Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Tension clung to the air in the drawing room like a storm on the verge of breaking. Aaron's family sat rigid, their emotions hidden, no one daring to mention the grave situation.

The incessant ticking of the mantel clock heightened Aaron's unease. Soon, the magistrate would know Joanna had absconded. She would be a fugitive—a felon on the run, a wanted criminal—until he found Lord Howard's killer.

What if they caught her before then?

What if the truth eluded him forever?

A sharp knock echoed through the house. Their eyes met in silent dread, each of them straightening like they were on trial, each drawing shallow breaths.

The magistrate was early. Damn him. There were real criminals to apprehend. Why harass an innocent woman?

In Sigmund's absence, Aramis went to greet the caller. He returned, clutching an unsealed note. "It was a penny boy. Miss Bryant escaped without detection. I asked her to inform me once she arrived home safely."

Aaron gave a curt nod. "That's one less worry, I suppose."

Silence ensued .

Aramis settled into his seat, gently took his wife's hand and kissed it with quiet affection.

The loving gesture tightened the knot in Aaron's gut. Living without a woman's company was no hardship. Living without the woman he loved would be unbearable.

For the second time in his life, he considered letting his family fend for themselves. They were children when he first crept out of the house, leaving them sleeping. He walked thirty yards before guilt gripped him with hawk-like talons, the piercing pain in his heart forcing him to abandon the moment of madness and return to their room above Mrs Maloney's bookshop.

The situation was more complex now.

If only he could be in two places at once.

Another loud knock on the front door cut through the silence.

Aaron stood slowly, dread coiling in his gut. "Wait here. I'll deal with the magistrate. He will demand answers and a full explanation. Expect me home by dawn unless Berridge has another trick up his sleeve."

Delphine stood, her face etched with grief for a tragedy yet to occur. "I'll wait with you in the hall. You'll need someone to pretend to fetch Miss Lovelace."

Joanna!

Aaron prayed she was safe. She would be aboard the ship now, alive and free, not shackled in leg irons and shuffling towards the scaffold.

"Make it look convincing, like you believe she is resting upstairs. I don't want the magistrate thinking you had prior knowledge of my hare-brained plan."

It wasn't the magistrate banging on the door but Rothley.

Aaron had forgotten he'd told the marquess to call.

"You'll not evade my questions a second time." Rothley pushed past Aaron, whipping off his beaver hat like he meant to use it as a weapon. "You will tell me where I can find Joanna. What the hell is going on here?"

Aaron faced Rothley, unsure whether to trust him completely. "She's on a ship bound for France," he lied. "The magistrate will arrive shortly with a warrant for her arrest." He ignored the look of horror on Rothley's face. "I needed time to dispose of the threat. I'll not have her tried and hanged because Berridge paid a corrupt judge to hasten the process."

Sensing Rothley's mounting fury, Delphine said, "The evidence is enough for a jury to convict her of Lord Howard's murder. Mr Daventry said no one can save Miss Lovelace from the noose, my lord. Not even you."

"Did no one think to tell me?" Rothley bellowed.

"We've been busy trying to uncover the truth." Aaron explained the claims made against Joanna and what he had learned thus far. "Lucia is Venus. She had Parker steal the murder weapon, which she took with her to The Burnished Jade that night. Even a mediocre barrister could convince a jury the maid was working for Joanna."

Rothley drew his hand slowly down his face and groaned. "God, this is a damnable mess. You know what will happen if they find her."

"They won't."

"This is your fault," Rothley spat.

"It's not, but I accept Berridge used her to hurt me."

"I'll gut Berridge like a fish for this."

"As will I, but we cannot help Joanna from a cell in Newgate." Aaron's hands had been tied since the start of the investigation. Killing Lord Howard was a cunning move, almost too clever for a weasel like Berridge. "We need to know how Berridge persuaded Lucia to be his accomplice. Howard must have told her what he did to Joanna."

"And Lucia told Lord Berridge," Delphine said, looking at Rothley. "My lord, the letters sent to you and the police office were written by the same person, though Christian believes a woman wrote them."

