Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Late December, 1831

Aaron married Joanna in St George's, Hanover Square, not because marrying in a house of God was part of his penance. The King decreed that the Earl of Berridge must adhere to tradition and marry in the same church as his predecessors.

The King of Compromise was Aaron's new moniker.

His Majesty was happy to overlook Ignatius Chance's misdeeds but quickly reminded Aaron his great-great-grandfather had played a crucial role in brokering the Treaty of Utrecht. His great-grandfather was a patron of science, supporting Gray in his understanding of electrical conduction.

And so, Aaron James Lawrence Delmont-Chance, 9th Earl of Berridge was born, though men knew to address him as Chance when possible—etiquette be damned. Hearing the name Berridge still felt like a knife twisting in his gut, but Aaron was adept at making sacrifices for the greater good.

Hence he stood in the lavish drawing room at Studland Park, home of The Marquess of Rothley, who had kindly offered to host a wedding banquet while Aaron had builders and architects redesigning his new Mayfair home.

"Do you make a habit of gaping at your wife?" Rothley said, in the smooth aristocratic voice women loved. "Did you hear what I said about Arthur Lovelace?"

No, Aaron was busy watching Joanna from across the room, mentally pinching himself because loving her felt like a dream.

Her pale blue gown accentuated the deep sapphire of her eyes, eyes full of mischief because she was on a matchmaking mission to find wives for her brother's unmarried friends.

"I'm rarely shocked," he said, dazzled by her smile. His gaze slid over her figure, though he suppressed a sensual hum. They had spent last night apart, every minute feeling like an eternity. "I expected to die a bachelor. When the power of true love grips you, it never lets go."

"Love is like an entity unto its own," Rothley said, his hand shaking slightly as he sipped his port. "Remind Joanna it will take more than an interest in medical procedures to convince Gentry to marry Miss Moorland."

Aaron glanced at the mismatched pair. Miss Moorland hid behind her spectacles and her unflattering green dress. Gentry oozed confidence in his expensive tailoring. He was a man of the world. Miss Moorland was always lost in the pages of her book.

"I believe Joanna is helping Miss Moorland to mingle." It wasn't a lie. The lady lacked confidence in crowds. "And giving her a lecture on how to speak to men and not hide behind potted ferns."

"Most men despise artifice," Rothley said, shifting slightly so the footman could stoke the fire. "A woman is more attractive when she can be herself. Perhaps you should remind Joanna why you fell in love with her. I doubt it was because she excels at mingling at parties."

Aaron recalled the first time he felt a pang in his chest, not his loins. Joanna was waiting in his study late at night, her golden hair tied in a braid, the hem of her nightgown visible beneath her pelisse. She had come to report a crime, her intervention helping to save the life of Christian's wife.

"Joanna shares my passion for justice," he said, his heart thumping that bit harder. "She's not afraid to voice her opinion. I've always admired that about her." She possessed a strength of mind that belied her years.

"Yes, and her capacity to endure hardship sets her apart." Rothley gave a wistful sigh that had nothing to do with Joanna. "If only all women had the same tenacity. Some run at the first sign of trouble."

Aaron wondered if Rothley was speaking from his own experience of lost love and decided to test the waters. "The gossips say you've loved the same woman since you were nineteen."

Rothley stiffened and muttered a curse. "The gossips say I killed my closest friend, that I keep a harem of women at Studland Park and have an opium addiction. None of which is true."

Aaron didn't challenge him and swiftly changed the subject. "What were you saying about Arthur Lovelace? I know you hired a former Bow Street Runner to find him."

Rothley leaned a little closer. "Joanna doesn't know, but I've been paying the fool's debts for years. Arthur left London when I refused to settle his last lot of bills." Rothley glanced at Joanna, whose smile lit up the room. "I offered to provide Joanna with an income, but she insisted on supporting herself."

Aaron was grateful she'd had the sense to refuse. Rothley cared for Joanna like a sister, but the ton would have marked her as his mistress.

"I wish I could say the wastrel is rotting in hell," Aaron said with burning disdain. "But I put my brother-in-law Flynn on the case. He's skilled at finding missing people."

Rothley straightened. "Has he located the devil?"

"By all accounts, Arthur Lovelace boarded a ship belonging to the East India Company, heading for Calcutta." The coward fled London, leaving his daughter to struggle alone. "He has a friend who negotiates with merchants abroad. The gentleman offered Arthur work in exchange for passage."

Rothley snorted. "Good riddance. Does Joanna know?"

"Yes."

With an indifferent shrug, she had seemed relieved.

