Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Lord Howard? Are you certain?" Joanna dropped the man's body as if it carried the plague. The urge to scrub his essence from her skin had her squirming and rubbing her hands vigorously. "But he wasn't amongst the guests tonight. I have not seen him in years."

She shot to her feet, limbs shaking, barely able to stand still, barely able to suppress the need to run and put a hundred miles between her and the body of this fiend.

"You know him?" Mr Chance said sharply, observing her with a constable's scrutiny. He rose slowly, the power of his presence an unnerving force.

"I knew him once. A long time ago." A lump of shame rose to her throat. She should say nothing. To confess meant revealing a secret she had not shared with a living soul. "I assure you. He was not welcome here. I cannot imagine why he would come."

Mr Chance prowled towards her, the dark hair on his chest visible through his open shirt. In her twenty-eight years, she had never met a man who exuded such raw masculinity.

"You have a backbone of steel, Miss Lovelace." Despite the compliment, the stern look in his eyes said to expect a reprimand. " I can forgive your lapse in confidence tonight, but your odd reaction shows a severe dislike for this man. You will tell me how you're acquainted. Yours isn't the only life at stake."

Should she tell a half-truth to pacify him?

Perhaps avoidance was best.

"You'll not hang for calling a constable," she countered.

"I threatened to kill that man in front of witnesses last night." He stabbed a finger at the blackguard's lifeless body. "Now he's dead in a premises across the street. The Earl of Berridge will have my neck for this. Do you know how many men would like to see me hanged?"

"But I would testify in your defence."

"Half the men on the bench are corrupt." He laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "You'd be surprised how many witnesses they'd find to say I entered this building at the time of death. How they would say I threatened to drive a jewelled blade into his back."

"It won't come to that." The thought of Mr Chance suffering on her account left her nauseous. Bile threatened to rise to her throat. "He must have been dead for hours. The men at the gaming tables will give you an alibi."

"The men who owe me a small fortune? I don't think so." His mocking snort echoed through the room. "Of all the women I've ever met, I never expected you to be so naive."

"Naive?" The devil lying dead on the floor had stolen her innocence when she was barely eighteen. She had spent a decade learning hard lessons. "Is it wrong to believe that justice will prevail? Perhaps you should try being a little more optimistic."

"Optimistic?" He stepped closer, her heart fluttering in response. "If you'd lived my life, you would know it pays to believe the worst."

"If you'd lived my life, you'd know all I have is hope." She squared her shoulders, making it clear she was entitled to her own opinion. "Sometimes the truth is hard to bear."

"You're wrong. The truth can be liberating. "

"We're allowed to disagree."

"Not when dealing with this matter." Like his stamina in the fighting pits, his steady sigh held no promise of surrender. "You dragged me into this mess. You will follow my instructions to the letter. There'll be no argument."

She stepped back. "I have a voice, Mr Chance. You'll not browbeat me into submission." Though her situation was indeed dire, she dared to test his resolve. Why wouldn't she? Every man in her life had failed her. "If you cannot accept that, I suggest you leave before Mr Daventry arrives."

He reached for her, wrapping his long fingers around her wrist. He always avoided physical contact. It seemed to pain him to touch her now. "Don't test my patience. I'm the King of Obstinacy. If I leave this room, I'll not come back."

She didn't believe him.

A man of integrity lived beneath his devilish facade.

"I'm a woman, not a child. You will consult me before making decisions on my behalf. This will be a partnership. A joint effort to clear our names. What is so difficult about that?"

He released her like her skin burned him. "Why do you persist in being awkward? Were you born to torment me? Perhaps you've failed to grasp what it means to have a murdered man in your house."

Born to torment him? Did he truly believe that? Though the statement was absurd, he often treated her like a thorn in his side.

"I'm more than aware of what's at stake here."

With a growl of frustration, he turned abruptly and marched towards the door. She expected him to storm out, but he hesitated, his reluctance to leave evident in his rigid stance.

And so she offered a titbit to feed his curiosity. "I was eighteen when I last spoke to Lord Howard. He was The Honourable Benjamin Wilson then. A title that proved wholly unsuitable."

Mr Chance paused, one hand on the doorknob. He did not face her but turned his head a fraction. "Am I to understand you've reconsidered and mean to follow my direction?"