"Can the maid even write?" Rothley scoffed. "I suppose we could ask her if your brother hadn't let her escape."

Quick to defuse the tension, Delphine gestured to the drawing room. "I would appreciate your help on a matter. A few ladies mentioned in Miss Lovelace's ledger are unfamiliar. You may help to identify them."

Rothley might have agreed had the front door not burst open.

Baptiste hurried into the hallway, shivering from the cold. With a trembling hand, the Frenchman offered Aaron a foxed receipt. "It is a copy of the sale docket from the auction house," Baptiste said, his teeth chattering. "To prevent the sale of stolen goods, the clerk keeps records of all items bought by the nobility."

Aaron studied the docket and grinned. "Excellent work." He patted Baptiste on the back. "Pour a large brandy and warm yourself by the fire."

Baptiste didn't linger in the chilly hall.

Aaron showed Rothley the receipt. "Berridge bought my father's watch all those years ago. No doubt he wanted a trophy. Now, he must account for its whereabouts."

"It's a small move in the right direction," Rothley said, slightly appeased. "According to my sources, Fitzpatrick offered Howard a thousand pounds to ruin his sister. Howard was supposed to lure the girl upstairs and have someone catch them in the act." A muscle twitched in Rothley's cheek. "It's obvious that's why Howard was at The Burnished Jade that night."

"And it gives someone else a motive," Aaron said, refusing to count his blessings just yet. "Though I doubt Miss Fitzpatrick is the killer, either."

"Then we must find more evidence."

"I have a man watching Berridge's house." Aaron had given the fellow new instructions upon leaving the earl's home today. " I've told him to watch the servants, the housekeeper, in particular."

Aaron had seen her somewhere before.

He fell silent while trying to recall where.

The housekeeper had been much younger, her hair dark, not grey, her face thinner, gaunt even. And she had not worn spectacles. He was certain it was the same woman—a dreaded ghost from his past.

Rothley made to speak, but Aaron raised a stalling hand.

Who was she?

The answer danced in his mind, a fraction out of reach.

A loud rap on the front door jolted Aaron from his musings. The sound came just before the hall clock chimed the dreaded hour.

Aaron swallowed past the lump in his throat. "If they arrest me, I need you to free me from gaol," he told Rothley. "You'll work with my brothers to?—"

"And with me," Delphine added. "We will all work to uncover the truth, Aaron. You have our word. We will do it for Miss Lovelace, too."

"Yes," Rothley agreed, ignoring the second knock on the door. "I'll not spend my life plagued by more unanswered questions."

Aaron gathered himself and opened the door.

Daventry looked nervous as he ushered the magistrate, Mr Harriott, into the hall of Fortune's Den. They were surprised to see the Marquess of Rothley, who barked orders, demanding someone better prove two innocent people were being framed for murder.

Mr Harriott, a short tubby man with hair as thin as his patience, gripped the warrant. "We need Miss Lovelace to come to the Thames Police Office to answer some questions," he said eloquently. "You should come, too, Mr Chance. It will save time, and we need your statement. "

"I gave you a statement on the night of the murder."

"New evidence has come to light."

Aaron sent Delphine to fetch Miss Lovelace.

While they waited, Rothley mentioned Miss Fitzpatrick's motive. Thankfully, he did not say Lucia was Venus. "Chance has proof Berridge purchased his father's watch from the auctioneers. How blind can you be? Berridge has been making threats for years. He wants retribution for his son's death. He's making a laughingstock of you all."

Nervous about challenging a marquess, Harriott said, "I have no option but to follow procedure. All suspects must answer the claims made against them. The evidence is compelling."

"You do have a choice," Daventry said, deciding to risk his reputation. "You could delay questioning them for a few days. They're obviously making progress. And I disagree with your opinion of the evidence. You've based the hypothesis on anonymous letters with no clue as to the sender's identity."

Harriott argued the point. "The fact remains, Miss Lovelace knew the man who was murdered on her premises. I need to question her about her motive."

"Question her or arrest her?" Aaron countered.

