My Kind of Scoundrel (Rogues of Fortune’s Den #4)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Eleanor woke to find herself in a dark bedchamber—Mr Chance’s bedchamber. The midnight blue curtains were drawn, though she could hear the hustle and bustle of daily life outside on the street. Dogs barked. Carriages clattered over the cobblestones. A costermonger proclaimed his apples were the juiciest this side of the Thames.

Inside the opulent chamber, all was quiet.

Someone had tucked in the bedsheets. Sheets that smelled of his cologne. Sheets that were warm and smooth against her bare legs.

Merciful Lord, her legs were bare.

Someone had stripped off her clothes.

Eleanor came up on her elbows, wincing because her head throbbed and every muscle ached. Her mouth was as dry as old parchment, though that was the least of her concerns.

Panicked, she peered under the covers. Her gaze settled on the delicate muslin nightgown clinging to her curves and the silk ribbons fastened into a bow under her bust. The pretty garment did not belong to her, yet wearing another woman’s gown was not what played havoc with her insides.

Seeing her bare thighs resting on Theodore Chance’s bedsheets caused a strange fluttering in her belly. Being cocooned in his intimate space brought a profound sense of closeness to a man she should keep at bay.

Her gaze shot to the pillows.

Had he slept beside her?

Had his leg stroked hers in the night?

Had his hand skimmed her hip?

She should be glad she could not remember. Mr Chance had a way of slipping under a woman’s skin and taking command of her senses. Yet the weight of disappointment was prevalent. She had missed another chance to feel something beautiful, something other than loneliness and fear.

She might have buried her face in his pillow, but the muttering voices on the landing drew her attention to the door. As the knob turned slowly, Eleanor fell back on the pillows and feigned sleep.

She recognised Mr Chance’s rich baritone before he stepped into the room. The timbre of his voice was permanently etched in her memory.

He turned to the elderly woman accompanying him and said quietly, “Stay with her. I shall be two hours unless Pickering needs a hard lesson in integrity.”

Pickering?

Mr Chance was to visit the travelling librarian without her?

Surely they had missed their six o’clock appointment.

“Take as long as you need,” the woman said, a gentle softness to her voice. “I bought a healing tincture from the apothecary in Cornhill. It’s meant to restore one’s vigour. Let’s pray it has some effect.”

Eleanor peered through narrowed eyes and saw it was Mrs Maloney. They had met at Delphine’s wedding. The woman had given the family lodgings when they were children and was like a mother to them all.

Mr Chance hung his head. “This is my fault. Miss Darrow wouldn’t be in this predicament were it not for my foolish antics.”

“And you’re doing everything you can to make amends.” Mrs Maloney rubbed the man’s arm like he’d just come in from the cold. “You weren’t to know the poor girl was in trouble. Just as she didn’t know that helping Delphine would see you shot.”

“But what if she never recovers?”

“She will. She needs rest, that’s all. Happen she’s barely slept these last few weeks. And I expect you’re basing the theory on past memories.”

“Perhaps.” His sad sigh tugged at Eleanor’s heartstrings.

Mrs Maloney moved to the washstand and filled the porcelain bowl with water from the pitcher. “Aaron said you refused to leave this room last night. Have you slept?”

“A little. Though I have a crick in my neck from that darned chair.”

The woman looked at the offending article. “I’ll stay here tonight.” She swished a linen square in the water and wrung it out. “When you return from visiting that Pickering fellow, I suggest you rest, too.”

Mr Chance stepped closer to the bed. “Gentry said it’s normal for someone with a head injury to sleep for three days, but I find it hard to be optimistic.”

Three days !

Eleanor had spent three days in Theodore Chance’s impressive bed? During sleepless nights, she had imagined climbing into bed beside him, but she was always a lucid participant in her dreams.

“I never meant to hurt her.” He sat on the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands. “I pray she will understand why I’ve taken it upon myself to attend to the issues at her modiste shop.”

Eleanor’s heart missed a beat.

What had he done? Boarded the windows? Sold everything of value? Given the landlord her notice?

