Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Southend-on-Sea

Essex

Joanna stood, a lonely figure on the sandy beach, hugging herself against the biting November chill. The cold wind rolled off the sea like whispers of forgotten ghosts, whipping her hair and wrapping around her like a shroud of sorrow.

She looked at the expanse of blue sky, at the sun as low as her spirits, but nothing brought the same glow of contentment as being held in Aaron's arms. She missed him.

Had he arrived safely in London or fallen foul of the villain's trap and was dead on the roadside somewhere?

She hated not knowing.

Endless wondering was the bane of her existence.

Was her brother Justin dead? She had to believe he had perished, or she would not sleep at night. Was her father missing or merely hiding from his creditors? She was past caring.

One thought surpassed them all.

Would she ever see Aaron again?

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the deep timbre of his voice, the warmth of his touch, the arousing scent of his skin. Yet the memories faded by the hour.

"McMillan wants us ready to sail at seven o'clock tonight," Sigmund said, coming to stand beside her on the sand. "Best eat early. It will be a rough crossing. I pray you've got sea legs. Mr Chance will murder me if you fall overboard."

She looked at Sigmund and forced a smile. He didn't want to visit Ostend any more than she did. "Mr Chance is lucky to have someone he trusts so implicitly. Have you known each other long?"

Sigmund stared at the sea. "Eleven years or thereabouts."

"So, just before he bought Fortune's Den."

"Aye, we beat each other black and blue the first night we met."

"You fought with him in the pits?" she said, eager to learn everything about the man who owned her heart. "Rumour is the men there are ruthless."

"Not the pits. It was an important fight at a fancy estate south of Bromley." Perhaps sensing she enjoyed talking about Aaron, Sigmund elaborated. "There were ten bouts. We were the last in the ring. Aaron was my opponent, but he was quicker than me and desperate to win the purse."

"Desperation and anger make a lethal combination."

Sigmund snorted. "He was angry, all right, snapped like a rabid terrier. He'd bite off your finger if you came too close."

Sadness filled Joanna's heart. She wished she had been there to comfort Aaron then, to tend to his bruises and bathe his wounds. To love him.

"Did he win?" She couldn't bear to think of him lying bruised and bloodied, feeling like he had failed his family.

"Aye, with a punch I didn't see coming."

She smiled. "He is rather skilled in the art of surprise." He had stolen into her heart and set up camp, making it his home now .

Sigmund didn't smile. A dark shadow passed over his rugged features. "The crowd were wicked that night. Nabobs wanting bloodsport. Men more brutal than any I've met on the streets. As it was the last fight, they jeered for Aaron to finish me off good and proper, like pompous Roman emperors giving a gladiator the thumbs down."

Joanna gasped. "They wanted Mr Chance to kill you?"

"To wedge his foot on my neck and crush my windpipe. I remember looking at him as they cried kill . One eye was the size of a ripe plum. Blood dripped from a cut on his lip, yet I saw a sad boy, not a fearless warrior."

Her heart raced like she was there. "What did he do?"

Sigmund smiled then. "He offered his hand and helped me to my feet. He marched over to the lord in charge and told him he would thrash anyone who tried to stop us leaving. Told him to shove his purse up his arse. Aaron Chance saved my life that day. It's a debt I can never repay."

Pride swelled in her chest. She considered saying fighting was a way to fill the coffers and that Aaron didn't want to hurt anyone, but that wasn't true.

"Why does he still fight if he doesn't need the money?"

Sigmund bent to pick up a shell off the sand. "You could not stop Aaron fighting any more than you could change the tides. It gives him the strength he lacked as a boy. The more people who think he's dangerous, the safer his family will be."

"Yet we're on a beach waiting to sail to Ostend. He's battling to keep everyone safe when the walls are closing in on him."

"I've every faith he'll win this fight, too." Sigmund reached for her hand and placed the shell in her palm. "You might wonder how something so fragile could survive the high seas. Like Aaron, it's strong enough to take a battering. Tougher than normal folk can comprehend."

"But Aaron has another side to his character." A loving side. A vulnerable side. A side so beautiful she could barely describe it in words.

Sigmund nodded. "Happen I've seen a gentler man of late. What's a shell if not proof things evolve?"

Joanna met his gaze. "It's comforting to know he's had you beside him all these years. You're a good friend. Sigmund."

"I'm his right hand when he needs one. I don't take charity—never have—and insist on earning my keep. I'd follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked."

"Or live with his colleague in Ostend," she said.

"We both know you're more than his colleague. He risked his neck to ride here this morning, though he knows I'd make sure everything went as planned."

Her body melted at the memory of how they had spent that precious hour. How he looked at her like she was an angel. How he lost himself in her body, filling her, pleasure alight in eyes that were often troubled.

"How can we help him? There must be something we can do." She had never felt so useless. "A way to lighten his burden."

"We can help him by staying safe and doing what we're told." Sigmund gathered his greatcoat across his broad chest. "Best come inside now. The tide will be in soon. And he'll have my guts for garters if you catch a chill."

