Page 18 of A Little Bit Dangerous
“We should rehearse our story,” she said, suddenly nervous at having to lie to Captain Snell. How did one determine if the man was a crook? Should she mention transporting ancient treasures?
“We’ll say we’re archaeologists looking to hire a ship to take us to Egypt. That we mean to bring heavy artefacts home and will pay handsomely for his services.”
Isabella nodded, but a sudden sense of trepidation said they should not leave the vehicle, let alone question a man who lived amongst mudlarks and river pirates. “We’ll baffle him with Egyptian references and hope he believes our story.” She paused. “Mr Chance?”
He looked at her for the first time in almost an hour. “Yes?”
His eyes … Good Lord! A lady might lose herself in the sapphire depths. The fluttering in her chest returned, an intense case of attraction, not fear. “Do you feel at all apprehensive? What if the captain sees through our facade? Something tells me questioning him is a mistake.”
“A mistake?” He laughed, confidence exuding from his powerful aura. “Snell must deal with ten enquiries a week. If anything, he’ll think we’re too inexperienced to take on such an ambitious project and send us away.”
Perhaps he was right.
Besides, she would have to give Mr Daventry a recount of what happened, else she might not receive her wages. One did not lie to one’s employer.
“There’s nothing to fear,” Mr Chance added.
No, the life of an enquiry agent was considerably less dangerous than that of a maid or governess. Whenever men discovered her mother was an opera singer, they took it as an invitation to take liberties.
“Happen the door handle is broken,” Mr Gibbs called from atop his box. The gruff fellow was far too free with his opinions and the most impolite servant she had ever encountered. “That, or you missed the street sign.”
“I think he means we should alight,” she said.
Mr Chance managed a smile as he opened the carriage door. “Gibbs takes some getting used to, but I’d rather work with an outspoken man than a sly snake.”
Having dealt with more than her share of serpents, Isabella agreed. “Does the same apply to women, sir?”
“Yes, and don’t call me sir.” He stood on the pavement and offered his hand. “It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Your uncle is an earl. As a gentleman, people should address you with respect.” She gripped his hand as she alighted, the mere contact making her heart race faster. Good grief. The sooner they parted ways, the better. These odd sensations were a terrible distraction.
“I’m no gentleman,” he said, quick to correct her. “My father was a rotten scoundrel whose family paid him a considerable sum to change his name.” He leant closer, his gaze dipping to her mouth. “You’d be wise to keep your distance, madam. Wickedness is in my blood.”
Isabella stifled a gasp. Of all the things he could have said, he had to repeat a phrase that resonated. “Then you have met your match, Mr Chance. As the devil’s own spawn, my blood is equally tainted.”
He grinned, his smile barely reaching his eyes. “Despite your exotic looks, you have the manner of a governess. I doubt you’ve done anything wicked in your life.”
Affronted, she released his hand. “Don’t let my facade fool you. I can be wicked when the need arises. I once locked a man in a crypt and threw away the key.” How else might she have escaped Mr Griffin? “And I drugged the Conte di Barasian by adding laudanum to his brandy.” Escaping his guards had proved a little more taxing.
Mr Chance laughed. “They’re hardly immoral pursuits.”
Although she battled to remain virtuous, she found herself saying, “Sir, you’ve seen me bathing. Is that not immoral? I do not recall shooing you from the room.”
Mischief danced in his eyes. “Had you been naked, Miss Lawton, I might agree. But only prim ladies and preachers’ wives bathe in a shift.”
“I’d have bathed naked if the water had been warm.”
The air between them crackled. Mr Chance did not tease her or make light of her remark. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and whispered, “You can always call on me to heat the water.”
Not wanting him to notice the blush burning her cheeks, she quickly said, “Perhaps I might were I not homeless.” And then she marched away along Narrow Street in search of the shipping office.
Mr Daventry said to enquire at Napier & Woods, a broker who acted as a middleman for those wishing to hire private vessels. Mr Chance reached the door of the establishment first, opening it for her as any gentleman would.
Inside, a young woman with fiery red hair directed them to the wharf, explaining that Captain Snell was busy preparing his ship for an ice trip to Norway.
“The nobility pay a fortune for spring water ice,” Mr Chance said as he escorted Isabella past the whippers hauling coal from a ship onto barges. “I doubt we can persuade Snell to set sail for Egypt.”
Isabella might have replied, but the burly fellows working along the wharf glanced up in her direction. Hopefully, they were just curious. In these parts, thieves and ruffians mingled with honest men keen to gauge who best to rob.
