Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Mr Chance's bedchamber was on the first floor, nearest the sweeping staircase. Doubtless it was a masculine place with dark furniture and dark walls and dark velvet curtains the colour of his eyes—so black they proved disarming.

He had led Joanna past the door six hours earlier, the alluring scent of wood and subtle spice seeping from his private domain. The arousing smell had remained with her, flooding her nostrils so it felt like he was there, sharing every breath.

"You'll stay in Delphine's old room on the upper floor." He had marched ahead, carrying her valise, keen to keep ten feet between them. "It's quieter there, and the decor is more to your liking."

More to the point, it was the furthest room from his.

He didn't want her at Fortune's Den. Women were not welcome. His demeanour changed the moment he offered her sanctuary, the muscles in his shoulders bunching with tension, his mouth thinning into a grim line. He had barely spoken since they'd given their statements and waited while the coroner removed Lord Howard's body to the morgue.

So why his sudden change of heart ?

Why bring her here when it was the last thing he wanted?

Mr Chance had flinched when she mentioned staying at Studland Park. He disliked the Marquess of Rothley and was right to air his concerns. Guilt was a ghost haunting the lonely corridors of Gabriel's mind. Guilt was his constant companion. He didn't want a wife but would make an exception for her.

I owe it to your brother.

Taking care of you would be my retribution.

As if she would ever choose a life without love.

Gabriel hadn't promised fidelity or given her a reason to believe their affections might grow in time. They would live separately. She would have money and a grand home miles from town but no hope of finding happiness or a husband who adored her.

Which brought her back to the confounding Mr Chance.

A man who'd denied himself female company for eight years.

Her fiercest defender and her greatest critic.

If men were puzzles, he was the most complex.

Joanna observed herself in the looking glass, imagining a suit of armour beneath her deep blue dress. Dealing with Mr Chance would be an uphill battle. She would need her wits to keep up with him. Nothing mattered but finding the killer and saving them both from a trip to the gallows.

She went in search of the intrepid gentleman.

Despite it being two o'clock in the afternoon, a calm silence enveloped the house. Mr Chance wasn't in the dining room breaking his fast. He wasn't taking his frustration out on a punching bag in the basement; the door was locked. She followed the teasing scent of his shaving soap—a classic bergamot fragrance with dominant woody accents.

Snapping her spine straight, she knocked on the study door.

Seconds passed before he called, "Enter."

Nothing quite prepared a lady for seeing Mr Chance working at his desk. Though his chair was throne-like, he filled it with ease. He sat writing in a large notebook, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows to reveal powerful forearms. The well-defined muscles were a testament to his physical strength. The thick veins pulsing beneath his soft skin proved an attractive contradiction. A lady could enter a room blindfolded and easily pick him as the most virile male.

Then he looked at her, a glance through hard eyes. "I trust you slept well," he said, returning to his notebook.

"Reasonably well, all things considered." Breaking down his barriers would be more challenging than she thought. How did one destroy a shield of steel? Perhaps his was forged from magical metal because there was no doubt he was a force unto his own. "Have you been up long?"

"I never sleep past noon. Visit Baptiste in the kitchen. Tell him what you want to eat, and he'll serve you in the dining room."

She'd spent less than a minute in his company, and he was already ushering her out. "Your cook is French?"

He dipped his pen into the inkwell. "Baptiste doesn't live on the premises. If you require a late supper, you must tell him in advance. If you need extra bedding, speak to his wife, Eloise." Mr Chance glanced at the mantel clock. "She's left early today. Leave a note in the kitchen if you require anything, and she will attend to it tomorrow."

"I wouldn't want to put her to any trouble." Heavens. She could cut the atmosphere with a knife. "I'm used to fending for myself."

"I pay Eloise to do a job. It's no trouble."

Although her stomach rumbled with hunger, she approached the desk and sat in the chair opposite him. "If you have spare paper and a pen, I'll write to Miss Stowe and Miss Moorland and invite them here today."

"Not today." He looked like he'd rather poke pins in his eyes than entertain her friends. "It can wait until tomorrow. I want to visit the pawnbroker's. I need to know how Howard came by my father's watch."

What happened to working together?

"I see no reason why we can't achieve both tasks. You heard what the magistrate said. We have a week to find the murderer before his constables build a case against us."