The thought of sitting for hours in The Ship's taproom filled her with dread. The endless weeks, months or years in Ostend would be unbearable, too.

Desperate to do something, she told Sigmund about Mr Daventry's idea to prompt her memory. "He said it's remarkable what one might recall when in a trance-like state. You must revisit the scene and find what isn't obvious."

"It's nonsense if you ask me," he said, trudging across the sand towards the esplanade. "The sort of gibberish spouted by crones at the fair."

"But what if I remember something important?" She raised her skirts and lumbered behind him. "One minor detail might be the key to unlocking the puzzle. Please, Sigmund. It's worth a try. You said you'd do anything for Aaron. I would rather exhaust every line of enquiry than desert him."

Sigmund glanced over his shoulder and sighed. "You know how to pick your words. Now I see why the most notorious man in London is falling over himself to please you. What do you want me to do?"

She smiled to herself. "Just guide me while I search through the memory of that night. Ask questions and note my responses. It's unlikely anything new will spring to mind, but I have to try."

Sigmund grumbled to himself. "Let's get it over with. We'll use the taproom at The Ship Inn. Best we stay close in case McMillan changes the plans. We might have to rent rooms if there's a storm brewing."

"We can sit on that bench." She pointed to the lonely wooden seat on the esplanade overlooking the beach. "I should be able to relax there."

Before Sigmund could protest, she hurried ahead, mounted the stone steps and took a seat. The sea stretched to the horizon, endless miles she had to cross, each one taking her farther away from everything she loved.

"Well?" Sigmund said, sitting down beside her. "I suppose you should close your eyes and breathe deeply."

"Yes, I suppose I should." Joanna clasped her hands in her lap, the tiny shell cradled between her palms, a reminder she was resilient, too, and would do anything for the man she loved. "I shall imagine myself back in the drawing room of The Burnished Jade. It may take a minute or two."

"Take your time. We've seven hours to spare."

Joanna closed her eyes and willed herself to think, but all she saw was a spectacular vision of Aaron, naked and rising above her on the bed. Mr Daventry mentioned looking through closed eyes at a forty-five-degree angle. That it left one relaxed and in a meditative state.

He was not wrong.

A warm tingling chased up her arms the second she raised her gaze. Strength seeped from her muscles as each one relaxed. She let her mind drift to the night of the murder, ignoring the wind and the whooshing sound of the sea.

Thirty people had crammed into her drawing room. More lingered in the hall, the library and the refreshment room. A few ladies hugged the wall. Miss Pardue found a seat in the corner and remained there all night.

The hum of laughter and lively chatter filled her head.

Familiar faces appeared in her mind's eye. Miss Moorland conversing with a gentleman, though her gaze sought every distraction. Miss Beckett proudly showing off her bruised knuckles as people laughed about Mr Parker's broken nose. The smiles on her ladies' faces were as broad and bright as moonbeams.

"Where did it all go wrong?" she whispered.

She tried to relax and focus on searching for clues—an odd look or conversation, something ordinary yet out of place.

"I saw a group of men smoking in the street," Sigmund said, his soft voice belying his hulking physique. "Mr Chance sent me outside to look. He'd have moved them on if he thought they were trouble."

"I'm surprised he didn't have his nose pressed to the window," she said, smiling while keeping her eyes shut and holding on to the memories.

That's when she recalled looking out the drawing room window and chuckling because Miss Stowe's hired carriage blocked Aaron's view. Miss Stowe had alighted outside the tobacconist, yet Lucia asked the driver to park nearer the club.

"Madame Rossellini suffers with nerves. She hid in the carriage for fear of casting up her accounts. She asked the driver to park directly outside my premises in case she felt ill again."

Was the move a way of preventing Aaron from identifying the murderer? Was Lucia agitated, or did she have another reason to return to the carriage?

Lucia can't be involved.

The words entered her head yet left her examining the maid's behaviour that night. Innocent actions could easily be cunning steps in a strategic plan.

"Miss Stowe beckoned me to the hall." It was fifteen minutes before Lucia's recital. "Madame Rossellini wasn't sure she could perform and had requested five minutes alone upstairs to gather her composure."

What if Lucia was Venus?

What if she stole the dagger from Mrs Flavell and hid it in the bedchamber? Lucia wasn't the murderer because she was singing an aria to disguise the sounds of a scuffle. She was an accomplice. But who was she working for, and why would she help someone commit a heinous crime?

Had Lord Howard hurt the maid?

No. This was about hurting Aaron Chance.

This was a different sort of revenge.

"The villain has to be Lord Berridge," she uttered.

"Aye, but Berridge would get someone else to do his dirty work."

Perhaps someone Lucia spoke to that night.

The list was endless. Men surrounded her after her first performance, eager to be the first to bed the young singer, none keen to hear an encore. The women were in awe of her talent, though few dared to approach her. Only Miss Stowe and Miss Moorland knew Madame Rossellini was a maid.

Joanna watched as images moved into her field of vision. Someone spoke to Lucia in the hallway. A woman touched her arm and congratulated Lucia on her performance. They smiled at each other, but then Lucia glanced at the stairs.

