Then why come to the theatre?" No, she was desperate to see her treasured item returned. Why else would she kiss a man she despised? And in a public corridor, to boot?

Aaron perched on his desk, where he had a clear view of The Burnished Jade. "Why spend days at your bedside mopping your brow? She is using the box as an excuse to see you. The woman turns doe-eyed whenever you enter the room."

Yet nagging doubts took root in his mind. Miss Darrow had melted into the kiss, though it said more about his skill and her intentions than any genuine desire.

"Since I took her box, she cannot abide me."

"Can you blame her?"

Guilt stabbed at Theo's conscience. The knock to his pride had left him eager to prove a point, though it was time to do the gentlemanly thing and make amends.

"When Aramis suggested the wager, I was in a dark place," he confessed. The camaraderie had helped him forget how perilously close he had come to dying. He would be cold in the grave had the thug aimed an inch lower.

Aaron stood and gripped Theo's shoulder. "There's a reason I gave you the King of Hearts moniker. When someone hurts you, you feel it deeper than most. Remember, Miss Darrow isn't blameless. But you're right. You need to return her box tonight."

A pang of remorse twisted in his gut.

Oddly, it had nothing to do with losing the wager.

He would miss playing this game with Miss Darrow.

Aaron heaved a long sigh when Miss Lovelace extinguished the light in the upper window of The Burnished Jade. "I shall accompany you to Holborn. Since there are bets at White's on which one of us will die first, we must expect an attack from at least one debt-ridden wastrel. "

"I can defend myself." He'd been shot because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The blackguard had caught him by surprise. It wouldn't happen again.

"You fight like a warrior, but a boy brought down Goliath. A woman defeated Samson." Aaron's gaze shifted to the window as if Delilah lived across the street. "Besides, the night air will do me good, too. For once, I might fall asleep before the cock's crow."

They left Fortune's Den, blades tucked into sheaths strapped to their shins, the box hidden in a leather satchel draped across Theo's chest, and traversed the gloomy streets to Holborn.

A drunken fool called to them from a shop doorway, begging for a spare shilling. Aaron flicked him a sovereign. A constable disappeared into a grim alley, preferring an illicit encounter to patrolling the pavements. Not that it mattered. Theo would rather police this problem himself.

Anger ignited beneath his calm facade as he strode along New Bridge Street. He had not visited Miss Darrow's shop since the day of the shooting. Every approaching step brought an influx of memories; Miss Darrow's lies, the thug's vicious threat, a whiff of sulphur tainting the air, the pain searing through his shoulder seconds before he hit the ground.

"It seems Miss Darrow had no intention of committing burglary tonight," Aaron said, stopping outside the prestigious dressmaker's shop and studying the facade.

"It's not burglary if she has a key and owns the object." Theo glanced above the swinging sign sporting an image of a gold needle and thread—a symbol of Miss Darrow's artistry. Darkness shrouded the upper windows of the four-storey townhouse .

A sinking feeling settled in Theo's gut.

Something was wrong.

Aaron tried the front door and found it locked. He knocked three times. No one answered. "Perhaps she has a lover, and they met after she left the theatre."

Theo kicked the thought from his mind. "She told the jarvey to take her to New Bridge Street."

"People often change their minds en route." Aaron glanced over his shoulder at the row of shops across the street. "She may have struck up a convenient friendship with the silversmith or cobbler. A woman living on her own must crave company. Miss Darrow works long hours. Like every woman, she has needs."

Theo's fingers tightened into fists. Was Aaron trying to provoke him? Though why Miss Darrow's private affairs bothered him remained a mystery.

"I wonder if Miss Lovelace does a similar thing when The Burnished Jade is closed on Sundays." Theo noted the instant flicker of annoyance in his brother's eyes. "Such an intriguing woman cannot be short of offers. The Marquess of Rothley asked about her tonight. Perhaps he wants to invite her to join his harem."

Theo thought he felt the ground rumble beneath his feet.

Aaron firmed his jaw and growled, "Rothley can go to the devil."