She didn’t need him riding roughshod over her ambitions. After a lifetime of subservience, she’d sworn never to be anyone’s puppet. And yet, that’s precisely what she had become. A pawn for the ton ’s amusement.

Mrs Maloney came to join him at Eleanor’s bedside. “I’m sure Miss Darrow will be most grateful, especially when she learns how hard you’ve worked.”

The press of cold linen on her forehead tore a gasp from her dry lips. “Good Lord.” She was so parched the words were barely audible.

Mr Chance jumped like he’d sat on a pin. “Miss Darrow?” he panted, his voice laced with relief. He reached for her hand and clasped it tightly. “Can you hear me?”

Eleanor lifted her eyelids and gazed into his magnificent blue eyes. “Y-yes.”

Mrs Maloney hurried to the chest of drawers, pulled the stopper from a green bottle and poured water into a glass. “Have a sip of this, dear. It’s boiled, and I added a sprig of rosemary. It’s said to aid the memory.”

Mr Chance helped her to sit and propped the pillows. The brief touch of his fingers on her back sent a delightful shiver to her toes.

After taking a long drink of water, Eleanor clutched the glass and tried to gain some clarity. “How long have I been sleeping?” It couldn’t have been three days, but to her dismay, Mr Chance confirmed as much.

“You woke a few times but were not always coherent.” A weak smile touched his lips. Was he recalling something she had said while in a stupor? “Let’s just say I may have new information to trade.”

He was teasing her, playing the jester to settle both their fears. Nothing about her mundane life was worth trading for one of his heart-stopping kisses. Still, the desire to see his smile broaden left her keen to reply.

“As this is a gaming hell, perhaps we might take command of the tables and make a proper wager.”

“Ah, you refer to the piquet and claret evening you mentioned at the Olympic. Once the lords desert the tables, we might command the card room and indulge in a midnight game of chance.”

“Having slept for three days, I think I can cope with one late night.” Bantering with Mr Chance made her forget her woes. “Does that mean you accept the challenge?”

He hesitated, pursing his lips as his gaze moved over her face. “Of course I accept, but only when I’m certain you’re on the road to recovery. I feared you would never wake.”

Mrs Maloney had a grasp of the situation. The pressure to deliver the notes had taken its toll. Trying to prevent her life from crumbling around her was exhausting. Emily had stolen the silk. Someone had taken the books hidden beneath the boards. And someone had pushed her down the stairs.

No wonder she’d not woken for days .

“You’re to blame, sir. This is a comfortable mattress.”

“I only sleep on the best.” One look at the delicate lace neckline of her nightgown and his smile returned. “I trust you found the nightwear just as comfortable and approve of fine muslin from Bengal.”

“Indeed.” Her cheeks grew hot beneath the weight of his gaze. “Though I must question who this sumptuous gown belongs to.”

As if wishing to give them a little privacy, Mrs Maloney busied herself with tidying the washstand.

“I bought it for you. When I unpacked your valise, you had nothing suitable for bed. I walked to Nightingale’s, and Mrs Maloney undressed you upon my return.”

She wore a nightgown Theodore Chance had purchased? One bought specifically for her? The gesture was borne out of necessity, but that didn’t stop the coil of intimacy tightening in her belly.

Eleanor swallowed deeply. “Thank you. My father forced me to make my own clothes. No one has ever bought me anything new.”

His smile faded. “Forced you?”

“Encouraged me in such a way I could not refuse.”

“Your talent for dressmaking must have been apparent from an early age. Did your mother teach you to sew with such skill?”

Eleanor closed her eyes briefly, her heart pounding with remorse. She breathed against the churning in her gut. “My mother died in childbirth. I never knew her. My father raised me.”

“Oh.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I’m sorry. It must have been difficult.”

“Too difficult to explain in words. ”

Something passed between them. A sense of empathy that came from shared suffering. A silent look of solidarity. The need to lose themselves in another soul-deep kiss.

He must have sensed she wished to change the subject. “Daventry sent word this morning. Pickering’s mobile library will be in Hart Street at noon. We plan to accost him and drag a confession from his devious lips.”