"Madame Rossellini spoke to a woman. It looked like a friendly exchange, though I got the impression she found the attention overwhelming. Perhaps she wasn't overwhelmed but afraid. Perhaps she passed the woman a covert message."

"A message about what?" Sigmund said, curiously.

"To say she had hidden the dagger upstairs."

Joanna opened her eyes, her vision a little blurred while adjusting to the light, and relayed her thoughts to Sigmund. It was supposition, her mind making something out of nothing, creating a version that might not reflect reality.

Sigmund shifted on the bench. "Who was the woman?"

"She purchased a subscription two months ago. I believe she's in her late thirties, maybe older." She looked at Sigmund, needing to explain. "We accept ladies of all ages. They're often a stable influence on the younger ones."

Then another thought struck her.

One that made her stomach roil.

"If hurting Mr Chance is the motive, could the woman be a disgruntled mistress?" Someone he had cared about once but was reluctant to mention. "If I remember rightly, her name is Miss Goswell."

Sigmund surprised her by laughing. "A mistress? Happen you haven't been paying attention. Aaron was no saint in his youth, but since owning the Den, he's avoided female company."

"He said he's been alone for eight years."

It was hard to believe.

"He's been alone all his life. He's never had more than the odd dalliance. Other things have always taken priority." Sigmund cast her a knowing grin. "He's never loved a woman, if that's what you're asking. He put up a hard fight to stop loving you. It's the only battle he's ever lost."

Was Sigmund right? Did Aaron love her ?

This morning, she'd caught the glow of affection in his eyes, felt it in every touch, in the whispered words alluding to the possibility.

You have no idea how much you mean to me.

You'll live in my heart and mind always.

Unshed tears stung the backs of Joanna's eyes. Aaron fought everyone's battles, and here she was, running away. Who loved him enough to defend him? Who loved him enough to risk their life?

She did.

"I don't want to leave," she said, the ache in her heart unbearable. "This is wrong, Sigmund. I've never run from my troubles. I'm not foolish enough to believe justice will prevail, but I've never been a coward."

"It's not about being a coward. It's about giving Aaron time to find answers." Sigmund's tone darkened. "If anything happens to you, it will be a war to end all wars. He'll earn his seat at the devil's table."

Joanna suspected he was trying to frighten her into submission. But how could she live in ignorance when the man she loved suffered?

Lord Howard had assaulted her . He may have been responsible for her brother's death. And he had died on her premises. Threatening a patron was Aaron's only crime. Surely he'd warned other gamblers over the years, men who were still breathing. The only physical evidence against him amounted to an old watch and a Mughal dagger he couldn't have stolen.

"What if me leaving is part of the villain's plan?" she said, unable to shake the persistent dread. "What if angering Aaron plays into the devil's hands?"

Sigmund felt the same unease because he failed to settle her fears. "Happen Aaron knows that. Maybe he's hoping to lure the blackguard out."

Joanna stood, looking at the delicate shell before slipping it into her pelisse pocket. "I have risked my life for the Chance family. I tackled the lunatic who was about to shoot Delphine. I helped to confront the men stalking Theodore and injured one in the yard of The Saracen's Head."

"And Aaron loves you all the more for it."

"What is there to love? When he needs me most, I'm brooding on a bench at the beach, staring at the sea and scouring my mind for clues."

Sigmund hauled himself up. "Aaron needs his wits and can't think unless he knows you're safe. He made me promise to follow his orders."

Joanna firmed her tone. "You won't break that promise. Keeping me safe will be your priority. I will be the one who's failed to do what I'm told."

Sigmund scratched his head, confused. "You make it sound like you're not boarding the ship. That you've no intention of sailing to Ostend."

"I'm not." She steeled herself, waiting to defend her position.

"Thank the Lord." Sigmund chuckled. "I thought we were doomed to eat Flemish stew and dance the Polka."

Joanna laughed, then frowned. "You mean you won't try to stop me?"

"No. I've been waiting for you to come to your senses. Only a fool breaks an oath to Aaron Chance. He'll never trust me again if he thinks it was my idea."

She released a long exhale. "Then I insist you take me back to London. We need to reach town before the magistrate calls at eight."

"You'll need to twist my arm, quite hard, I suspect."

It would be impossible to hurt him physically.

She would have to play the shrew.

"If you don't agree, I'll run away and accept a ride from the first unsavoury gent with space in his carriage." Joanna raised her skirts. "You had better pray you're quick enough to catch me." She took to her heels, purely so neither of them had to lie to Aaron.

Sigmund was surprisingly fast for a burly man. Despite heaving for his next breath, he caught up with her in the yard of The Ship Inn.

"Forgive me," she said, slapping his face lightly and stamping on his foot. "Nothing you could say or do will make me change my mind."

A hoarse laugh escaped him. "We'll have a job finding transport home. Don't make me bind your wrists and hurl you over my shoulder."

"You brute," she teased. "Mr Chance won't be happy if you manhandle me."

"He'll kill me if he knows I've restrained you. Though I don't suppose it matters. I'm a dead man anyway."