Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Miss Lovelace was napping in the candlelit drawing room, curled in the fireside chair, when Aaron returned to The Burnished Jade and let himself in with the key. Although he had changed his clothes quickly, he had spent twenty minutes trying to suppress his burning rage.

The lady's confession plagued him like a malevolent spirit, a horrid shadow of her past he could not eradicate or erase.

I am damaged goods, Mr Chance. Broken beyond repair.

He wanted to haul Howard's body to the nearest heath and leave him as food for the crows. Or tie him to the Aldgate Pump with a placard saying debaucher and watch the devil slowly rot away. A maggot infested with maggots.

Aaron glanced at Miss Lovelace but did not disturb her. She had changed into a plain blue dress and fastened her golden hair into a braid draped over her shoulder. She looked peaceful, angelic, all signs of distress vanquished, if only for a moment.

He snatched the glass of brandy off the side table and downed the contents, resisting the urge to hurl the goblet into the fire and curse his rotten luck.

He wanted to pace the floor, throttle someone, drag every lord into a dim alley and demand to know which one of them had killed Howard. If only he could summon the wastrel back from the dead. He'd wrench the murderer's name from his lips and then destroy him for what he'd done to Miss Lovelace.

"Craven bastard," he mumbled too loudly.

Miss Lovelace's eyes fluttered open, and she sat up. "Mr Chance. I didn't hear you come in. I was resting my eyes." She observed his black coat, her gaze sweeping across his shoulders before she gestured to the blue damask settee. "Would you care to sit? We may have a long wait before Mr Daventry arrives. I'm told he's often reluctant to leave his wife's bed."

The seat looked comfortable, but Aaron declined.

The room had an undeniable charm, the beautiful woman in relaxed repose making it more inviting. Soft candlelight and the fire's amber flames created a scene ripe for seduction. The lady had dabbed perfume to her pulse points, the arousing smell of roses playing havoc with his insides.

"I intend to search the rooms for traces of evidence." He would not surrender to the desires he'd suppressed for months.

"You won't find anything. I've checked all the rooms."

Her defensive tone put him at ease, so he prodded her a little more. "You were distraught and might have missed an obvious clue."

The flash of fire in her eyes said he'd hit the mark. "A man was murdered in my home. What else would I be but distraught?"

Now he had the perfect excuse to place some distance between them. "With your delicate sensibilities, I suggest you remain here and wait for Daventry. I want to search Howard's pockets. I'll not have the coroner find evidence that might incriminate me."

"What could Lord Howard possibly have in his pocket?"

Aaron shrugged. "A threatening letter demanding he pay his debts to my club. A fake love note implying he's been intimate with one of my brother's wives." Something to blame Aaron for the crime.

Miss Lovelace pursed her lips while contemplating his demand. "You should wait for Mr Daventry. He seems like a fair man and has faith in your character. Any documents might lead us to the real culprit. Someone impartial must find them."

Though loath to admit it, she was right.

Daventry could only manipulate the truth to a point.

"Perhaps you'd like to look through the list of club members," she suggested, standing to fetch a ledger from the oak bureau. "You're well informed and may know something about their families that might lead to a clue."

Being a logical man, he accepted her offer.

Dawn was fast approaching. The sooner Daventry arrived, the better, although Aaron wasn't sure whether to thank the agent or throttle him.

"I'll need the names of the men who entered your premises tonight." Seeing two men venturing upstairs drew less attention than a virgin maiden being lured through a dim corridor.

Miss Lovelace handed him the ledger and went looking for the list. She rummaged in the bureau but had a problem locating the document.

"How strange. I'm sure I placed it in the pigeonhole." She rubbed her lips with her finger while lost in thought. "I returned it to the bureau before Madame Rossellini's recital."

Clearly, the murderer had stolen the list to evade detection.

"Madame Rossellini?" He knew the name of every singer gracing London's stages. Most were the mistresses of his patrons. "Is she new to town?"

