Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Office of the Order

Hart Street, Covent Garden

Aaron escorted Miss Lovelace into Lucius Daventry's premises promptly at ten, though the housekeeper asked them to wait in the hall because the gentleman was otherwise engaged.

"The master will be with you shortly," Mrs Gunning said before hurrying away because she had biscuits in the oven and timing was everything.

"Daventry is always punctual. He never runs late." Aaron glanced at Miss Lovelace, the woman he'd not stopped thinking about since he left her on the landing last night. The memory of their kiss lingered in his mind, the yearning to kiss her again so intense it was almost painful. "Perhaps he's forgotten our lives hang in the balance."

She smiled at him like he was a mere acquaintance, not the man who'd left her panting with pleasure. "I'm surprised the housekeeper didn't ask us to wait in the drawing room."

"She seemed more bothered about burning her biscuits."

"They do smell delicious. "

"Indeed."

Silence descended.

He had made her promise not to discuss their amorous interlude, yet he was beyond desperate to know her thoughts. Had the urge to kiss him again kept her awake last night? Did she know they were so well suited it was like they'd been made for each other? Had she touched herself and thought of him? Because he'd taken himself in hand twice this morning— Joanna , the only word on his lips.

A feminine giggle echoed from the study, along with Daventry's playful request for the lady's silence.

Aaron would wager a king's ransom that Sybil Daventry was the recipient of her husband's attentions. The man made sure everyone knew how deeply he loved his wife.

A bang preceded the faint feminine groan.

Miss Lovelace chuckled. "Perhaps he knocked something off the desk, and the lady is frustrated."

" Frustrated is not a word I would use to describe Daventry's wife."

The Lord must have granted the man extra hours each day. How did he manage to be an exceptional enquiry agent and a devoted husband?

The study door flew open and the vivacious Sybil Daventry appeared, her vibrant red hair a little tousled, her lips red and swollen.

"Mr Chance. Miss Lovelace. Good morning." The lady's cheeks were flushed, and she wore a smile as broad as a summer horizon. "Sorry to have delayed your meeting, but I had important business with my husband." She touched her abdomen affectionately, the child she carried a testament to the couple's abiding love.

Daventry came to stand in the doorway, but he stared at his wife, not them, as if his hunger for her had never been sated.

Aaron knew the feeling all too well .

"I'll be home for supper tonight." Daventry spoke like the words were a code for something salacious. "Tell the boys I'll take them riding in the morning before breakfast."

For no explicable reason, Aaron's throat tightened. Thoughts of an alternative future bombarded his mind: Miss Lovelace pushing his coat off his shoulders, kissing him frantically, a wild and wicked welcome home.

Daventry greeted them and ushered them into his study, insisting they take a seat while he escorted his wife to their carriage.

Aaron drew out the chair for Miss Lovelace, his fingers brushing her arm as she sat. He should be grateful for small mercies. When she returned to The Burnished Jade, he'd be back to stealing glimpses of her through the study window.

"Do you regret asking me to kiss you last night?" He took the seat beside her and stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankles to look relaxed, not so pent up with need he could barely breathe. "You've been quiet since breakfast."

Miss Lovelace smiled. "I thought we were going to pretend it didn't happen. You made me promise never to mention it again."

"I'm just curious. We barely spoke afterwards and?—"

"Because you left to take your frustration out on the boxing bag in your basement."

"I'm not sure you appreciate the effort it took to walk away." They had been a few feet from his chamber, a short distance from his bed. The desire to have her burned so hot in his veins, he feared he might combust.

She nodded like she understood perfectly. "You mean the war between your mind, body and conscience. I have no such issue."

Stillness settled over them again. The mantel clock ticked as incessantly as the question echoing in his mind.

"Do you regret it?" he repeated, needing an answer.

Miss Lovelace looked at him, her eyes bright with the memory. "Not for a second. It was the most thrilling moment of my life."

He found himself smiling. "You're an exceptional kisser."

"And you're a surprisingly passionate man."

Though he wanted to look into her eyes and lose himself in those cool blue pools, he averted his gaze. "Now you know why I gave you Delphine's room, though I suspect it's not as cold as you portrayed."

"I'm sure it's chilly in the dead of winter."

"When the temperature plummets to minus five?"

"Indeed."

