Page 15 of A Little Bit Dangerous
“I can tolerate some things,” Aaron said, his tone as lethal as a blade. “You want time away from Fortune’s Den? Take a trip to Brighton. You want to test your mental prowess? Tutor children who cannot afford an education. But don’t expect me to condone your newfound friendship with Lawton’s offspring.”
Aaron made for the door.
Christian jumped to his feet. “Where are you going?”
“To throttle Daventry and evict Miss Lawton from my house.”
Confusion curbed Christian’s temper. “Your house? Miss Lawton lives at number six.” Aaron had purchased number seven, their father’s old abode, and now leased the property for a pittance.
Aaron whirled around, his eyes as dark as the devil’s soul. “Lawton isn’t away from home. He’s short of funds and living in Gerrard Street at the secret house he bought for his mistress.”
“Since when?”
“Since the beginning of April.”
“April? But that’s a month ago! Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s complicated. I told you I would deal with Lawton in my own good time. And when that bastard jumps off a bridge into the Thames to escape his creditors, no one will accuse us of a crime.”
Christian knew Aaron was working to ruin Lawton behind the scenes. “But Miss Lawton has nowhere else to go.”
A growl rumbled in Aaron’s throat. “That’s Daventry’s problem, not mine. Either way, I’d rather burn in hell than let that woman remain in my house.”
ChapterFour
The water was lukewarm at best. By the time Isabella had heated enough to fill a bucket, the measly amount swimming in the bottom of the bathtub had cooled. She gritted her teeth and climbed into the copper vessel.
Mother Mary!
Bathing in a shift would not banish the goose pimples. She took the plunge and quickly immersed herself, though it was more like sitting in a puddle than lavishing oneself in the conte’s marble pool.
It’s only temporary, she told herself.
Fortune favours the bold.
Mr Daventry had promised her more work, enough so she might secure lodgings within a week or two. She had to pray her father was in Egypt, playing cartographer to a wealthy lord, and wouldn’t be home for six months. With luck, he might fall down a shaft, never to be seen again.
Wickedness, it is in the blood.
One day, it will find you and drag you into the pits of hell.
Her mother’s stark warning echoed in her head. It was a mantra the woman repeated when she’d drunk too much wine and began bemoaning her fate.
And yet, despite every attempt to remain virtuous, to learn from her mother’s mistakes and avoid the pitfalls of a romantic affair, yesterday Isabella had felt the first stirrings of desire.
Mr Chance was a conundrum. A piece of hieroglyphic script she felt compelled to translate. Nothing about him made sense. He was a walking monument to contradiction. Kind yet hard-hearted. Amiable yet stern.
Hearing his sad story had roused her pity.
Knowing her own kin had a hand in making children homeless left her sick to the pit of her stomach. Wickedness was not in her blood. Though she would have been powerless to act against a tyrant.
Memories of a cruel man flooded her mind. Geoffrey Lawton had never raised a hand to her, but indifference hit harder than any blow. He knew how to make a person feel worthless. Those last few days at home had been the worst.
She closed her eyes and conjured an image of a biscuit parcel hanging from the apple tree. He had remembered. At first, she had been deliberately vague, too embarrassed to admit the truth, too scared to confess such gifts were amongst her most treasured memories.
Her thoughts drifted to the food hamper the grocer’s boy had delivered yesterday afternoon. A gentleman had ordered the goods, given her name and address, but the boy knew nothing more.
Perhaps Mr Daventry meant to ensure she didn’t starve to death.