"No, she's an amateur soprano." Miss Lovelace lowered her voice as if the walls had ears. "She is Miss Stowe's maid. It's a long story which I will explain another time. I provide her with a costume and pay her fifteen shillings for an hour's performance. I cannot afford to hire a professional and must improvise if I'm to earn a living."

"I see." A rush of admiration warmed his chest.

Hell's teeth!

Where the blazes was Daventry?

Aaron paced the room, the ledger open in his hands, studying the names of the ladies who attended her club. The task kept him occupied for twenty minutes, though he'd read the same lines ten times or more.

Like the perfect hostess, Miss Lovelace offered him brandy and snuff and asked if he might like coffee or a light repast. She stoked the fire, watched the street through the window, and searched for the missing list.

Aaron prayed for an end to the torture.

Restlessness gnawed at him like an itch he couldn't scratch.

This intimate setting was too much to endure.

Finally the Lord answered his silent plea.

Daventry arrived, dressed immaculately in black. He did not look tired or annoyed that they'd dragged him from his wife's bed at this godforsaken hour.

The man's confident air sparked Aaron's temper.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he said once Daventry had greeted Miss Lovelace. "You encouraged her to invite men here, knowing she would encounter problems. You must bear some responsibility for this damnable mess."

As always, Daventry remained stoic. "Miss Lovelace is a competent woman. I refuse to treat her like a child. She asked for matchmaking advice. I offered a suggestion."

"And now Lord Howard is lying dead upstairs with a dagger in his back. I threatened to kill the fool last night. Don't dare say it's a coincidence. Someone means to cause trouble." Aaron motioned to his attractive competitor. "Trouble for us both."

Miss Lovelace glared at him before offering Daventry a winsome smile. "Thank you for coming at such short notice. You must forgive my competitor's irate manner. He is suspicious by nature, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Do not speak for me, madam," Aaron said.

"Why? You scolded Mr Daventry on my behalf."

Daventry seemed to find their spat amusing but quickly addressed the serious matter at hand. "Take me to the crime scene. I want to see Howard's body before I summon the magistrate."

A knot twisted in Aaron's gut. The magistrate would assume Miss Lovelace was Howard's mistress, particularly as they were well-acquainted.

"You don't seem surprised he's the victim," Aaron countered. Howard was an unpopular fool, but even criminals refrained from murdering peers.

"According to my sources, Howard owes Two-Teeth O'Toole five hundred pounds after betting on a fight on Hounslow Heath last month."

Grateful someone else had a motive for murder, the tension in Aaron's muscles eased. "That fight was rigged. O'Toole pays his men to lose previous bouts to improve the odds. It's as good as highway robbery."

"And as you know, the interest on the debt is colossal."

"Mr O'Toole was not responsible," Miss Lovelace was quick to inform them. "I would have noticed an unsavoury character on the premises. And I'm confident my gentlemen patrons possessed all their teeth."

A master criminal could enter undetected. Deciding not to embarrass her in front of Daventry, Aaron did not mention she had gone to bed, unaware of the dead body upstairs.

"What about your female members?" Aaron said. "I'll need the names of those who joined after you agreed to invite men to your Thursday soirees."

She motioned to the ledger in his hand. "They'll be listed along with the date they paid their first subscription." Turning to Daventry, she said, "I recorded the names of the gentlemen in attendance, but the list has disappeared."

"Interesting," Daventry said, then asked about the night's entertainment.

Miss Lovelace spoke of whist and cribbage in the card room and the delightful solo from the maid soprano. Tame games like charades and brain-teasing puzzles had brought much amusement.

She smiled before repeating one such riddle. "I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with the wind. What am I?"

"An echo," Aaron said bluntly.

Blinking in surprise, she said, "Yes. I'm rather glad you weren't here. The fun is in hearing all the ridiculous suggestions."

"That's where our ideas of fun differ." It reminded him they were incompatible. The more time he spent in her company, the more he needed to reinforce the point.