Silence ensued.

"You were wrong about the painting." He promised himself this was the last time he would refer to their kiss. "You're nothing like the others on display. Like a true masterpiece, you command a room of your own, leaving everything else waning in your shadow."

The remark had her clasping her chest, but not from the compliment. "Please," she said, her voice raw with emotion, "you mustn't say such things. Not when we're trying to forget it happened. Can we abide by our promise and not discuss it again? It's in the past now. Let us focus on trying to find the devil who killed Lord Howard."

It was a sensible request. He ought to say a silent prayer of thanks, but the urge to kiss her was like a relentless addiction, an irresistible tug deep in his gut.

Daventry returned. "Forgive the delay. I wished to put my wife's mind at ease. My agents were assisting in an operation to catch river pirates last night. I went to check their progress and became embroiled in the fight. I only left the Limehouse Basin an hour ago."

While Aaron wished to throttle Daventry on occasion, there wasn't a man outside his family he respected more.

"It's why I could never marry," Aaron said, keen to put paid to Daventry's matchmaking plans. "I couldn't let my wife lie awake at night fearing I was dead."

"Yet you and your brothers live with that constant fear every day. A man must balance his business ambitions with his personal desires. To deny oneself either is to live a life unfulfilled."

Before last night, Aaron would have disagreed. But now he had a hole in his chest that only Joanna Lovelace could fill.

"Might we discuss the reason we're here?" she said, keen to avoid the topic of marriage and personal desires. "Time is of the essence. We have a few days remaining until we're hauled to the Thames Police Office for questioning."

Daventry gestured for her to continue. "Let me hear what you've discovered, and then I shall inform you of the new developments."

Aaron straightened. There were new developments?

Might their worries be over in hours, not days?

Might Miss Lovelace return home tonight?

The rush of relief was short-lived. There'd be no more late-night experiments on the landing. No clever traps to tie him in knots. No forbidden kisses.

Miss Lovelace told Daventry about their visit to the pawnbroker's and their interviews with her friends and Thomas Parker.

"It's fair to assume Venus is the woman who persuaded Lord Howard to buy the watch," she said, "and that they met at one of Mrs Flavell's gatherings."

Daventry agreed. "It's obvious she had Parker make a scene at your club so the murderer could enter unnoticed. Or did Parker invent the story because he killed Howard in a fit of jealous rage?"

"Both are possible," Aaron said, though it didn't explain the missing list. "I checked Parker's alibi. The landlord at The Cock Inn remembers a toff with a broken nose but was vague on the timing. As for Venus, based on the pawnbroker's description, she bears an uncanny likeness to Miss Stowe's maid soprano."

Miss Lovelace was quick to defend the maid. "Lucia is not Venus. She's far too innocent to entice men with her womanly wiles."

Unlike you , Aaron wanted to say.

You had me wrapped around your finger last night.

Daventry made a note in his book. "Does she have an alibi for the time of the murder?"

"I sent Sigmund to question Miss Stowe's coachman." Aaron trusted his man to uncover the truth. "He states the maid remained in the carriage until summoned for an encore."

"A woman capable of pitting two men against each other could easily seduce the coachman into lying," Daventry said.

Miss Lovelace's mocking chuckle said the notion was ludicrous. "Oh, please. Lucia is not Venus."

"Why is she so desperate to return to Naples?" Aaron countered. Could they trust any information the maid provided? "With her talent and beauty, she could secure a wealthy patron in London."

"You, of all people, should understand the importance of family. She has no one here and misses her homeland. And a patron will expect her to perform more than a stirring aria."

Daventry drummed his fingers on the desk while in thought. "Why target Howard? Has he wronged someone? Did someone kill him to ensure one of you hang for murder? And if so, which one?"

Aaron glanced at Miss Lovelace, the thought of losing her causing his chest to constrict. "It's obvious someone wishes to punish me." There was an endless list of debt-ridden lords who had the means to arrange an elaborate charade.

"Then why not kill Howard and dump him on your doorstep? Why use a Mughal dagger? I have an expert in weaponry coming to assess the dagger this afternoon. He may offer valuable insight."

"The Earl of Berridge is involved." Aaron felt the truth of it coursing in his blood. "He's telling everyone we framed his son for fraud, that Theo was the mastermind behind the forged bank plates."