“Excellent. I’m coming with you.” Before she engaged her brain, she pulled back the sheets and eased herself out of bed. “Give me a moment to dress.”

A strained hum rumbled in his throat as he studied her nightgown. “You seem intent on punishing me, Miss Darrow. All things considered, it’s no less than I deserve.”

She could have stood there, stone-still, his eyes devouring her all day. Men had admired her before, but no one had ever made her feel the way he did—like she was the most desirable woman in the world.

“Oh, you’ll catch your death in that flimsy thing.” Mrs Maloney appeared, draping a wool blanket over Eleanor’s shoulders and drawing the edges across her bust. “I don’t know what possessed him to buy something so impractical.”

“A man is never practical when buying a lady nightwear.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t catch a chill.” Mrs Maloney wrapped a motherly arm around Eleanor’s shoulders and drew her to the washstand. “I’ll help you dress and tidy your hair, dear. You shouldn’t be left alone. Not until we’re sure you’re fit and well.”

Mr Chance took that as his cue to leave. “I’ll wait downstairs. During the journey to Hart Street, I shall explain all that’s occurred since your accident.”

Was it an accident ?

Had she imagined seeing a shadow?

Had she felt the spectre’s hands on her back?

“Is Jules well? Did he offer any useful information?”

“He’s well but refuses to speak to anyone but you. I’ll take you to see him once we’ve finished with Pickering.” And with that, he closed the door, leaving her alone with Mrs Maloney.

There was something comforting about having an older woman brush her hair. Mrs Maloney’s soothing strokes were enough to lull Eleanor back to sleep.

“I know Theo is partly to blame for your troubles, but he’s a good man at heart.” She took a pin and pushed it gently into Eleanor’s hair. “I know he plays the fool but he would die for his family.”

Eleanor smiled. “You love him a great deal.”

“What’s not to love?”

His pranks, for one thing. Yet with a power akin to gravity, he drew Eleanor into his orbit, the invisible tug impossible to ignore.

“There have been times lately when I could have whacked him with a skillet.” There were times when she could have locked lips with him until dawn. “But you’re right. There’s something endearing about him.”

Mrs Maloney patted Eleanor’s chignon. “He’ll light up your life if you let him, though his battle with his conscience will be his downfall. He’s chained to this place and will never leave Aaron here alone.”

Eleanor remembered him confessing his greatest fear. He didn’t worry about his own future. He would happily push his dreams aside out of love for his eldest brother.

Mrs Maloney gave a weary sigh. “Do you know my first thought when I saw those poor mites on my doorstep, faces dirty, eyes sad with lost dreams?”

“That you were desperate to take care of them?”

“I thought, Maura, it will take a strong woman to fix this family. I was the first to help set them on the right path, but I’ll not be the last.”

Mrs Maloney did not elaborate but helped Eleanor into the bottle-green dress and matching pelisse she had shoved into her valise three days ago.

“Thank you for your help, Mrs Maloney, for pressing my clothes and caring for me these last three days.” If Eleanor’s mother had lived, would she have been someone Eleanor could depend upon? “I’m unused to such kindness.”

“Then guard your heart, dear,” Mrs Maloney said with a chuckle. “When you see what my boy has done with your shop, it will be like a hit from Cupid’s arrow.”

One question burned in Eleanor’s mind as she sat opposite Mr Chance in his family’s elegant equipage. Well, maybe more than one. But she did not want to know how long he’d sat watching her sleep. She would rather not think about him stripping to his shirtsleeves and padding about barefooted.

“Mrs Maloney said you spent time at my modiste shop.”

Mr Chance relaxed back against the squab. His confident grin could move mountains, yet she sensed his unease. “I wasn’t sure you would recover from your fall and feared?—”

“I didn’t take you for a pessimist.”

He held her gaze. “I prayed I wouldn’t lose a worthy opponent, not halfway through the game. And something told me it wasn’t the end of our friendship. I only wish I had been there to prevent the accident.”