"My wife and I often play riddles for forfeits," Daventry said in her defence. "It can be quite a thrilling game, though I often lose on purpose, depending on what Sybil wants from me."

Miss Lovelace looked at Daventry like he'd sung a beautiful aria. "There's nothing more romantic than a man who makes sacrifices for a woman," came her veiled dig at Aaron.

"I assure you, it's no sacrifice."

Aaron ignored the hum of satisfaction in Daventry's voice. He didn't remind Miss Lovelace that he'd sacrificed sleep and his sanity to come to her aid tonight. "We have more pressing worries than riddles and games. The magistrate will wonder why we delayed summoning him."

Daventry thought for a moment. "The Thames Police Office has jurisdiction here. We can trust the superintendent, but as the victim is a peer, we'd better summon the magistrate, Mr Harriott. "

Daventry left to instruct his coachman to fetch the magistrate.

That's when Miss Lovelace offered Aaron a reprieve. "Return home if you must. I can deal with Mr Daventry and speak to the magistrate. When I give my statement, I'll confirm you have not set foot on these premises before tonight."

If she believed he would walk away from a problem, she was mistaken. "I'm not leaving. I shall see this matter to its obvious conclusion."

"Which is?"

"Someone else murdered Howard." He'd wager the list of suspects stretched the length of the Thames. "I'll not rest until the hangman has the culprit's neck in a noose."

She went to touch his arm but thought better of it. "I'm sorry for involving you. I didn't know what else to do. I know we struggle to be civil, but I'm truly grateful for your help."

He struggled to breathe in her company, let alone make conversation.

"I'm thankful you did. Forewarned is forearmed. I'd prefer to be involved than have the magistrate surprise me with news of Howard's death."

Still, Aaron willed the magistrate to hurry, praying the man was competent and would bring a swift end to the nightmare.

Daventry appeared and asked them to escort him upstairs.

"Why this room?" Daventry mused, noting it was at the end of the landing. "It overlooks the street and is directly above the drawing room. What time did Madame Rossellini sing?"

Miss Lovelace addressed him. "Due to popular demand, she sang twice. At nine for an hour, then a short performance at eleven, just before the guests started leaving. They requested to hear Costa Diva from the opera Norma again. It's an extremely emotional piece. Miss Stowe and Miss Moorland played violin and flute."

"Two of your wallflowers?" Aaron asked .

"Two of my members, yes."

"Who made the request?" Daventry said.

"A handful of people. I can ask Miss Moorland who first suggested an encore." She looked at the closed door and frowned. "You believe the murderer requested the piece to mask sounds of a struggle?"

"It's possible." Daventry opened the door and stepped into the room. He appeared to absorb every detail before examining the body. "It's quite cold in here, but based on lividity and the stiffness of the smaller muscles, I suspect he's been dead at least five hours. We'll need the coroner's confirmation, of course."

Miss Lovelace's relieved sigh proved puzzling. "That means Fortune's Den was open when Lord Howard died. Mr Chance will have an alibi."

The remark knocked the wind out of Aaron's sails. She was the prime suspect in a gruesome murder, yet showed concern for his welfare. He'd always known this woman was dangerous. That she had the power to steal past his defences.

"Let's not count our blessings until the villain is in custody," Daventry said, knowing enough men would like to see Aaron hanged. "They may say Mr Chance hired someone to carry out the deed." Daventry glanced between them. "I'm confident he can find his way out of this mess. You're the one who needs protecting, madam."

"Me?" The lady gulped. "Why would anyone think I'm guilty?"

Aaron froze, fearing she might mention her history with Howard. "She has no motive. If she had killed that popinjay, she's clever enough to dispose of the body."

Miss Lovelace looked astounded at the compliment.

That's when Daventry chose to stir the pot. "One should never underestimate the role of gossip in criminal proceedings. Perhaps Miss Lovelace might tell us why the Marquess of Rothley proposed marriage when she took over her father's gaming house. Perhaps he saw Howard as a threat."