Harriott shifted nervously. "Arrest her on suspicion of murder. She will have legal representation. There's time to determine whether the letters are legitimate."

Aaron lost his temper. "Why is she even a suspect? Twenty reliable witnesses corroborate her story and place her in the drawing room when the murder took place. Speak to the coroner. Howard was stabbed with some force."

"The coroner agrees a woman may have delivered the lethal blow."

"May have?" Aaron scoffed. Whether fighting with fists or logic, it was important to win the point. "Question all ladies present that night. You must admit, the letter arrived at a convenient time. "

"Well, yes," the magistrate said, wavering.

"Release her into my custody." Rothley spoke with an aristocrat's aplomb. "I will act as surety while we gather more evidence to support their claims. Based on Mr Chance's history with Lord Berridge, you must accept this all seems rather suspicious. No man wants to look a fool in front of his superiors, Harriott."

A sudden sense of inadequacy weighed heavily on Aaron's shoulders. A weakness he had not felt since he was a boy. He could kill with his bare hands and had money to do as he pleased. Yet, in the eyes of the law and society, he remained insignificant. A mere mister held no sway. He couldn't use his title as a weapon to bend people to his will.

Rothley was more powerful.

The fact left Aaron facing a startling truth.

Men did what he said because he owned their debts, and they were terrified. Without the club, he lacked the means of controlling the lofty lords. And what if he lost a limb and couldn't fight?

Delphine returned. "I knocked twice, but she's not answering."

"Try again," Aaron said, stalling. "She might be sleeping. Try the other bedchambers. She complained the upper floor was cold."

The entire house was cold. It was November, for heaven's sake. But Joanna had used it as an excuse to draw him out of the dark and force him to express his feelings.

Delphine nodded and hurried upstairs.

To buy time, Aaron told the magistrate what he knew about the murder weapon. "It was stolen from Mrs Flavell's home in Grosvenor Place. She will confirm Miss Lovelace attended her first function this week to gather evidence and couldn't have stolen the dagger."

The magistrate came to the wrong conclusion. "An attractive woman living alone will doubtless have a lover. He may have stolen the weapon."

"Miss Lovelace is not that sort of woman," Aaron snapped.

"What sort of woman?" came a feminine voice behind him.

Daventry's eyes widened. "Miss Lovelace. Good evening."

Miss Lovelace?

Aaron's heart stopped beating. He turned slowly, fear forming a lump in his throat. Their eyes met, and the sudden ache in his chest was overwhelming. "Miss Lovelace. There you are."

What the hell are you doing here? he wanted to yell.

Rothley looked furious.

While Aaron was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions.

She smiled like she didn't have a worry in the world. "I was out in the yard, taking some air, and didn't realise it was eight o'clock." She brushed dust off her blue pelisse and patted her hair. "It's a little windy out tonight."

Feeling the pressure of their relentless questions, the magistrate gestured to the door. "As you're dressed for an outing, it's best we leave now."

"She's not going anywhere." Aaron noticed Sigmund lingering behind Joanna and hit him with a stare hot enough to sear his soul. "I request a few days grace. Rothley will act as surety. Miss Lovelace is not a flight risk. If she were guilty, she would have escaped over the yard wall."

"I will assist with the investigation," Daventry assured the magistrate. "I'll ensure your office shares the credit if we catch the killer."

The magistrate considered their proposal.

Joanna stepped forward. Her clothes smelled of musty seats and road dust, not sweet like roses. Still, Aaron's muscles firmed with the need to carry her upstairs and make love to her until dawn. Which is precisely what he would do once they'd got rid of the magistrate .

"With Sigmund's help, I remembered a few pertinent points about the night at The Jade," she said, admitting to seeing Miss Goswell creeping upstairs. "She's a spinster who joined the club recently, though no one knew her. Despite her pleasing countenance, none of the men recognised her, either."

"I know most people in society," Rothley said when Joanna gave a brief description. "I don't know anyone named Miss Goswell."

