Chapter 5

Chapter Five

As with most Friday afternoons, Pickins coffeehouse was a bustling hive of activity. Aaron ordered coffee for himself and Pekoe tea for Miss Lovelace. Then he lingered at the counter for brief seconds to bolster his defences.

It wasn't the prospect of locating the mysterious woman who once owned his father's watch that unsettled him. Nor his body's fierce reaction upon hearing Miss Lovelace devour a crème patissière . Or the sudden spark of attraction the moment she gripped his hand.

It was the thought of her leaving London. Perhaps for good.

No more stolen glances.

No bickering that fed a need he didn't quite understand.

No wishing he were a different man.

It would be for the best. They were destined to part ways, and he'd rather her visit France than the gallows. Besides, the more time they spent together, the harder he had to fight to keep his fortress walls intact.

He didn't need a friend. He didn't want a lover. Life was complicated enough. Soon, he would be an uncle, and the relentless desire to protect the child would consume him night and day.

"I hear the seed cake here is exceptional," Miss Lovelace said when Aaron returned to his seat in a booth they'd been lucky enough to secure.

"Cake will spoil your dinner." Aaron withdrew his watch and checked the time. "I'll not let Baptiste's hard work go to waste."

Miss Lovelace didn't snap at him like he'd hoped. "Don't you think it strange Lord Howard used an alias but kept the watch in a pouch embellished with the pawnbroker's name?"

"Mr Simpson might be the name he uses when staying at hotels with his mistress." Aaron distracted himself by looking for the waiter bringing their refreshments. He did not wish to discuss lovers' antics with Miss Lovelace. "Howard was a dolt and probably had no idea he was being used as a pawn."

"A pawn? Then you believe someone targeted Lord Howard to frame you for murder? Why not kill him elsewhere and leave the body in your club's yard? Why involve me?"

Aaron relaxed a little. Logical questions needed logical answers. They did not chip away at the ice encasing his heart.

"Because they feared I would dispose of the body and their efforts would be in vain. A witness will say they saw me entering your club." They might suggest Miss Lovelace was Aaron's mistress and accomplice, but he couldn't think about that now. "You'd be surprised what men will do to please a woman."

She tilted her head, little lines appearing between her brows. "You seem calm for a man who may face a murder charge."

"None of us leave this world alive." The blasé comment did not reflect the riot of panic inside. Who would protect his family when he was gone? The question kept him awake most nights, staring at the ceiling until dawn. "Anyone who's fought me in the ring knows I'm a formidable opponent."

She pulled gently at her lips, which she always did when worried or nervous. "I have a suggestion, though you will probably raze the roof in protest."

"I'm not leaving London."

"Not even for a short time?"

"No. What if the villain comes for Aramis in my absence?" If their estranged uncle, the Earl of Berridge, was involved in this debacle, he wouldn't rest until all the Chance brothers died. "My uncle has no heir. He'll see me hanged before I'm named the next Earl of Berridge."

Miss Lovelace gasped. "You're the heir to an earldom?"

"Not anymore." He explained that his reprobate father had traded his birthright for an exorbitant sum of money, a move sanctioned by the monarch thirty-five years ago. "My father's family cut all ties and forced him to change his surname from Delmont to Chance."

It took her a few seconds to absorb the information.

"Aaron Delmont," she mused, repeating the name three times to test the sound. "I prefer Aaron Chance. It sounds more masterful and reflects your two greatest hobbies—fighting and gambling."

"I don't gamble." He needed to change the subject. Hearing his Christian name on her lips did strange things to his insides. "Building an empire took more than blood, sweat and tears. It took my heart and soul." She would never understand what he'd sacrificed. His life was not his own.

"All the more reason to reclaim your birthright. The Crown will not render the title extinct if there's an heir."

"An earl cannot own a gaming hell."

"You could sell Fortune's Den." She paused to thank the waiter who brought their beverages. "Or your brothers could run the business without you."

Without him?

The notion was unthinkable .

Explaining what the club meant to him would involve revealing aspects of his painful past. He didn't want to venture into that dark abyss. He didn't want to face the demons living there.

"I'll never leave Fortune's Den."

"Not even?—"

"Never. Let that be the end of the matter."

A tense silence enveloped them. Miss Lovelace poured her tea while Aaron stared at his coffee, a drink as black as his heart. A minute passed, though it felt like an hour. His pulse had barely settled when his inquisitive colleague asked the question no one else had ever dared.

"Who are you angry with?"

Those five words slipped through a chink in his armour. The urge to stand and storm out, to put a vast ocean between them, battled with the lost child who had been denied a voice.

"The world," he said darkly.

It wasn't the whole truth. He was angry with himself.