Her shoulders tensed. “It wasn’t an accident.”

He paused, tilting his head. “Not an accident?”

“Someone or something pushed me.”

Mr Chance sat bolt upright. “Are you certain? The door was locked. We were the only people on the premises.”

She had replayed the chilling moment in her mind a thousand times. Those few seconds were still a blur. “No, I’m not certain. I saw a shadow before someone shoved me in the back.”

He shuffled to the edge of the seat, his knees a fraction from hers. “You said someone or something. Surely you’re not speaking about a ghost. I credit you with more sense than that.”

“I don’t know what to think. Emily is the only person with a key, so why would she not show herself?” She had given Emily a door key weeks ago and had not thought to ask for it back.

Mr Chance gave a mocking snort. “Because she stole your silk and returned to take whatever else she could carry.”

Had she stolen the silk or simply taken it for safekeeping?

“Emily is barely five feet tall and so petite people mistake her for a child. Surely the person who pushed me was much stronger.”

“Then one of your devious clients entered the premises intending to steal back their note.” He shoved his hand through his mop of golden hair. “Daventry was right. Only the dead keep secrets. Perhaps someone means to silence you, Miss Darrow. ”

His remark forced her to face a truth she had been avoiding. But what did she know that was so damning? She knew the identity of those sending secrets but nothing incriminating.

“Thankfully, I had the foresight to hire someone to guard your shop,” he said, alluding to his mysterious machinations. “Daventry’s man Gibbs has taken residence. It’s the only way to protect your property.”

Eleanor’s heart softened. He was determined to restore her reputation, determined to keep her in London. Did his motivation stem from guilt?

“Perhaps me being incapacitated was a blessing,” she said. “I would have insisted on returning home and tackling the problem myself.” In the process, she might have paid the ultimate price. “You chose well. Mr Gibbs has the strength of three men. I know Delphine valued his help when searching for the truth about her parents.”

“I had the locks changed yesterday,” he confessed.

“Oh.” She was unused to a man taking care of things. “Another wise decision.”

“And I supervised the cleaning of the shop yesterday. You would hardly know the place was ransacked a few days ago.”

Eleanor swallowed past a lump in her throat. The thought of tidying the rooms had filled her with dread. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Miss Darrow,” he began firmly, “I’ll not rest until things are as they were before the day of the shooting.”

The pang in her chest proved confounding.

Shouldn’t she be happy he wanted to put things right?

And yet she didn’t want things to be as they were. The empty compliments and endless teasing. The feeling they were worlds apart, practically strangers who knew nothing about each other at all.

“So much has changed since then.”

One kiss at the theatre had altered the course of fate. They’d grown closer. She was slowly learning to trust him and enjoyed his company. But nothing about this situation was permanent. Guarding her heart should be her only priority.

“I need to know you’re happy,” he clarified.

A moment of inward reflection confirmed what she already knew. Happiness eluded her. She had been living someone else’s life. Fulfilling her parents’ dream.

“I’m not your responsibility, Mr Chance. You’ve offered to help me and need do no more. Your conscience is clear. Once we’ve gained the information we need from Mr Pickering, our partnership will end.”

She hoped the librarian confessed and they had the vandal in custody by nightfall. There’d be no more threats. No more sudden attacks. No more sleepless nights spent wishing for a peaceful life. No more kisses from the only man who had ever made her soul sing. No fears of heartbreak.

She would return to the shop and her silent companion, the ever-present figure of loneliness lingering over her shoulder.

“You sound keen to get rid of me, Miss Darrow.”

“The arrangement was always temporary.”

“When I trust someone enough to call them a friend, is it wrong to hope the relationship might last a lifetime?”

A lady could not be friends with a man like Theodore Chance. He was like a well-honed blade, powerful enough to slice through her defences. While his masculine prowess had her gawping in awe, his chivalrous deed left her an emotional wreck. Any thoughts of urging him to be realistic vanished when he played his ace card.

“I have never had a friend outside of my family circle,” he said. “There has never been a need until now. But I have a feeling you need a friend, too.”