"Rothley could coax the birds from the trees while you have the charm of a wilted bouquet." Theo would have laughed were it not for the gnawing unease in his chest. "If you want her, you'd better do more than gawp at her through the study window."

"Mention her again and your tongue will be food for the dogs. I suggest you focus on finding Miss Darrow. It's your fault she's missing."

The comment proved sobering. "You're right. We should check the rear entrance. We can access the yard via Water Lane. I'll not return to Fortune's Den until I'm certain all is well."

Maybe Miss Darrow would call tomorrow as planned.

The thought offered a sliver of hope until he strode into the dingy yard and found the back door to the premises wide open. The splintered wooden frame indicated that someone had kicked it with brute force, shattering the glass pane and scattering shards across the flagstones.

Coldness swept through him, the icy tendrils coiling around his heart. "We should enter the building," he whispered, praying Miss Darrow was at the cobbler's shop taking supper and the fellow was old enough to be her grandfather.

Aaron drew his blade from its sheath and insisted on leading the way. As the eldest, he lived to protect his siblings, and Theo knew not to argue.

They passed through the dark corridor to the fitting rooms and saw nothing untoward. The elegant gowns displayed in the shop window remained untouched, but someone had ripped every pair of gloves from the drawers in the glass counter. The doors to the walnut cabinet were open, the ornate combs thrown to the floor.

"We should fetch a constable." Aaron glanced at the ceiling, the deathly silence making him frown. "Miss Darrow employs three seamstresses. Do you know if any live on the premises?"

"Delphine said they only stay when work demands it." Theo learnt that much while considering who might have shot him in the street. "Though Miss Darrow has barely opened the shop since her return from Mile End."

"During your convalescence, did she mention being afraid?"

"No, though tonight she said she would reclaim the box by wicked means if necessary." He thought she'd meant seductive means and was merely teasing him. "Had she told me she was in trouble, I would have come to her aid."

"We must check the upstairs rooms." Shadows of unease passed over Aaron's rugged features. "Prepare yourself. There's every chance she's here."

A bleak image burst into his mind.

Less than two hours ago, they had shared a memorable kiss. Now, Miss Darrow might be lying sprawled on the landing in a pool of blood, her eyes gazing at heaven, not him.

Nausea roiled in his stomach as he followed Aaron into the gloomy hallway. They crept upstairs to the first floor, their footsteps as silent as whispers in the night.

Every room had been ransacked. Bolts of silk ripped from their cotton covers, exposing them to dust and damp. Every chest prised open, an assortment of material spilling over the floor like it had been spewed from the belly of a beast.

"Perhaps they were looking for her box," Theo said, his heart heavy with regret. "It's fair to say Miss Darrow is hiding something more precious than threads."

"Then why the devil didn't she say so?"

"Because she believes the people who did this are capable of murder." It explained why she closed the shop and stayed at Mile End to nurse him. "She feared the villains who shot me had come to abduct her, not Delphine." And every day he'd kept the box, she must have been out of her mind with worry. "This is my fault. If only I'd not been so bloody angry."

Aaron raised a silencing hand. "We're all to blame. Aramis and Daventry encouraged you. None of us could have known what was inside the box."

"There's nothing inside but spools of thread. I've searched through them ten times or more." He removed his hat and dragged his hand through his hair. The most important thing was finding Miss Darrow. Then they could worry about what she kept in the damnable box. "We should check the upper floors."

Aaron nodded and led the way.

With each step, Theo dreaded what the blackness might reveal.

There were three bedchambers on the second floor, all conveying scenes of utter disarray. It was like a storm had swept through the house, scattering personal objects over the floor, upending furniture and untucking the bed linen.

"This is Miss Darrow's room." Theo recognised the enticing scent of her perfume. "I pray she didn't come home to this." He wasn't sure anything could be salvaged. "I pray she was somehow delayed."

"With the absence of a body, we should be grateful for small mercies," Aaron said in his usual blunt manner. "Though she may have been abducted. Does she have any friends that you know of? Might someone offer her sanctuary?"