"Anger is an easy emotion to feel," she said, absently stirring her tea. "It gives you a sense of control when everything around you is chaotic. Acceptance takes strength. Forgiveness is reserved for the special few who are no longer afraid to feel vulnerable. Sadly, I am not one of them."

Aaron shifted in his seat. He would rather tolerate her hands on his naked body than suffer this intimate probe into his psyche. Forgiveness was for fools. He would never accept the past or make excuses for his father's cruelty.

Indeed, he breathed a sigh of relief when the coffeehouse door burst open and two women entered. They craned their necks and scanned the room before waving at Miss Lovelace and hurrying to join them. Then they saw him and came to a crashing halt at the table.

Aaron stood while the temptress opposite introduced a nervous Miss Stowe and Miss Moorland. He called the waiter and ordered more tea, though both ladies remained rooted to the spot.

"Do sit down. Mr Chance doesn't bite." Miss Lovelace moved to sit beside Aaron, invading his space, her thigh too close to his, while her friends occupied the opposite bench. "I imagine you're wondering why I called you here."

Miss Stowe's bright blue eyes conveyed a desire to know everything. "Does it have something to do with the attack on Miss Beckett? When the assailant left, he?—"

"Mr Parker," Miss Moorland added, looking studious in spectacles. "That's the name of the man who left The Burnished Jade with a broken nose and bruised knuckles after being hit with the poker."

"Mr Thomas Parker? Sir Geoffrey's brother?" Aaron asked.

Miss Moorland, who had kept her gaze fixed on Miss Lovelace, gulped when she glanced at him. "Yes. He left promising to sue and called us a menagerie of oddities."

"He said he would ensure the club never opened again," Miss Stowe added.

Miss Lovelace put the threats to bed. "It's nonsense. I doubt he would want all and sundry knowing two young women chased him out."

Aaron agreed though he would question Parker. "Do either of you know Lord Howard? Did you see him at The Burnished Jade last night?"

Miss Moorland removed her spectacles and placed them on the table. "I know him. I saw him lurking in the street but don't recall seeing him on the premises."

"I saw him peering through the drawing room window," Miss Stowe added, her cheeks reddening when she looked at Aaron. "What is this about?"

"Howard is dead," Aaron said, though he wasn't prepared to reveal more than they could read in the broadsheets.

Miss Lovelace threw caution to the wind, leant across the table and whispered, "Someone killed him at The Burnished Jade and is trying to frame one of us for his murder." She gestured to Aaron, touching him briefly on the arm. "We have a week to find the culprit before we're hauled into the police office for questioning."

Both ladies gaped.

"Why would anyone wish to frame either of you?" came Miss Stowe's naive reply.

"I ruin men for a living," Mr Chance said.

"I'm sure you don't drag them in at gunpoint."

"Those facing a stint in the Marshalsea always look for someone else to blame." Gamblers ignored their own failings. Addicts fooled no one but themselves.

Miss Moorland reached to clasp Miss Lovelace's hand. "Do you suspect this has something to do with your poor brother? I'm sure you said Lord Howard belonged to the same group of friends at Cambridge."

"It's been ten years since Justin disappeared. There's no proof the body found was his or that his friends were involved." Miss Lovelace nudged Aaron's leg beneath the table, a covert signal to remain silent. "What other motive could I have for killing the man?"

It was clear she had not told her friends about Howard's brutal attack in her garden all those years ago. Yet she trusted Aaron with the information. Trust was fundamental to all thriving relationships, so he quickly told himself she had no choice.

The waiter returned with the ladies' tea. Miss Stowe poured a tiny amount into her cup and left the tea to steep while she asked an important question.

"What can we do to help?"

Miss Lovelace wasted no time in giving them a few tasks. "Can you find out who encouraged Madame Rossellini to give an encore? I'm also curious to know if any ladies were seen sneaking upstairs. Perhaps you might make discreet enquiries. And I need a list of all the men who entered my premises last night. Someone stole the record I made."

"The murderer, no doubt," Miss Stowe said.

Miss Moorland was more interested in the murder scene. "May I ask how Lord Howard died? Was it terribly gruesome?"

Aaron thought to test the wallflower's metal as she did not seem that shy. "He was stabbed in the back with a Mughal dagger. Might you know anyone who collects Indian weaponry? A person whose ancestors may have been granted the honour of being presented with one from an emperor?"

Miss Moorland tried to look him in the eye and seemed almost angry with herself when her gaze wandered. "No, sir."

"Your manner says you're lying."

Miss Lovelace jumped to the lady's defence. "Miss Moorland is being entirely honest. Despite our many lessons in the art of talking to gentlemen, she finds eye contact the most difficult."