"I'm afraid not." She refused to surrender just yet. Then he would assume he could always get his own way. "You seemed eager to know why I despise him. And you deserve something for your trouble tonight."

"I would prefer brandy and your submission, not your feeble attempts to keep me here."

Oh, he really was the King of Obstinacy.

But he would not forsake her.

She knew that about him, at least.

Joanna inhaled deeply, letting hope infuse her heart. "Then I bid you good night, Mr Chance. I'll not mention your name to the constable when he calls. I shan't tell him I dragged you out of bed because I was so desperately afraid."

A strained silence filled the space between them.

It seemed to last a lifetime before he faced her and said, "Why do you despise him? What possible motive could you have for wanting Howard dead?"

The memory of that night seized her mind. The innocent embrace in the garden as she cried for her missing brother. The gentle stroke of Lord Howard's hand on her hair and back, the shocking move to her buttocks. The savage kiss that swallowed her protests.

"He took something that didn't belong to him." Her voice broke. A plump tear landed on her cheek when there should be no more left to shed. "He was always weak and so terribly pathetic. He cried when he explained he couldn't marry me because of his stupid mistake." Not that she would ever consider a proposal from a selfish fiend. "As it turned out, Benjamin Wilson didn't have an honourable bone in his body."

Mr Chance stood like a monument to a god of war. His hands balled into tight fists at his sides. His rugged features set to convey a dangerous determination. His whole demeanour was a perfect picture of contained fury.

Then a muscle in his jaw twitched. The angry vein in his neck pulsed, proving he was human. A man. A splendid specimen of his sex.

"Howard ruined you?" he said, his eyes flaming.

"Ruined is a strong word. I like to believe I still have much to offer the world." She swallowed past the pain in her throat. "But yes. I am damaged goods, Mr Chance. Broken beyond repair."

The tension in the room intensified.

A string of obscenities burst from his lips. He whirled around, pressing his palms to the closed door and bowing his head. He stood for an age, chasing his ragged breaths. "Howard should be thankful he's dead. I'd have ripped him apart for what he's done to you."

His reaction proved confounding for a man who could barely tolerate her. More like that of a husband or brother. How strange, people thought him a rogue and Lord Howard a picture of respectability.

She dashed another tear from her cheek. "Now you know why I have a motive for murder. I've spent ten years wishing he would meet a grisly end."

"You'll not mention this to another soul. Do you hear me?" He was suddenly pushing away from the door and marching towards her, cupping her elbows, touching her again. "Not to Daventry. Not to the magistrate or coroner. To no one. They'll presume you're guilty and not bother to investigate the crime."

He was still breathless. Dare she say, panicked.

It was not a good sign from a man who exuded self-control.

"Where did you meet him?" Mr Chance continued. "Who saw you together? Who might testify against you in court?"

"Lord Howard went to school with my brother. We were alone in the garden that night. I did nothing to welcome his advances. I considered him a family friend, but he acted like he was possessed by a demon."

Mr Chance's eyes turned as black as Satan's soul. "He forced you?"

She lowered her gaze and nodded, though could feel his fury.

"Then why the hell was he still walking? Someone should have put a lead ball between his brows. Did your brother not demand satisfaction?"

Good heavens.

Now came the hardest part.

But she couldn't bear to speak about Justin tonight.

"No. My brother was away from home."

It was the truth. She just didn't know where.

"Surely not for ten years." Mr Chance refused to let the matter rest. "Did you ever tell him? Is it possible he came here tonight intending to?—"

"Please, no more." She placed a staying hand on his chest. The hair tickled her palm, and she felt his heartbeat pounding. "I have not seen my brother in ten years. Let that be the end of the discussion. We have a more pressing issue."

He stepped back, causing her hand to slip from his chest. After taking a few deep breaths, the storm in his eyes died. "It will be another hour or two before Daventry arrives. We should lock this room and remain downstairs."

"Does that mean you'll stay?" She clasped her hands, willing him to show compassion for a woman who always riled his temper.

"I'll stay until Daventry arrives. He helped to create the problem. He can help to find a solution."

As head of the best enquiry agency in London, Mr Daventry would know exactly what to do. Yet, to her mind, no man could match Aaron Chance's strength and capabilities.

His gaze dipped to her wrapper. "You should change out of those damp clothes before you catch a chill. Shock has kept us warm until now, but we should light a fire downstairs. Do you have brandy?"