Aaron's heart lurched. He'd noticed Rothley watching her premises. It explained why the marquess had a sudden interest in gambling at Fortune's Den.

Miss Lovelace looked at Aaron, keen to give her account. "Gabriel went to school with my brother. He felt responsible for me when my father vanished and felt duty-bound to make me an offer. To my knowledge, no one else knew."

"You received a proposal of marriage from a marquess?" Aaron's pulse thumped hard in his throat. He could accept not having her—he would not subject them both to a life of untold misery—but he'd rather die than know she'd been forced to marry Rothley. "And you didn't accept?"

"He doesn't love me," she said, lifting her proud chin. "You know what I seek in a match. There's no point repeating my requirements."

Yes, she wanted a fool who liked waiting in the rain.

"Some members of the ton believe Rothley was involved in your brother's disappearance," Daventry said, adding an extra ingredient to the mix. "I would use the word death , but remains found in the woods were inconclusive. It's a stain on his reputation. One he has never managed to erase."

Aaron had heard the rumours, the conflicting accounts so far-fetched he doubted they were true. Rothley had killed his lover, his housemaster, his friend, his maid. Some said poison was the weapon of choice, others mentioned a garrotte.

"Gabriel had nothing to do with Justin's disappearance. They were as close as brothers." Miss Lovelace was clearly shaken by the suggestion. "Nor did anyone else in their tight-knit group."

Daventry gazed at Howard's body. "And yet, ten years to the day since your brother went missing, one member of that group is murdered in your house. "

Miss Lovelace touched her throat with trembling fingers. "Is it exactly ten years? I try not to think about it too often."

It couldn't be a coincidence.

Had someone deliberately targeted her, knowing the significant date?

"Did Howard confide in you?" Daventry pressed. "Did he tell you anything about the night your brother went missing?"

Aaron's patience with Daventry had worn thin. "Can't you see she's suffered enough tonight without raking up painful memories of the past?"

"The past, the present, the future, it's all one and the same," Daventry said cryptically. "I'm only preparing you both for what lies ahead. Better we have this conversation now than before the magistrate. I advise you not to mention it when he arrives. It may buy you some time."

A tense silence ensued as Aaron tried to absorb the information. He would need to be one step ahead of the authorities if he hoped to catch the culprit.

He moved to stand over the man he would throttle if Howard wasn't already dead. "We should search his pockets before the magistrate arrives."

Daventry agreed and began rifling through Howard's coat.

They found no letters or papers, nothing but the fop's gold watch hidden inside a black velvet pouch, not tucked into his waistcoat pocket.

Daventry inspected the face before opening the back case and showing Aaron the initials engraved into the metal with an image of a stallion.

Aaron's blood ran cold. "What the blazes? Let me look at that."

He took the watch, an unwelcome memory invading his mind. His father hadn't paid off his debts with the money Aaron earned from one particular fight. While he nursed a black eye and fractured finger, his father bought a racehorse .

"That watch once belonged to my father," he said, his tone as hard as the protective casing around his heart. "He sold it to pay his debts a month before he died. A man from Ballingers Auction House bought everything of value."

For long seconds, no one spoke.

Miss Lovelace broke the silence. "It's hard to know which one of us is being framed for murder." She paused to look at Daventry. "I know this may be considered unlawful, but perhaps Mr Chance should take the watch. If it's his father's, it will be one more piece of evidence against him."

Daventry agreed.

Aaron did not. "The devil who planned this is already one step ahead. I mean to do the opposite of what he expects. Leave the watch on the body. It shows I have nothing to hide." He did not believe in bad omens but wanted nothing belonging to his father.

Daventry slipped the watch into Howard's pocket. "Then you must waste no time investigating the crime. The pouch is from a pawnbroker's in Regent Street. I'd start there and then interview Madame Rossellini and the female members in attendance tonight. I'll do everything possible to avert suspicion elsewhere. Howard's debt to Two-Teeth O'Toole should suffice. But time is of the essence."