They were typical questions an enquiry agent would ask but Theo was clueless. "She never mentioned friends or family."

Miss Darrow had spent days at his bedside, talking about history, food and books while he slipped in and out of a drug-induced slumber. He knew she disliked macaroons and preferred the poems of Keats to Coleridge, yet he knew nothing of her personal life other than she designed dresses for a living.

While Aaron left to summon a constable, Theo roused the cobbler across the street, who confirmed he had seen nothing untoward. He woke the cabinet maker, who agreed to secure the premises by boarding the back door.

It was almost three in the morning when they returned to Fortune's Den. A constable had taken their statements and scoured the premises looking for clues. With no sign of Miss Darrow's body, the peeler refused to rouse the magistrate from his bed, at least not until noon.

Aaron gave Theo a reassuring pat on the back as they lingered at the bottom of the stairs. "We'll visit Mile End tomorrow and make sure she's not hiding there while Delphine is visiting her grandfather in Chichester."

The theory she could be at Mile End brought mild relief. Had Miss Darrow arrived home to find looters in the house? Had she fled for her life and hailed another hackney to take her across the Thames to Walworth?

"Get some rest," Aaron added. "Miss Darrow is a resourceful woman. Instinct tells me she's alive. It's fortunate you still have her box. Had the blackguards found the valuable item, she may have paid the ultimate price."

Aaron's confidence was reassuring.

"I know you're right, though I doubt I'll sleep tonight." He should return to the Olympic and question the jarvey. Perhaps he had delivered her to a different destination.

"We'll find her. If need be, we'll hire Daventry's enquiry agents. "

Theo forced a smile and bid Aaron good night. As he trudged upstairs to his chamber, his conscience urged him to load a pistol, return to Miss Darrow's shop, and begin the search again, though he could not risk taking the sewing box. Indeed, he removed it from the leather satchel, held the dratted thing in his hands and cursed his stupidity.

That's when he heard a gasp from a dark corner of the room.

He swung around and peered into the blackness, his imagination running riot. Had the villain come for him, too? "Who's there?"

A flash of pink silk drew him to the washstand, where he saw a woman huddled in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Forgive me. I had nowhere else to go." A sob caught in Miss Darrow's throat. "I've lost everything, Mr Chance, my dreams and aspirations crushed like ants beneath a blackguard's feet."

Despite the thread of fear in her voice, a sense of calm washed over him. She was alive. Nothing else mattered.

"You speak of the damage at your shop? I have just returned from New Bridge Street. I assume you know someone broke into your premises."

"Why else would I be here?" The hint of contempt in her tone said she had not come to listen to his flirtatious banter or endure another breathtaking kiss.

"Take my hand." Tucking the wooden box under his arm, he reached for her. "Let me help you."

"No one can help me now," she uttered, slipping her ice-cold hand into his and letting him haul her to her feet.

With a sigh of regret, Theo offered her the box. "You should have told me what this meant to you. I would have respected your need for privacy. By nature, I'm distrusting, though that is no excuse." A boy left to survive in the rookeries became suspicious of people's motives.

She stared at the box, though she did not snatch it from his grasp or sag in relief. "I need you to do something for me, Mr Chance."

"Anything," he said, a vision of her ransacked home bursting into his mind. "The game went too far, and for that, I am truly sorry. I'll do whatever it takes to put this right."

She met his gaze in the gloom, her tear-filled eyes shimmering like stars in the night sky. She seemed so distant now. Any connection they'd shared had evaporated into the ether.

"Will you see me safely to Dover? I believe you owe me that." Tears traced a silent path down her cheeks, and he fought the urge to dash them away and insist on a different course. "I need money. You may raid my shop and sell anything of value. An established modiste will purchase the lace and gold brocade."

The knot in his chest tightened. "Where will you go?"

She seemed a shadow of her former self as she hung her head. "Wherever the first ship out of port will take me. Anywhere far, far from the home I love."