The magistrate, Mr Harriott, demanded they remain in town. They were governed by a strict curfew, forbidden to enter The Burnished Jade, and warned to remain indoors after eight o'clock at night.

Mr Chance turned the notebook to face her. "I've spent two hours searching your ledger and recording what I know about the ladies who attend your club. Did you know Howard owed Miss Fitzpatrick's brother a thousand pounds?"

"No." Joanna sat forward and studied Mr Chance's notes. Such elegant handwriting was surprising for a man with large hands and a stern disposition. "Mr Fitzpatrick only permits his sister to attend my club when he's gambling here."

"As he was last night," Mr Chance confirmed, sounding suspicious. "Might he have entered your premises under the guise of collecting his sister?"

Joanna barely knew the fellow and there was a mass exodus at the end of the evening. "Mr Fitzpatrick usually waits in his carriage. He disapproved of me inviting men to join the merriment and permitted his sister to come because he's desperate to have her off his hands."

"Then I will add the Fitzpatricks to our list of suspects."

Guilt surfaced. While he'd been studying her ledger, she had slept late. "If I'd known you were working on the case, I would have joined you earlier."

What must he think of her?

The word useless sprang to mind.

"You were exhausted, and I can function with little sleep. "

He could have berated her but showed compassion instead. He might have insisted he was better equipped to deal with the problem but had used the phrase our list to signify they were a team.

"I shall strive to make an early start tomorrow." To prove herself a worthy partner, she would rise at dawn. "I can write to Miss Stowe and Miss Moorland and have them call at six o'clock. That would give us time to visit the pawnbroker's."

His gaze moved over her hair. "Are you equipped for an outing? You packed in a hurry, and your valise seemed light. Despite pleading poverty, you always dress in the current fashions."

His veiled dig was a means of gathering information about her private affairs. While she had nothing to hide, she decided to tease him. "I'm surprised you noticed me. When did you develop an interest in ladies' apparel?"

"I have no interest in anything but running my club, and learnt to be observant at a young age." Despite the determined set of his jaw, he wasn't being truthful.

"And your family. You care deeply about them."

That's when his guard slipped. When the warmth of tender thoughts softened his gaze, she glimpsed his unwavering love for his siblings.

It tightened her throat and stole her breath.

Beneath this hard exterior lived a man who knew the value of love. It was more attractive than his muscular chest and desirable lips. It spoke to her in a way his handsome features never could.

"I'd die for them," he uttered before hiding himself again.

"Yes, I believe you would."

Eager to change the subject, he said, "Did you bring a bonnet? You'll need an elegant one if we're walking together and the backbone to hold your head high. People will make assumptions."

A chuckle escaped her. "You don't need to concern yourself with my reputation. What do you think people say about an unmarried woman who runs a ladies' club?" Some were brazen enough to call her names and cross the street.

"They'd better say nothing when you're with me."

Joanna put her hand to her chest. Such comments softened a woman's heart. "I imagine most people will be too terrified to look in our direction. But I can call at the milliner's on Bishopsgate. I was so weary last night I'm not sure what I threw into my valise."

He stood abruptly. "Write your notes, and Sigmund will deliver them. I suggest we meet your friends at five at Pickins coffeehouse. It will ruin their future prospects if they're seen entering a men's club."

Again, his concerns were not for himself.

How intriguing.

"I'll write to them now, then fetch my pelisse. I'm sure Mrs Shaw at the milliner's will have a hat to suit me. She knows what style I like."

"Have her send the bill here."

"I can pay for my own hat, Mr Chance." Being skilled with a needle and thread, she often took work home for Mrs Shaw. The extra funds helped to keep her father's creditors at bay.

"As I demanded you wear one, I insist on footing the bill." He rolled down his shirtsleeves, an action that would have any woman reaching for a fan. "I'll visit Baptiste and have him make a basket for the journey. You need to eat. I'll not have you fainting midway through an interview."

"I prayed you'd not heard my stomach growling."

"As I said, I'm nothing if not observant." He snatched his coat from the back of the chair and thrust his muscular arms into the sleeves. "Be ready in thirty minutes. I'm just as pedantic about timekeeping." And then he strode out of the room, though his presence lingered.

Joanna relaxed back in the chair and took a calming breath .