Daventry turned to the magistrate. "Perhaps your men could interview Howard's staff and see if they know her. Maybe ask at his club. With Miss Lovelace's help, I'll question her guests." He paused. "Shall we agree to meet in my office at noon on Saturday and compare notes?"

A heavy silence followed.

Daventry sweetened the deal. "I will ensure we have the Home Secretary's full support, though you must lift the imposed curfew."

With a persuasive nudge from Rothley, the magistrate conceded. "You have until noon on Saturday. If no further evidence comes to light, I will speak to Miss Lovelace at the Thames office."

Everyone agreed.

Aaron showed the magistrate out.

Anger simmered. He had never relied on other men to solve his problems. He had never stood mute and left his fate in other men's hands. As God was his witness, it wouldn't happen again.

He faced Daventry and Rothley. "Call in the morning at ten. We'll decide what to do from there. My brothers will assist us."

The men nodded and lingered, as if expecting the offer of brandy.

"I would invite you to stay," Aaron said, glancing at Joanna, "But my attention is needed elsewhere."

That's when Delphine reappeared, grinning at Miss Lovelace before returning to the drawing room. Daventry and Rothley left. The slam of the front door was Aaron's cue to berate Sigmund.

"You vowed to protect her," he said, glaring.

"He has protected me," Joanna countered.

Sigmund raised his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't think you'd want me restraining her or giving her a hefty dose of laudanum. But she ran like the clappers, then attacked me in the yard."

"She attacked you?" Aaron gazed at his slender lover and then at his burly friend. "Is this a joke to rile my temper?"

Joanna straightened her spine. "I hit him in the face and stamped on his foot. There was a brief tussle."

"And that crippled the best pugilist I know?"

"She threatened to climb into a rakehell's carriage," came the next excuse in Sigmund's ludicrous defence.

"Do rakehells frequent Southend in November?" Aaron suppressed a grin as he imagined poor Sigmund trying to tame a vixen. "Did you suffer more distress at Miss Lovelace's hands? Is there anything else to confess?"

Sigmund averted his gaze. "I had to grab her bottom as I pushed her over the wall. Happen I caught sight of her ripped stockings, too."

"You didn't think to knock on the door and summon me?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Joanna barged in front of Sigmund and braced her hands on her hips. "Sigmund is not to blame. Shout at me if it makes you feel better. I insisted on returning home because I love you." She prodded him in the chest. "I'm so in love with you, I would rather face the noose than let you fight this battle alone."

The hum of conversation in the drawing room died.

Aaron tried to breathe because it felt like his heart might burst through his chest. He'd been afraid to say what he'd uttered silently for so long. Yet here was the woman he adored, voicing her feelings proudly .

"We'll continue this conversation elsewhere," he said, pointing to the staircase.

Their eyes met, and she read his thoughts.

She raised her skirts and marched upstairs.

"Go pour yourself a brandy," he said, patting Sigmund's chest before mounting the stairs behind Joanna, and following her into his bedchamber.

"Of all the foolish things," he said, slamming the door.

"Is it foolish to love someone?"

Aaron tore off his coat and threw it on the chair. "Are you trying to kill me? Do you want me to die of apoplexy?"

She began unbuttoning her pelisse. "I don't want you to die at all. That's why I came home. To be with you."

He closed his eyes as a wave of love for her washed over him. "Against my strict orders?" he said, desire for her cooling his temper.

"You don't own me."

"I will as soon as we're out of these clothes."

The hitch in her breath said she wanted him just as badly. "Then perhaps we might hasten the process."

He watched her fiddle with the buttons on her dress. "Just rip the damn things. That dress is fit for the bonfire." His waistcoat and shirt hit the floor. "I'll buy you a wardrobe of new clothes."

Longing burned in her eyes as she gazed at his bare chest. "Have you been sparring in the basement?"

"Sparring? I've been running around town like a hapless fool, trying to prove you're innocent." With a quick yank, his shoes were off and they landed somewhere near the bed. "Lucia is Venus." He would explain everything later. "She's disappeared, though I couldn't tell the magistrate because he already thinks you're in cahoots with her."