"I shall gather my ladies here later today," Miss Lovelace suggested. "One of them may have seen something untoward."

Daventry put paid to her plan. "This is a crime scene. I suggest you reside at Fortune's Den until we resolve the matter. Working together will be easier if you're living under one roof."

"Under one roof?" Aaron's pulse soared. And he thought finding his father's watch was shocking. "Miss Lovelace cannot live at Fortune's Den."

"Why? You have plenty of room. You're a logical man. If you're going to tackle this problem together, surely you can see it makes sense. "

Have Miss Lovelace sleeping mere feet from his chamber?

Meet her in a state of undress on the landing at night?

Impossible.

"If you'd rather solve this on your own," Daventry began, "I'm sure the Marquess of Rothley will accommodate her at Studland Park. He's shrewd enough to help her find?—"

"The man is a damned hedonist."

"Can you blame him?" Miss Lovelace countered. "Gabriel is haunted by my brother's mysterious disappearance. He's carried the blame for years. Have a little compassion."

"I'll save my compassion for someone more deserving."

"Someone like Miss Lovelace?" Daventry asked. "If she's forced to interview her ladies at Studland Park, you'll miss the opportunity to ask crucial questions."

"I'll not have a woman living at Fortune's Den."

"All your brothers' wives stayed there for a short time."

Yes, and their brief stay ended with a trip down the aisle.

"I lack my brothers' patience. She'll not tolerate my beastly moods." He rummaged in his bag of ungentlemanly traits to find a few others. "I fight and curse and drink to excess."

Miss Lovelace laughed. "You're not so different from Rothley, then. Perhaps I'll try my luck at Studland Park. At least I'm friends with Gabriel, not merely his competitor. And I imagine he'll be keen to discover who killed Lord Howard."

Hell's teeth!

Every muscle in Aaron's abdomen tightened. The thought of her dining with Rothley in an intimate setting roused the devil in him. Rothley would press a lingering kiss to her knuckles and do everything possible to spend the night in her bed.

Daventry did not share his misgivings. "Excellent. Once we've given our statements and I've convinced the Home Secretary to allow you to conduct an investigation, I shall take you to Studland Park myself. I'm sure Rothley will be accommodating. "

A fool could see Daventry was goading him, manipulating the situation to suit his own purpose. In truth, he had Aaron by the ballocks and was intent on squeezing until they pained him.

"Perhaps we might meet tomorrow, Mr Chance." The sparkle of hope in Miss Lovelace's eyes had the power to unnerve him. He would rather hear her scathing retorts and watch her grit her teeth angrily. "You can tell me what you learned at the pawnbroker's, and I can let you read my ladies' statements."

The thought of her spending the night at Rothley's iniquitous den brought bile to Aaron's throat. But he was no better than the marquess. Miss Lovelace needed a man she could depend on. A man capable of feeling something other than disdain. A man who'd brave a storm just to glimpse her at the window.

Yet he prayed such a man did not exist.

"Daventry is right," it pained him to say. "If we mean to clear our names, we must put our differences aside. The upper floor at Fortune's Den is empty. You may come and go as you please."

She jerked in response. "You're inviting me to stay at Fortune's Den? It might look like we're lovers, and we conspired to put an end to Lord Howard."

"I'll speak to the Home Secretary," Daventry interjected. "I'm sure he will grant you leave to make your own enquiries. The Chance brothers have proven invaluable in helping to solve prominent cases."

"We'll be colleagues," Aaron said, "not competitors." Not friends. Not lovers. Not so desperate to sate a craving, they couldn't keep their hands to themselves. "I'm inviting you to stay for a few days. We'll have the villain in custody by then."

Cursed saints!

He couldn't believe the words had left his lips. But she was safer with him. He was as strong as the sturdiest dam. More than capable of keeping the powerful flood of emotions at bay. Not a single drop would spill over, not even in the face of temptation.