"Talking is an art form now?" he mocked.

"You find it difficult on occasion. When I interrupted your fight in the basement a few months ago, it took an age before you could string two words together."

She had descended the stairs in a dressing gown that hugged every curve, her golden hair hanging in lustrous waves around her shoulders. He'd been dumbstruck. He'd battled to breathe, let alone form a coherent word.

"I was about to punch a man. I believe I told you to get out."

"Your sister dragged me there because you were about to assault Mr Flynn. She said I was her last hope. The one person who might make you see sense."

Aaron gritted his teeth. "Flynn ruined her."

"They were in love, not that you'd know what it means."

"Do you?" he countered, not wanting to hear the answer.

"Of course not. But I imagine one loses all grasp of reality."

Miss Moorland sighed. "The poets say love is sublime. Though when it comes to marriage, I would happily settle for a kind man who accepts my interest in the macabre. Perhaps a handsome doctor like Mr Gentry."

Gentry! The man was married to his work. And a woman with Miss Moorland's timid disposition would not convince him to push his responsibilities aside and indulge in carnal pleasures.

Finding romantic chatter mind-numbing, Aaron snatched an opportunity to avoid this drivel. "On the subject of the macabre, let's return to the more sensible subject of murder."

Miss Moorland took offence, any fears of speaking her mind vanishing like a puff of smoke. "You believe worrying about one's prospects is foolish? Do you know what it's like to have no control over your life? To have your wishes discarded like peelings thrown on a compost heap?"

An unwelcome memory invaded Aaron's thoughts.

You're coming with me, boy.

I'll hear no more of your whimpering.

"Trust me," he said, striving to keep the menacing edge from his tone. "I know the feeling better than you ever will."

A tense silence ensued, broken by the lively chatter in the other booths, someone coughing up a piece of cake and Miss Stowe stirring her tea.

"It seems we have more in common with Mr Chance than one might expect," Miss Lovelace said, playing peacemaker. "As a man who knows the true meaning of desperation, perhaps we might enlist his help with our cause."

Aaron sensed he'd stepped into a trap. "Your cause?"

"Helping my ladies in the fight to find suitable husbands."

"What the devil has it got to do with me?"

Excitement shone in Miss Stowe's eyes. "There is no man more intimidating. We might practise the art of conversation with Mr Chance."

"Like hell you will. "

"You see." Miss Stowe was pointing at him now. "He's totally disagreeable and a perfect candidate for our studies."

"What an excellent idea." Miss Lovelace beamed at her protégés. "What would you consider to be Mr Chance's best physical feature? I'm sure he's keen to know. Don't be afraid to voice your opinion."

Aaron stood abruptly and tossed back the remains of his coffee. "I'm not a performing monkey. I'll pay the bill and wait outside. May I remind you we have a week to solve the crime?"

The infuriating Miss Lovelace grabbed his arm and stared at him with doe eyes. "Please, Mr Chance. What if someone had offered you a helping hand? You can reply as you see fit. The sharper the better."

"Your ladies won't withstand my criticism." They lacked her strength and undeniable resilience. "We have enough to deal with without this circus show."

"I think his shoulders are his best feature," Miss Moreland said, popping on her spectacles to study him in greater detail. "You're?—"

"Dare say another word, madam, and you'll not like my reply."

Miss Lovelace encouraged her student. "Don't be intimidated. Mr Chance is exceptionally good at making a woman feel foolish." She looked at him, a pleading he found hard to ignore. "Allow her to finish, and we will turn our attention back to solving the murder."

Were he not the prime suspect, he would curse them all to Hades. "You have one chance to explain why, Miss Moorland. Then I never want to hear your empty compliments again."

Miss Moorland waited for him to sit before she rose to the challenge. "You're practically bursting out of that coat."

Aaron scoffed. "If you want to leave a man intrigued, you might try being a little more subtle."

"Allow me to show you." Miss Lovelace turned in the seat, her vibrant eyes observing the breadth of his shoulders. "You must give me the name of your tailor, Mr Chance. I've never seen a man fill a coat quite so well."

Their eyes met, and he felt the ache in his loins that made him want to clear the coffeehouse, knock the cups on the floor, and take Miss Lovelace over the table. "Your comment screams of insincerity."

She smiled. "How odd. I meant every word."

Her honest response only heightened her appeal.

"Your banter is hardly original." Unlike the lady herself. He had never met anyone quite like her. "I'm not as shallow as most men. I don't care what you think of my physique."

"You have exceptional eyes," Miss Stowe chimed. "They say black is the colour of rebellion."

Miss Lovelace grinned. "Well done, Miss Stowe. Mr Chance does indeed carry an air of defiance. Yet you must dig deeper if you want a man to know you have noticed him."