Daventry reached into his desk drawer, removed a letter and gave it to Aaron. "The treasury received this three days ago. The nameless sender accuses your brother Theo of stealing forged bank notes and killing Berridge's only heir. You're lucky I was there that night to witness the murder and arrest the culprit. Thankfully, I have the Home Secretary's trust."

Hot, murderous fury ignited in Aaron's veins. The primal instinct to fight had him shooting out of the chair. No one threatened his family and lived to tell the tale.

"Then there is only one course of action left." His heart pumped so fast his hands shook. "I'm grateful for everything you've done, and I ask that you work to clear Miss Lovelace's name. Rothley is still willing to marry her." He felt sick to his stomach at the thought. In his heart, she belonged to him but they were destined to walk different paths. "He will protect her now."

"No!" Miss Lovelace jumped to her feet, grasping his arm, her touch the sweetest form of torture. "What do you mean to do?"

"What I should have done years ago."

Daventry stood, bracing his hands on the desk, determined to make a point. "You cannot kill the Earl of Berridge. It will solve nothing and set your family back decades. They'll no longer be the sons of a scoundrel but the brothers of a cold-blooded killer."

"At least they'll be alive," Aaron argued.

"Their children will wear the stain of your misdeed." Daventry tutted. "I credited you with more sense than to let your heart rule your head."

"I'll not let you do this." Miss Lovelace placed her hand on his back, the action going some way to settling his boiling blood. "You're a good man. We'll find a way out of this mess. I know it doesn't mean much, but I will do whatever it takes to help you."

Her support meant more than he could say. He'd lost count of the nights he'd sat alone in his study, looking for ways to solve his family's problems. Needing someone to confide in who wasn't his kin.

"Pull yourself together," Daventry said firmly. "I can only keep the authorities at bay for so long. Things will get worse before they get better. There's something else you should know. I suggest you sit and let me help you find a sensible solution."

"If Berridge is involved, I will make him pay." He would make it look like a tragic accident, have rats nibble the carcass and disguise the evidence. "But I'll keep my temper—for the time being."

They all took a deep breath and sat down.

"There's more at stake here than your family's future." Daventry offered Miss Lovelace a sympathetic smile. "For a woman, a loveless marriage is akin to slow torture."

"I will never marry Rothley," she said. "I don't love him."

"Rothley is a powerful man, but he will never see you as anything more than a sister. I'm sure Mr Chance was only thinking of your long-term welfare. One day, you will fall in love with someone who deserves you. The fact you'd settle for nothing less is admirable."

The thought of her kissing someone the way she'd kissed him caused a roiling in Aaron's gut. "I don't want you to suffer more than you have already."

She lifted her chin. "Allow me to judge what I'm willing to do. Don't speak on my behalf like my feelings don't matter."

Though his instinct was to argue, he inclined his head.

"Back to our pressing problem." Daventry took a moment to study his notebook. "Too many questions need answering. How did Venus know about your father's watch and where did she get it? Was the soprano moonlighting as a wealthy man's mistress?"

"She was not," Miss Lovelace said in a sabre-sharp tone.

Daventry ignored the interruption. "If Venus attends Mrs Flavell's parties, did a member of the demimonde want to implicate you in a crime? Stabbing a man in the back is a symbol of betrayal. I'll make discreet enquiries at Howard's club. See if anyone made threats against the fellow."

"We need to know if Mr Fitzpatrick paid someone to ruin his sister," Miss Lovelace said. "That someone may have been Lord Howard. And I shall question Mr Parker's maid. Perhaps if I reveal his affection for Venus, she might betray his trust."

Daventry nodded. "An excellent idea."

Aaron's heart sank to his stomach. There were too many lines of enquiry and time was running out. "Hopefully, the weaponry expert will know where the dagger came from."

Daventry relaxed back in the chair and considered Miss Lovelace over steepled fingers. "There's a mental exercise I would encourage you to try, one to prompt the memory. Mr Chance will assist you."

"What would you have me do?"

"Sit in a dark room and imagine you're at The Burnished Jade on the night of the murder. Retrace your steps. Search your mind's eye and tell Mr Chance everything you see, particularly when the maid is singing. He will make notes. Do it the moment you wake and just before bed when your eyelids are heavy."