This situation was becoming problematic. It was easy to feel like his equal when trying to prove a point. She could hold her own when tempers were frayed. But these rare glimpses of kindness were like discovering diamonds buried deep in dark rock—too astonishing to put into words. And his tailor needed a knighthood. Anyone who designed a coat that hugged a man like a second skin deserved some credit.

Worse still, Mr Chance made her feel like a helpless child, not a woman who'd taken command of her own destiny.

Something had to change.

Somehow, she had to turn the tide.

"Good heavens, have you tried your cook's pastries?" Seated in Mr Chance's elegant carriage and wearing her new pillbox hat in imperial blue, Joanna licked cream from her lips. "They're the most divine thing I've ever tasted."

Mr Chance didn't tear his gaze from the window, though there was nothing exciting happening outside. "Why do you think I pay Baptiste double what he would earn elsewhere?"

Joanna hummed with satisfaction. She knew he found it irritating. "Would you mind finishing what's left of this croissant? I want to try the sugar-coated one next. It's simply begging me to take a bite."

"Leave it in the basket." He dragged his hand down his face and refused to look at her. "Can you not eat quietly? Anyone would think you've lived in a cave for the last twenty-eight years."

"What's wrong with acknowledging the pleasurable things in life? Would you prefer I complain about our current predicament? Should I spend every hour sobbing until they hang me from the gallows?"

He looked at her then, his head shooting around as fast as a compass finding north. "Don't say that, not even in jest. I'll not rest until the real culprit is behind bars." He closed his eyes briefly and cursed under his breath. "You have cream on your chin."

"Have I? Where?" She'd hold his attention if it killed her.

"As you only have one chin, it should be obvious."

She knew exactly where it was, but human interaction weakened his resolve. In this game of wills, the friendly card unsettled him more than the angry one.

"Has it gone?"

With a fleeting glance, he said, "No."

She tried not to laugh as she wiped the wrong side of her chin. "Can I reach it with my tongue?"

"Saints preserve us. If you can't keep cream off your chin, what hope is there of you catching a murderer?" He pulled a black silk handkerchief from his pocket and thrust it at her. "Here. Keep it."

Strange that his last comment should cause her heart to pound. Owning something belonging to Aaron Chance was a remarkable feat indeed, more so because he gave nothing of himself.

The silk was soft in her hand, the smell of his shaving soap divine. She wiped her chin with her finger as he glared out the window, then slipped his handkerchief into her pelisse pocket.

"It's probably best I eat no more," she said.

"If it means saving me from hearing the constant licking of your lips, I agree. I'll tell Baptiste you want ham and eggs tomorrow."

Joanna chuckled to herself.

What was his problem?

Did he spend his life in perpetual bitterness? He was present in body and mind but not heart and soul. What made him happy? What filled him with joy? He never laughed. He never smiled. Though she thought she'd seen the corner of his mouth twitch when she'd called him a prized ape.

It was not a topic for conversation now.

Not when he had retreated to his lair.

Despite being unable to find her father and brother, she would try her utmost to find Mr Chance. He was hiding somewhere beneath that magnificent body and gruff temper.

"Lord Howard had a new mistress," she said, drawing him out with a snippet of gossip. "By all accounts, she is new to town. I heard mention of it last night when Mr Jenkins accused Madame Rossellini of being the elusive paramour."

Mr Chance turned in the seat, ensuring their knees didn't touch. "That explains the argument that erupted shortly before Howard accused my croupier of cheating. When I spoke to Sigmund this morning, he remembered men goading Howard, saying he lacked the skills to keep an exotic woman entertained."

Why any woman would waste a minute of their time on such a feeble fool was a complete mystery. "It shouldn't be difficult to find her. You could ask your patrons, or I could call on Gabriel. He will surely?—"

"I'll not involve Rothley," Mr Chance said sharply before modifying his tone. "The fewer people who know of our predicament, the better. We were told to conduct a discreet investigation."

"The word discreet does not exist within the ton ." People were suspicious by nature, none more so than those who idled their days away. "The gossips will soon discover Lord Howard was found dead in my house. I'll be surprised if Daventry can keep it a secret for a day, let alone a week."

Mr Chance relaxed against the squab and dragged his hand through his thick, black hair. "I have an idea, though I expect you'll disagree. "

"What? That we conduct separate investigations to speed up the process?" He'd probably spent the last twenty minutes thinking of ways to get rid of her.