"Introduce me to Flynn," Rothley said, surveying the guests with interest. "A man of his talents will prove useful in the future."

Rothley meant in his quest to find Joanna's brother. Nothing would persuade him Justin was dead. It's why he refused to attend the memorial service at St Michael's or stand at the graveside when they laid the new headstone.

Perhaps Rothley had another reason to hire Flynn.

Perhaps there was someone else he hoped to find.

Aaron did as Rothley asked. He had no intention of spending his wedding day with the brooding marquess.

Flynn was talking to Sigmund, admiring his new tailoring. "Aaron must be paying you well. I recognise the cut of your coat. It's from Beaumont & Finch."

Sigmund brushed imagined dust off the sleeves. "I could have bought a small cottage in Cornwall for what this cost."

"You run the most notorious gaming hell in London," Aaron said, slapping his friend on the back. "It's important to have a commanding presence. Before long, you'll attract attention from the ladies at The Jade."

Sigmund laughed. "I may look like a gentleman, but I've manners coarser than a sailor's tongue. Though Betsy at The Saracen's Head had no complaints."

A sudden peal of laughter drew Aaron's attention to where his brothers stood near the impressive bow window. The sight tightened his chest. He recalled the terror on their faces that first night in the rookeries—mere children taken from an elegant home in Mayfair and dumped in the street like unwanted dogs.

The road to happiness had been long and gruelling.

At times, he'd thought they wouldn't make it.

But like the rest of England, his family had embraced change. Come the spring, Aaron would be an uncle, and again in early summer. His role as family patriarch was far from over. A fact that brought a broad smile to his face.

"A penny for your thoughts," Joanna said, sliding her arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.

He drew her around to face him and lowered his voice. "I'm counting the hours until we're alone again. I have a deep desire to make love to my wife. I can't wait until tonight."

Her gaze dipped to his mouth with the same fervent hunger. "Anticipation is a potent aphrodisiac. It's said to heighten one's pleasure."

He pulled her close and pressed his mouth to her ear. "I'm on fire. I'll combust before we reach the Adelphi."

"Two nights in the best suite should help to work the excitement out of your system." Her hand slid covertly under his coat, and the minx squeezed his buttock. "Then again, we've been rampant for over a month."

"Perhaps you might surprise me like you did last Sunday."

Aaron had gone to retrieve some papers from his study at Fortune's Den and found the door locked. He entered to see Joanna sitting in his throne with her feet propped on his desk, wearing nothing but her stockings and his silk cravat.

She smiled at the memory. "How many times had you sat at your desk and imagined gripping my hips and sinking deep into my body?"

"More damn times than I'd care to count."

She laughed and patted his chest. "Rothley has a maze somewhere in the grounds. We might imagine ourselves at Mrs Flavell's wild party. "

"It's snowing." He was thinking of her comfort, not his own.

"Since when has the weather deterred us?"

"You'll need a cloak," he uttered, arousal pumping through his veins.

"We can't go yet. Lucia is about to sing. She desperately wants to please you, Aaron. Delphine bought her an elegant new dress."

Mrs Lowry was right. Against the odds, Lucia was a kind, caring girl who just wanted to be loved. There was something of himself in her, the part that wasn't hateful and bitter.

He wrapped his arm around Joanna's waist and listened to his youngest sister sing while Delphine played the pianoforte. Pride filled his chest. The aria stirred a deep sense of gratitude that he'd found someone he loved so profoundly, and the slight ache that came with knowing it was precious.

Aaron glanced at Rothley. His lips were pressed in a tight line, a furrow cutting deep between his brows. He wore a mask of silent anguish, as if every note pierced his heart.

While they all clapped to cries of an encore, Rothley left the room.

The next song was more uplifting, and Lucia bowed to rapturous applause.

Daventry approached. "Lucia could travel the world with that voice," he said. "Though now you've found her, I don't suppose you're keen to let her go."

"Maybe when she's older," Aaron said. His siblings liked having a younger sister to care for, particularly Delphine. "There's no rush. Lucia needs the stability a large family provides."

Daventry nodded and addressed Joanna. "The Countess of Berridge has a monumental task ahead of her if she hopes to see her ladies fulfil their potential."

Joanna smiled. "I never shy away from a challenge. Ask my husband. "

Daventry laughed as he took another glass of champagne from a passing footman. "Your ladies may need to work on their repartee. Miss Moorland asked Gentry if she could examine his implements. The fellow almost choked on his brandy."

Aaron chuckled. "It could have been worse. She might have confessed to having a fascination with men's tools."