What the blazes?

There wasn't a chance in hell Aaron would enter her chamber.

"I guarantee you will see results," Daventry continued. "A minor fact your conscious mind has overlooked."

Miss Lovelace gave a curious smile. "I will try."

Daventry looked at Aaron and spoke in a cautionary tone. "As to the other point I must mention." He paused, pressing his lips into a thin line. "An accusation of theft has been made against your brother's wife, Isabella. Made by someone on the British Museum's Board of Trustees. Unaware there is a conflict of interest, the Board hired my agent to investigate the theft of an Egyptian artefact."

Aaron might have flown out of the chair and sent the damn thing tumbling, but Miss Lovelace clutched his arm.

"What can we do to stall the investigation?" she said on Aaron's behalf. "These timely attacks on Mr Chance's family are a ploy to hinder our enquiries."

Daventry nodded. "Agreed. I've put Evan Sloane on the case but asked him to investigate the Board, not the theft." He looked at Aaron. "You must warn your family to be on their guard."

"I have." Guilt slithered in Aaron's chest when he considered this new dilemma. "But I can't tell them about these personal allegations. They will take matters into their own hands. I suspect that's what the fiend wants."

"Which is why you will refrain from going after Berridge."

With burning reluctance, Aaron nodded.

Daventry closed his notebook and returned his pen to the inkstand. "I'll visit Mrs Flavell today. The lady is in my debt. I'll arrange for four invitations to her soiree tomorrow evening. I'm told the regular event is called Temptation Tuesday. I think we all know what to expect."

Aaron inwardly groaned. "Four invitations?"

A slow smile curled Daventry's lips. "You'll both go. You can break curfew. I'll arrange it with the magistrate. Sybil and I will accompany you. A woman with child cannot attend social gatherings. My wife will relish the prospect of wearing a costume and enticing me to visit dark corners of the garden."

Not giving a fig for Daventry's romantic pastimes, Aaron said, "Should we men not go alone? The demimonde is not the place for an unmarried woman, certainly not one with Miss Lovelace's allure. "

Every licentious devil would seek an audience, a means to seduce her with fake words and false promises. Society's polite rules did not apply. There was no such thing as personal space.

The heat of the lady's gaze warmed his face. "You consider me attractive, Mr Chance?"

She was teasing him. Surely the way he devoured her mouth said he found her irresistible.

"I'm stubborn, madam, not blind."

Daventry considered them both. "Finding Venus will give us the answers to many questions. Let's make that our priority. You'll need a costume for tomorrow, Miss Lovelace. Might I suggest something verging on indecent?"

The lady shifted in her seat. "Indecent?"

"Bare your shoulders. The lower the neckline, the better."

Bloody hell!

A string of silent curses bombarded Aaron's mind. "I doubt she will find something at such short notice."

Daventry eyed her figure merely as a matter of course. "I'll have Sybil send you a suitable gown. Make any necessary adjustments." He paused as if conflicted. The reason quickly became apparent. "Until my carriage calls for you tomorrow night, you're not to leave the house. Your safety is paramount. We're being played like puppets, dancing while a devil pulls the strings."

Aaron sat forward. "We don't have time to waste. I'll not sit like a craven fool, afraid of his own shadow." He would slip out in the dead of night, steal into suspects' houses and terrify them into confessing.

Miss Lovelace sided with Daventry. "The villain is one step ahead. He's been planning this for months. It's like he has written the script and is directing us from behind the scenes. We must do the opposite of what he expects. My friends are on the case and will make contact if they discover anything important."

Aaron felt like a lion in an ever-shrinking cage. He wanted to roar and bare his teeth, not hide like a helpless cub in the dark. He was the King of Clubs, the ruler of his domain.

But every beast had a weakness.

Miss Lovelace turned to him, her eyes seeking his before making her heartfelt plea. "Please, Mr Chance. I sense danger ahead and beg that you err on the side of caution. Just this once. For me."

The power of the last two words rendered him speechless. They stripped him bare, exposing what lay beneath his stony facade.

He would do anything for her.

Anything that did not involve his kin.

That was the root of his problem. A problem he had tried to fix with his beastly moods and gruff temper. But his mind and body betrayed him at every given turn. And so, he nodded and surrendered to her persuasive power, just as he had last night.