Joanna nodded. "In the drawing room."

"I must return to Fortune's Den. I'll be ten minutes at most. I'll not meet Daventry looking like I've just crawled out of bed."

She almost smiled. She wasn't afraid of being alone. And seeing him half-dressed made him seem less like the indomitable figure who dragged drunkards from her doorway.

"I'll make myself presentable while you're gone." She tucked a damp lock of hair behind her ear. "What must I look like?"

His eyes softened as he looked at her, his lips parting like he meant to reply, but an invisible barrier acted as a restraint. Instead, he stepped aside and gestured for her to leave the room.

She took one last look at Lord Howard's body, searching within herself for an ounce of remorse. She had none. "I'm not sorry he's dead."

Mr Chance locked the door behind them and kept the key. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice a mix of anger and regret. "I would have enjoyed torturing that louse. I would have waited in the shadows, a beast in the blackness. No one would have known it was me."

Why? she wanted to say.

Why did it matter?

He didn't strike her as a defender of wronged women.

"Then I'll reiterate what I said earlier. I'm glad he's dead. Your family needs you. I wouldn't want you to lose your liberty because you helped a stranger who lives across the street."

"You're hardly a stranger," he countered. "You've attended every family wedding. My brothers' wives consider you a friend."

"I'm a stranger to you." He knew nothing about her and never bothered to ask. He usually avoided conversation altogether .

"We're not strangers. We're competitors. It wouldn't do to become too familiar." Before she could contradict him, he descended the stairs and headed to her bedchamber. "I want to ensure there's no one in the house before I leave. Do you have any objection to me checking your room?"

Panic fluttered in her throat. He was always so meticulous; everything kept in its place. She had thrown off her clothes tonight, so tired, she'd fallen into bed.

"Why would I object?" she said, straightening. "As we're merely competitors, you'll glean nothing of my business secrets in there."

She didn't ask how he knew where she slept.

Her chamber overlooked the street, as did his study.

A few times, their gazes had locked as she drew the curtains.

"I didn't think you'd want a prized ape rummaging through your private things. I believe that's what you called me."

Trust him to remind her of their spat weeks ago. She might have chuckled if not for the dead man upstairs. "Were we not strangers, you'd know I hold no prejudices. I'm a great lover of the natural world."

He didn't tut or sigh but hovered outside the door as if poised on the edge of oblivion. When he turned the knob, he did so slowly.

Joanna hurried into the room behind him, gathering her petticoat and stockings off the chair. "I don't keep a maid, and it was gone midnight when I climbed into bed."

"What made you venture to the upper floor?" He was scanning the room, his dark eyes roaming over her private things, absorbing every detail despite the gloom. "Were you struggling to sleep?"

"No matter how many times I closed my eyes, I just lay there, revisiting the night's events." Despite tossing and turning for hours, she couldn't shake the terrible sense of foreboding. The feeling she'd made a dreadful mistake in listening to Mr Daventry.

"Why leave your bed and venture to that particular room?" He was kneeling now, peering under the bed, his large hand splayed on her mattress.

To admit the truth would show her in a weak light. But a woman living alone was always vulnerable. And she'd sworn never to fall foul to a man's weaknesses again.

"Having a house full of men proved unsettling. I couldn't help but fear one might be hiding in the dark somewhere." She showed him the old musket propped against the armoire, the one thing she'd taken before the bank repossessed her home in Cheapside. "I began searching the cellar and worked my way upstairs."

Mr Chance stood, brushing dust off his knees, much to her embarrassment. A faint smile touched his lips as his gaze moved to the musket. "Few people surprise me, madam. One could not accuse you of lacking courage."

"That's the third nice thing you've said to me tonight."

"I'll try not to make a habit of it. On that point, can I make something clear before we proceed any further?"

"Yes." She stiffened her spine, sensing his next words might slice to the bone.

"If I offer advice, don't take it as a personal slur. I knew you were ill-equipped to deal with a house full of excited men. That has no bearing on your character."

"It's hard to take your advice when you're always critical." She found his stubborn stance frustrating. "No woman wants to feel like a fool."

"You're no fool. But this arrangement won't work."

Despite her dire predicament, she disagreed. "With proper vetting and a man of Sigmund's skill guarding the door, it could. Lord Featherstone asked Miss Wickford to ride out with him tomorrow. "

Mr Chance gazed heavenward and sighed. "Why do you care? Why play matchmaker and force alliances? You told my sister you believe one's destiny is written in the stars."