"What? But Lucia is too meek to play the coquette."

Slipping the last button on his trousers, he pushed the garment past his hips. His manhood hung between his legs, thick and heavy, but the sight of Joanna rolling down her stockings stiffened his cock in seconds.

"The best actresses know how to fool people."

"I think Lucia stole the dagger and hid it upstairs in my club. I think she moved the carriage to block your view of the entrance." She paused, petticoat half-raised, and admired his engorged flesh. "You have a body made for sin. After an hour of passionate lovemaking this morning, what made you think I could ever stay away?"

"It would have killed me, too," he said, closing the gap between them and helping her undress. "But I'm used to making sacrifices. Why would I risk your life for selfish reasons? That's not love."

She stared as he drew her chemise over her head.

"What is love for you, Aaron?" she said, smoothing her hands over his chest. "Is it that the heat of my skin sets you on fire? Is it the gnawing ache when you see me, the one that never goes away?"

"It's that and more." He bent his head, grazing his mouth over hers, moving along her jaw to the sweet spot below her ear. "It's everything about you," he whispered. "I'm in love with you. I feel like I've always been in love with you."

Something about those words stoked the flames of their desire. He was suddenly kissing her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin, gripping her hips.

"There's nothing more romantic than a man who makes sacrifices for a woman," she breathed, tilting her head to give him unrestricted access. "But I'd rather you were selfish. I'd rather you take me to bed and show me why I'm right to risk my life, why there's nowhere I belong but in your arms."

With a growl of hunger, he carried her to bed.

"How many ways will you have me tonight?" she teased.

He wanted her in every way possible, wanted to use his tongue and his cock to brand her. Wanted to devour every inch of her porcelain skin. To breathe her in so she consumed him.

"Only one way," he said, rising above her and nudging her legs open. "I want to look at you and feel your skin pressed to mine. Tonight isn't about gratification. It's about the incredible bond neither of us ever expected to feel."

She gazed up at him as he settled between her thighs. "I love you."

Hell, he felt like the richest of men. "I love you. More than I can express in words." He claimed her mouth in a searing kiss that had her wrapping her thighs around him and grinding against his erection.

"I want you inside me, Aaron." A haze of desire darkened her blue eyes. "Don't wait. We have hours to indulge in other pleasures."

"I need to go on a short journey first."

"A journey? Where?"

"To paradise," he teased, moving down between her legs, impatient to sate his hunger. "I intend to devour every inch of you." He hooked his arms under her legs and pulled her closer.

The scent of her arousal was more potent than the smoke in a demimonde opium den. He hissed sharply before slipping his tongue through her pretty pink folds.

"Aaron!" She arched her back, rolling her hips in time to every deep suck and circle of her bud. "Don't stop."

He buried his face in her sex, indulging in an erotic, open-mouthed kiss. She came apart when he entered her with his tongue, her body shuddering as she came hard.

Aaron rose above her, taking his cock in hand. "Say you want me, love."

"I want you so badly, I can barely breathe."

He pushed into her body, her wet heat hugging him as he stretched her wide and buried himself to the hilt. He looked down at her, this beautiful woman who had changed his life, an all-consuming blaze of affection stealing his breath.

Then he moved, sliding in and out of her, a slow, hypnotic kind of lovemaking. Hot. Intense. Each thrust measured to bring ultimate stimulation.

Joanna ran her hands over his tense biceps, over the taut muscles in his back, every caress drawing his ballocks tighter, sending his pulse soaring.

He liked the way she panted as she took him deep.

He liked her muttered moans of appreciation.

This was love.

A bond too strong to break.

She climaxed again, her muscles milking his cock. The primal urge to pound hard had him quickening the pace, sinking into her so fast the bed creaked beneath them. He wanted to spend inside her, pour everything of himself into her.

"God, you have no idea how much I love you," he cried.

He didn't care who heard them as he raced towards release. He didn't care that his guttural groan rang through the room as he came violently over her abdomen.

Nothing mattered but knowing Joanna loved him.