"No." He shifted in the seat. "That we plan your escape."

"My escape?" Her blood ran cold.

"If the evidence is stacked against you and they mention taking you in for questioning, I can have you out of the country within hours. We must be one step ahead of the authorities."

Joanna couldn't quite catch her breath. "Leave my home and my friends?" She had put her heart and soul into making The Burnished Jade successful. "I'm innocent. Surely it won't come to that."

"Let's hope not," he said, sounding sincere. "But I'm a pessimist, remember. I plan for every scenario. Money is no object. I'll fund everything. You could live in France until the true villain is caught and locked in Newgate."

He would give her the money to flee?

"But I couldn't repay you."

"It would be a gift, not a loan."

"You'd give money to a stranger?"

"My sister would never forgive me if I let you perish."

Joanna clasped her chest, fear creeping into her heart for the first time today. "What about you? You're just as likely to be accused of the crime."

"I'll not leave London," he said, his tone resolute. "I made an oath sixteen years ago. I would rather die than break that vow."

Joanna stared at him, this handsome picture of perfection who boasted about his many flaws. Sticking to his principles wasn't one of them. When the Lord gave men integrity, Mr Chance had the lion's share.

"An oath to whom?"

"Myself."

She swallowed deeply. "You'll not save yourself, but you'll save me? "

He shrugged like it didn't matter. "There is nothing I hate more than injustice. You're innocent. I'll not let you die because of that"—he stopped abruptly and gritted his teeth—"fool."

"There's no need to curb your language on my account."

"What I think of that fop is not fit for your ears." He cracked his knuckles to show what he'd do if Lord Howard wasn't dead. "Well? Will you permit me to put a plan in place?"

She snorted. "I'm surprised you've asked. You usually do what you want, regardless of other people's opinions."

He fixed her to the seat with his impenetrable gaze. "I can issue demands if you prefer." His voice held the dangerous undertone that excited her more than unnerved her.

"Yes. If the time comes, you must force me to comply. Kidnap me if necessary." She would not leave The Burnished Jade willingly. And though loath to admit it, she trusted him to make the right decision. He acted with his head, not his heart. "It's the only time you will ever play the domineering patriarch with me, Mr Chance."

He nodded. And the deal was done.

The carriage stopped outside Mr Josiah Grimshaw's Pawnbroker and Curiosities shop on Regent Street. An odd assortment of items filled the bow windows: dusty hats and brass-topped walking sticks, tarnished silverware, old pocket watches and signet rings.

Mr Chance alighted. He lingered on the pavement as if he'd never assisted a woman from a carriage before and appeared confused about what to do.

Joanna lifted her skirts, ducked her head and reached for him.

He went to grip the tips of her fingers, but she slid her palm over his and clasped his hand. That's when the world shifted. When the only thing on her mind was the delicious wave of warmth flooding her body.

He looked shaken. Like he did the night she entered his basement in her dressing gown and found him wearing nothing but his trousers.

She was attracted to him.

She'd never felt this with any other man.

Most of the time, their rows masked the odd flicker of feelings. Which was just as well, because only a fool would have romantic fantasies about a man who could barely tolerate her.

She released him, frustration bubbling because life was always unfair. "Perhaps I should speak to Mr Grimshaw. You're far too intimidating." And oddly charming, she thought, especially when plotting to rescue a damsel in distress.

He made no protest and gestured for her to enter the shop. He even held the door open, so had no issue playing the gentleman when it suited him.

A stout fellow stood behind the counter, holding an eyeglass to his left eye while examining the jewels in a necklace. "I'll be with you in a moment. You're welcome to look around while you're waiting."

"We're not here to make a purchase," she said, approaching the counter, "but to ask questions relating to a police matter."

Mr Grimshaw's hand shook as he returned the necklace to the roll of red velvet on the counter. He looked at Joanna, then at Mr Chance. "I ain't never heard of a lady working at Bow Street. But I know of crooks who pretend they need to confiscate stolen goods and then pocket the booty."

"Then perhaps you should pay attention to current affairs. Ladies work in covert operations because criminals don't suspect them." Joanna turned to her colleague and held out her palm. "Might I have the evidence, Mr Chance?"

He made that face again, the same grimace he'd given the magistrate when told to take the watch and prove Lord Howard had purchased it and not stolen it from Fortune's Den.