"Some people need help to find love." Miss Frampton had watched all her sisters marry but, with three failed seasons spent hiding behind potted ferns, had given up hope of meeting her match. "As a man, I wouldn't expect you to understand what it means to have a lack of prospects."

He fell quiet before offering, "Some people aren't made for marriage. And being my usual cynical self, you cannot trust the motives of the men who might frequent your club."

Joanna let a mocking chuckle slip. "There are good men in the world. Your siblings love their spouses dearly. I mean to weed out the reprobates and fulfil my ladies' dreams."

If one found love, it was worth it. Although Miss Moorland wasn't looking for marriage but to pursue a career in medicine, hence her interest in the local doctor, Mr Gentry.

"As I recall, you want a man who likes standing in the rain."

She was surprised he remembered her comment. "I said I won't settle for less than a man who waits in the rain just to spend a minute in my company. I see nothing wrong with that. Actions speak louder than words."

The fact he had come to her aid said she could trust him.

Coping with his need for control was the main obstacle.

"Is foolish behaviour not a sign of weakness?" he countered.

"Is it foolish to show a woman how much you value her company?" She had never seen his paramour enter the club but presumed he had one. Such a virile man did not spend his nights alone. "Perhaps tomorrow you might draw your mistress a bath and feed her supper."

The thought roused heat in her belly. What must it be like to have such a powerful man at one's mercy? She doubted there was a woman alive capable of bringing the formidable Aaron Chance to his knees .

His gaze rose to meet hers, pinning her to the spot with unwavering intensity. "You shouldn't make presumptions. This is the longest I've spent alone with a woman in eight years. I'm too busy for romantic entanglements."

Eight years?

Joanna frowned. The statement proved more confounding than the identity of Lord Howard's killer, who was probably another lady he had wronged. One whose father collected weapons from the Far East.

"Why?" was all she could think to say.

"Many reasons. None which have any bearing on our current predicament." He straightened, his impenetrable mask firmly in place. "I should go home and change my clothes. Do you have a spare door key? I'd rather not hammer the knocker and wake the street when I return."

Joanna moved to her nightstand and took a key from her small jewellery box. She dropped it into Mr Chance's outstretched palm, noticing the callouses and the bruise on his finger.

"You've been preparing for your upcoming event," she said, wondering why he found hitting other men so rewarding. "I'm told some contenders travel from as far afield as Manchester to demonstrate their pugilistic skills."

He closed his fingers over the iron key and slipped it into his trouser pocket. "The farther afield, the larger the wagers."

She didn't glance at the toned muscles she knew lay beneath his fine lawn shirt. She'd dared to enter his basement once. The image of him standing shirtless in the ring remained ingrained in her memory. As were the plethora of scars littering his body, the marks like the lines of a tragic tale she longed to hear.

"Are ladies permitted entrance?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "No. Fighting men dislike distractions. If you saw me in the ring, you'd know I'm nothing more than a savage beast." He waved his hand between them. " Don't mistake this for anything more than a need for justice. An unsolved murder is bad for business. And I'm rather fond of my neck."

"Why would I expect more than your assistance?" She admired his honesty. It was a rare quality in a man. "We're nothing more than competitors. I trust I have your word that you will help solve this problem. For both our sakes."

He nodded. "As I said, it's in our interests to bring this matter to a swift conclusion. You have my word I'll instruct Daventry's best agents to help bring the culprit to justice."

Their verbal exchanges usually left her seething.

Tonight, she felt relieved and surprisingly calm.

"I shall have the fire lit and a brandy ready when you return. Hopefully, we won't have long to wait for Mr Daventry."

"Don't open the door to anyone," he stated, not budging until she gave her solemn vow. "I'll be as quick as I can."

Joanna listened to his retreating footsteps, then hurried to the window to peer through the gap in the curtains. This wasn't the first time she had spied on him from afar.

The man was an utter enigma.

He was dominant and overbearing, rigid in his ideas and beliefs. He took stubbornness to new heights, often lacked empathy, and disliked most people.

Yet he loved his family unconditionally. It was evident in every thoughtful action and deed, even if he never spoke the words aloud. He was truthful and loyal. Working with him would be challenging, but Joanna knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Aaron Chance would never break a vow.