Page 66 of A Little Bit Dangerous
Aramis relaxed back in his seat, his brow arching in surprise. “Most women I know would see my comments as a challenge. They would hiss their objection, stake their claim, swear to prove me wrong.”
“Then perhaps you need to move in different circles, Mr Chance. I would never hurt Christian for my own selfish gain.” She stared into her tankard, gathering the strength to reveal her true plans. “Once the case is solved and I receive my full pay, I shall run, sir. It’s the only way to escape my father and his dastardly schemes.”
At all costs, she had to remain one step ahead of the conte.
He stared at her, his dark gaze unnerving. “Aaron seems to think Lawton is guilty of a crime. That our efforts will ensure we get rid of him for good.”
Her father had nine lives. She knew better than to pin her hopes on the impossible. “And I often dream of a life free from worry. But I’m old enough to know fantasies rarely come true.”
Aramis frowned. “Why wait? Why not run now while you have the chance? You risk all our lives by remaining here.”
Knots of unease tightened in her chest. She looked across the sea of heads, searching for Christian. Despite everything she’d said, the thought of leaving him hurt. She was afraid to admit why. It meant using words likehappinessandloveandforever.
Tears gathered behind her eyes. “I need money, Mr Chance.”
“I’ll give you whatever you need.”
“You’re that desperate to get rid of me?” She laughed, else she would cry. It was the story of her life. Perhaps Christian was right. Perhaps it was time to finish the chapter, close the book and start anew.
“I’d do anything to stop my brother suffering. It’s obvious your affair will end in tears, and he’ll be left with another hole in his chest that books cannot fill.”
Despite his stern personae, Aramis Chance loved his brother.
And by God, Christian deserved everyone’s adoration.
She might have considered his proposal, but a feminine shriek punctuated the loud chatter and the clink of tankards.
Christian pushed through the crowd, the clerk from the shipping office clinging to him like ivy, touching his chest, giggling and whispering in his ear.
Jealousy slithered like a serpent in Isabella’s veins as she watched him grin and whisper something amusing.
Christian approached the table. “Miss Cartwright wishes to join us.” He helped the woman into the seat he’d recently vacated. “The landlord is bringing four tankards of ale.”
Ethel stumbled into the chair, hiccuped, burped and gripped Isabella’s arm. “It ain’t what it looks like,” she whispered. “I need them to think I’m drunk and keen to bed one of these fine fellows.”
Christian sat beside his brother on the bench. “She heard we would pay for information regarding Snell’s shipments and accosted me at the bar.”
“Ain’t you a handsome one?” Ethel leant forward and gazed adoringly at Aramis, her large breasts almost spilling from her dress onto the table. “I like them mean, and you’ve the look of the devil about you.”
Aramis observed Ethel’s impressive breasts. “And you have much to recommend you, madam.”
Ethel giggled. “Too much for you to handle, I’ll wager.”
“Too much for an ordinary man, not for me.”
Isabella listened to their bawdy banter—to the meaningless flirtation she had heard countless times before. Her mother knew how to hold a man’s attention. Her passing had been a long, painful journey from a graceful opera singer capable of attracting every man’s eye to a bag of bones in an overly large bed.
Christian found Aramis’ witty retorts amusing. “We’re acting on behalf of the Home Secretary,” he said, nudging his brother. “You cannot bed a witness.”
“You know me. I rise to every challenge.”
Ethel laughed like a deranged fool at the fair. Then her voice turned serious as she whispered, “I hear you’re investigating Captain Snell and his mysterious shipments.”
“Specifically, the most recent one,” Isabella muttered, hugging the woman’s arm as an excuse to move closer. “From the eight crates brought ashore, only four were delivered to the Society of Antiquaries.”
They all remained silent when the serving wench came and deposited their drinks on the table. She knocked over an empty tankard while gawping at the handsome Chance brothers, started patting Christian’s chest with a stained towel.
“He’s importing contraband,” Ethel said once they’d shooed the wench away. “Most likely opium from the Far East. I know he’s got connections in Italy and Egypt. I’ve seen him loading a crate onto a barge that disappeared along the Regent’s Canal.”