Mr Chance handed her the watch and addressed the pawnbroker. "Unless you want us to inspect the paperwork for all your recent purchases, I suggest you answer the lady's questions, Grimshaw."

Mr Grimshaw moved the necklace to a drawer under the counter. "What do you want to know? I sell ten watches a week. Sold as seen. I can't be held responsible if they're faulty."

Joanna placed the full hunter on the velvet roll. "This was found on a murdered man's body. We need to know when the victim bought the watch and the name of the person who sold it to you."

Mr Grimshaw ran his hand down his stained mustard waistcoat. "I'll need a name if I'm to find him in the receipt book. Might I take a closer look at the timepiece?"

Joanna smiled. "Of course."

The pawnbroker weighed it in his palm, studied the gold chain, opened the front case and examined the face. Nothing sparked his interest until he noted the image of a stallion engraved inside the back case.

"I remember this all right. It's the oddest sale I ever made." His grin died as panic set in. "Here, I suspected it was stolen, but she didn't want any money. All I had to do was convince the gent to buy the watch when they came in a few hours later."

Joanna failed to contain her excitement. "When was this?"

Mr Grimshaw shrugged. "Last Thursday or Friday."

"A week ago?" Mr Chance stepped up to the counter. "I want the name of the woman who gave you the watch. Reputable pawnbrokers take an address. I presume you have it to hand."

"I didn't take the details because I didn't pay her."

Mr Chance's temper flared like a struck match. "Describe her."

"Pretty. Foreign looking. Hair as black as coal. Spoke with an accent. I'd put her in her twenties." Mr Grimshaw turned to the cluttered shelf behind him and removed his receipt book. "I sold it to the gent and took his name. He was a toff. Mass of wavy blonde hair. Thin as a penny's edge. "

The description fitted Lord Howard perfectly. Except Mr Grimshaw had forgotten to say a mean devil lived beneath his angelic facade.

"Here it is." Mr Grimshaw pressed his dirty finger to the entry in his book. "Mr Simpson. Staying at the Clarendon Hotel. I sold it for the bargain price of twenty pounds. He wanted a half-hunter, but she insisted he have that one."

She must have insisted Lord Howard give a false name and address, too.

"Did you not question the provenance?" Mr Chance said.

"I don't care where it came from, only that I can turn a profit." The broker returned the book to the shelf. "If it's any help, I'd say he's paying for her keep." He nodded at Mr Chance. "I'm sure you take my meaning."

"Have you ever seen the woman before?" Joanna asked.

"No, but her sort often sells trinkets to pay the rent." Mr Grimshaw jerked as he remembered something else. "The gent bought the watch to please her, though I got the impression he didn't want to wear it. Like he knew it was some sort of game."

That might explain why Lord Howard kept it in the velvet pouch. Perhaps he planned to see his mistress later that night, and she would expect to see him wearing the watch.

"We'll wait while you write a statement detailing exactly what you told us," Mr Chance said in the masterful tone that left most men quivering. "Or you can close the shop and accompany us to the nearest police office."

Wanting rid of them, Mr Grimshaw obliged while Mr Chance loomed over his shoulder, insisting he record every detail.

They left the shop with their first piece of evidence and the watch Mr Chance carried like it was possessed by his father's evil spirit.

"We'll call at Daventry's office in Hart Street before our meeting at the coffeehouse." He opened the carriage door for her. " Now we have Grimshaw's statement, let him be the custodian of this damnable timepiece."

"It's just a watch," she made the mistake of saying.

"It's not the watch," he snapped, retreating into his fortress and slamming the portcullis shut. "It's what it represents. A selfish blackguard who hurt his own children to line his pockets. You should know better than to make light of something others find painful."

She climbed into the carriage without his assistance, though she felt the power of his burning gaze on her back.

"How am I to understand if you don't tell me what you're thinking?" she said once they had settled into their seats.

"You don't need to understand. I'm not in the habit of sharing my private thoughts with anyone." He looked out the window as the carriage lurched forward and picked up speed. Something made him modify his tone and make a concession. "I warned you. I'm not easy company, particularly when it comes to personal matters. Remember that, and we may still be on speaking terms next week."

That's when she knew laying siege to his fortress would only force him to increase his defences. She needed to disguise herself as one of his men and sneak past the guardhouse undetected.

She'd need to prove she was his ally, not his enemy.