She might have melted into a puddle of tears had the carriage not stopped outside Mr Daventry’s premises in Hart Street. Her heart hurt more than the dreadful bruise on her back, but the need to comfort him overrode common sense.

“We make an unlikely duo, but I can be myself with you. That’s important in any alliance.”

Pleased with her answer, he smiled. “Honesty above all else. That will be our motto.” His gaze fell to her mouth, his eyes turning an attractive shade of blue. “The odd little lie won’t hurt. How else can I claim a kiss when we play cards tonight?”

“Friends do not kiss like we do.”

“We’re scoundrels and friends. We make our own rules.” He alighted and offered his hand. “Besides, you need something valuable to wager. I’ll not accept pearl buttons.”

This will end in tears , she told herself as he handed her down to the pavement. But the brush of his fingers made everything feel right.

The housekeeper led them into Mr Daventry’s study. The gentleman stood and rounded the desk, keen to ask about her health.

“I wasn’t expecting you, Miss Darrow. Are you sure you’re well enough to tackle Pickering? When cornered, all men have a propensity for violence. ”

Eleanor smiled, banishing the memory of the only time she had challenged her father. “Finding the wretch who destroyed my home is all that matters. He said I would die if I failed to deliver the note, and I believed him. Mr Pickering is the only person who knows the villain’s identity.”

“It’s a pity you don’t have the book.” Suspicion clouded Mr Daventry’s gaze. “Had we played along and hidden the note inside, Pickering would have led us directly to his source.”

Did he think she’d lied about it being stolen?

“Emily must have taken it along with my diary.” Had the girl panicked and fought to save what she could? Had she taken the opportunity to line her pockets instead? “We will visit her at her parents’ home later today.”

Mr Daventry perched on his desk. “Why would Emily want your book or diary?” he mused. “None of this makes sense.”

“Unless the devil who ransacked the shop stole them,” Mr Chance suggested. “He came for the book or the diary and took both.”

Unsure why the man had targeted her to begin with, Eleanor sighed. “Why use me and not deal with Mr Pickering himself? Hopefully, the librarian will provide us with the answer.”

A timely knock on the door brought the housekeeper, Mrs Gunning. “You asked to be notified when Mr Pickering arrived, sir. He’s outside, opening the doors of his fancy caravan.”

“Thank you, Mrs Gunning.” Mr Daventry waited for his housekeeper to leave before asking Eleanor, “Did you bring the sealed note? ”

Mr Chance reached into his coat pocket. He turned the tiny missive over in his hand. “Amongst other things, the desire to break the wax and read the message kept me awake most of the night.”

“Read it now. I have black wax to reseal it.”

Eleanor looked at Mr Daventry, fear holding her rigid. “But what if the villain knows we’ve tampered with the note? What if he knows we’ve read his message?”

“I suspect he will come looking for you to carry out his threat,” he said in the calm tone of a man who fought crooks for a living. “Mr Chance will be your protector as we draw the rogue out.”

Mr Chance smiled like a cat in a room full of mice. “I’d like nothing more than to wring the blighter’s neck.”

“Then it’s settled.” Mr Daventry waved his hand to hurry Mr Chance along. “We need something we can use to scare Pickering. Let’s read the damning words that have caused Miss Darrow such misery.”

Mr Chance turned to her, his tone softening. “What do you want to do, Miss Darrow? I shall abide by whatever decision you make.”

Oh, this man was dangerous.

In a world of patriarchal dominance, he knew how to make a woman feel valued.

“I trust you will support me, whatever happens.” She was tired of hiding, tired of running, and meant to fight for what was right. “I say you open it, sir, regardless of the consequences.”

Her stomach churned as he broke the seal and peeled back the tiny folds. He studied the paper, shaking his head, a deep frown marring his brow .

“Well?” she prompted as he stared open-mouthed. “Is there mention of a name or a time and place?”

Was she about to learn the identity of her persecutor?

“No.” Mr Chance showed Daventry the note before handing it to her. “There is no message. The paper is blank.”