Joanna took umbrage at their teasing. "I doubt Mr Gentry will forget her. Sometimes, a lady must do what is needed to stand out from the crowd."

Daventry bent his head. "Gentry will need a lady with a bit more gumption, particularly when he's working as a highwayman out on the Barking Road."

Aaron almost choked at the news and he wasn't drinking brandy. "Whoever told you that must have downed a quart of gin. Why would a professional man risk his neck to steal baubles? I know for a fact he doesn't need the money."

"I'm told he's conducting a private investigation," Daventry whispered.

"Does it have anything to do with Justin's death?" Joanna asked.

Daventry shrugged. "If I were attempting to bring two medical minds together, I might suggest Miss Moorland conduct an investigation of her own. Though she might need both of you to help her in the risky endeavour."

"I'm not playing the matchmaking matron," Aaron said with a snort.

"What if I offered an incentive?"

"You have nothing I want."

The glimmer of mischief in Daventry's eyes said that wasn't entirely true. "What about a written oath? Security for the future?"

Aaron straightened. "Go on. I'm listening."

"A contract between my family and yours, agreeing to come to each other's aid. Would you not want your sons to know they can call upon mine in a crisis?"

With his interest more than piqued, Aaron nodded. "And in exchange, all I need to do is help my wife keep her vow to her ladies?"

Daventry glanced at the door as Rothley returned. "Yes, and assist anyone in this room who's stopped caring if they live or die."

"Draw up the contract, and I'll consider your proposal." At the rate Aaron made love to Joanna, he'd also be a father in nine months. Preparing for the future was vital.

"Excellent," Daventry said. "Though it will also apply to daughters."

"And my siblings and their children."

"Agreed."

While Daventry was in a pleasing mood, Aaron said, "Perhaps you might reassure Lucia that no charges will be brought against her. She still has nightmares and jumps whenever there's a knock on the door."

"Certainly."

As soon as Daventry left them, Aaron gripped Joanna's elbow and propelled her towards the door. "This might be the only opportunity to spend five minutes alone."

"It's pointless sneaking about. People will know we've been outside."

"Yes, admiring the orangery. We're entitled to have time together on our wedding day. Ask the footman for your cloak."

Eager to be alone with him, she retrieved her garment. "My husband loves the snow," she said to the indifferent servant.

"I love you," he muttered. "Come rain, shine or freezing blizzards."

She smiled softly, her eyes shining with emotion. "And I love you, even on the darkest nights. "

They hurried outside.

The crunch of snow beneath his booted feet had him glancing at Joanna's dainty shoes. "Let me carry you. We'll keep each other warm."

She let out a squeal when he scooped her into his arms. "Will it be a quick tupping?" she said in a sensual voice as he carried her through Rothley's ornate garden.

"I don't care what it is as long as I'm buried inside you." He entered the boxwood maze and took ten steps before putting her down. "Now you're in trouble."

"Trouble? But I'm a good girl, sir."

"Like hell you are. Outward appearances suggest you're biddable, but we both know that's a lie. You have me by the ballocks."

She chuckled. "That's wishful thinking on your part."

"We'll save the amorous talk for later. Hike up your skirts."

He unbuttoned his trousers, recalling his desperate scramble to reach her when he saw her leaving the fighting pit. The memory always roused a primal need to claim her, to drive hard and deep and remind her she was his.

"You're lucky I'm not wearing extra petticoats."

Amid a mad fumble, he hoisted her up against the hedge. "I wanted you like this on the night of Mrs Flavell's party. You drove me insane with your sweet little pants and moans."

She blinked snow off her lashes and wrapped her legs around him. "Have me now. Have all of me. I'm yours."

He entered her swiftly, and they both moaned from the pleasure. Hell, she was so warm and wet a man could lose his head.

"Will I get my own moniker now I'm your wife," she said, panting and gripping his hair and urging him to pump harder.

"You're the ruler of my heart. The Queen of Clubs."

"Oh, I quite liked being called Miss Scrumptious."

He met her gaze, shocked to hear the words fall from her lips. Delphine must have told her. Despite refusing to use the moniker himself, he could think of a hundred reasons why the name suited her.

But he smiled, a smile that warmed the once cold chambers of his heart. "Everything about you is delectable. You'll always be scrumptious to me."

I hope you enjoyed reading The Last Chance.

That's the last story from the Rogues of Fortune's Den, but fear not, the characters will appear in the exciting new series featuring the troubled ladies from The Burnished Jade. Who better to pair them with than the Marquess of Rothley's enigmatic friends?

Read on to learn more.