Aaron's heart skipped a beat when Miss Lovelace gazed into his eyes again. He should have put an end to this nonsense yet he was too damn desperate for her praise.

She moistened her lips. "People make the mistake of thinking your eyes are black. Those people have never seen you speak about your family or witnessed a kind gesture. Then your eyes gleam like a starry night—so bright and full of promise. One must be quick to catch the spectacle before storm clouds shield them again."

Aaron swallowed past the tightening of his throat.

Why did she see something no one else did?

"How perceptive," he said with necessary arrogance.

"I have an advantage," she confessed. "I've seen the best and the worst of you, Mr Chance. Most people are denied the privilege."

He didn't correct her. She had not seen him pummel his opponents, seen blood and sweat dripping down his face, or heard his feral growl when he put a man twice his size on his arse.

She had not seen him on his knees when his brother was shot, praying at Theo's bedside, tears filling his eyes and rolling down his stubbled cheeks. She had not heard him whisper words of love and loyalty. Had never seen him without his guard raised.

But he needed to batten down the hatches and prepare for every eventuality if he was to keep her out in the future.

"Enough of this nonsense," he said, fixing her friends with his stern gaze, reminding them he was a sinner, not a saint. Turning his head a fraction, he gave Miss Lovelace a similar warning. "Do not presume to know me. You'll be making a foolish mistake."

"How could I presume to know you?" she whispered. "You don't even know yourself." Before he could reply, she faced her friends. "I'm staying with Mr Chance at Fortune's Den, though you're not to mention a word of what we've discussed to anyone. Send a note if you discover anything of interest, and we can arrange to meet here."

Looking a tad nervous, both ladies nodded.

Aaron wasn't ready to leave until he had answers to his remaining questions. "Tell me about your maid soprano, Miss Stowe. I assume she is Italian. I have yet to meet a maid with the time to learn a second language."

"Lucia came from Naples when she was ten. Her parents took ill and died during the crossing. An English lady aboard the ship took her in. Lucia speaks fluent Italian and sings like an angel."

"Who lives in your house?" he pressed.

Miss Stowe swallowed, the pained look of a sad tale evident in her eyes. "Me and my ailing father. He is bedridden and hasn't left the house for almost a year."

Aaron softened his hard tone. "I'm told a guest at The Burnished Jade thought she might be Lord Howard's new paramour. Might Lucia have met the lord? Is she permitted to leave the house at night? Are you aware of her movements during the day?"

Miss Stowe failed to suppress a chuckle. "Lucia is not Lord Howard's paramour. I can assure you of that. We spend most of our evenings together. She barely finishes her daily tasks in time for supper."

Still, Aaron would pay a man to watch the house. "What is your opinion of Miss Fitzpatrick's brother?"

Miss Moorland was the first to answer. "His liver is pickled. The man spends more time sotted than sober. He plays the caring guardian well, but it's a facade."

"He is unkind to her when they're at home," Miss Lovelace added as if to remind him of his own cold manner. "Cruel is too harsh a word."

Miss Stowe glanced around the coffeehouse before revealing a snippet of information. "She believes he's paid someone to ruin her so he could send her to live with the nuns of St Agnes in Hertfordshire."

"Might Lord Howard have accosted Miss Fitzpatrick, forcing her to defend herself?" Aaron asked, though felt sure the answer was no.

A man had the strength to drive a blade into someone's back. A lady would need to be terrified, panicked, to commit such an act. That said, he'd be wise to remember there were wicked women in the world. Time spent living on the street had taught him that.

The ladies looked at each other and shrugged.

Aaron would find Fitzpatrick tonight and drag the truth from the devil's lips if he were not bound by a curfew. He'd question his patrons but couldn't open the club until the case was solved.

He stood. "Send word to Miss Lovelace when you have the information she requires. I would also appreciate your discretion." Needing time alone, he glanced at Miss Lovelace. "Stay here and talk to your friends. I'll pay the bill and walk home. My coachman will wait outside for you. You're to leave with no one but him."

She didn't argue. "I'll be an hour at most. I'll not risk breaking curfew. I'm sure you have business matters that require your attention, so won't disturb you unless I have new information to impart."

He had a family matter to attend to first. Having cancelled this morning's meeting, his brothers would demand to know why he'd closed the club. But it could wait until tomorrow. Answering their endless questions was the last thing he needed tonight.

After hearing Miss Lovelace's thoughtful appraisal, knowing she had noticed him more than she should, he would put all his energy into avoiding her. There'd be no candlelit dinner for two. No reading together by the fireside. No chance meeting on the stairs.

There would be him.

Just him.

Alone in his study, banishing a dream he would never fulfil.