Page 19 of Lady Gambit
The comment slipped through a chink in his armour. It stole the breath from his lungs. He’d have staggered back were he not crouched on the carriage floor.
I shall be your protector.
She didn’t know what those words meant to him. His entire life, he’d had no one. No one to fight his corner. No one to save him from the wolves. No one but a white-haired Greek man who lived long ago urging him to strive for greatness.
Sensing his discomfort, she added, “I will ensure my brothers know none of this is your fault.”
“I appreciate the gesture, Miss Chance, but your brothers do not intimidate me.” She intimidated him. She made him imagine things he shouldn’t. Feel things that had no place in his ordered world. She made his body ache and his cock throb. Her perfume drove him to distraction. Now she would enter his home and touch his private things.
And when she was long gone, when he was ambling through the manor’s empty rooms and corridors alone, those five simple words would haunt him. A painful reminder that, for one brief moment, someone cared if he lived or died.
“Few men could make such a claim.” She looked at him with a kind of fascination. “My brothers can be quite terrifying.”
“I pride myself on being unique.” Which was better than saying when a man had nothing to live for, he had nothing to lose.
The conversation came to an abrupt end when the carriage turned into the narrow lane hidden amidst a thick copse—the long drive leading to Mile End.
Miss Chance’s hand rested on her brother’s arm, though her eyes remained fixed on the window. “You live here?”
“I stay mostly at the Old Swan.”
The coachman climbed down from atop his box to open the wrought-iron gates. As the vehicle charged along the tree-lined drive, she faced Dorian and frowned.
He knew what she was thinking. The Earl of Retford had purchased the house for his only son. That despite being a bastard and a working man, he’d led an entitled life. That he had no idea what it was like to sleep in a baker’s shop doorway or spend restless nights fearing for his life.
He rarely cared about other people’s opinions and surprised himself when he said, “Lord Carstairs paid me to find the captain ofThe Conquest. He stole the ship and its valuable cargo. The reward for retrieving the goods paid for this house.”
Miss Chance looked relieved. “Anything worth having comes as a result of hard work. It’s why I admire you, Miss Darrow.”
“Me?” Miss Darrow drew her worried gaze from their patient. “Independence comes at a price. We’re all trying to escape something,” she said cryptically. “And please, call me Eleanor.”
Miss Chance’s smile could warm the coldest heart, brighten the darkest days. “And you must call me Delphine. Well, until I discover if that is indeed my given name.”
After the shocking attack outside the modiste shop, it was imperative he discovered the lady’s identity. There were many reasons why thugs would attempt to kidnap the sister of a gaming hell owner, but that was for Aaron Chance to determine.
Briggs parked the vehicle outside Mile End Manor. He climbed down and opened the carriage door. “I’ll let Kingsley know we’re here, sir.”
“Tell him to alert Mrs James.” Dorian struggled to stand without brushing his body against Miss Chance. He gripped the seat, but his thigh touched hers as he stood.
They gasped in unison.
The lady scrambled onto the seat, giving him room to alight.
“I keep a small staff, Miss Chance.” He offered his hand to assist her descent, though he wished he had the manners of a sewer rat and had no cause to be polite. “They will attend to your needs where possible, but you should expect to handle basic tasks yourself.”
Having both removed their bloodstained gloves, Miss Chance slipped her bare hand into his. “We k-keep a small staff at home, too, Mr Flynn,” she said, her cheeks turning an alluring shade of pink.
His knees almost buckled. Her hand was soft and small and warm. The instinctive need to protect her rose in his chest. But he was quick to remind himself it was not his job to keep her safe.
“My eldest brother trusts few people,” she added, holding on to him a second longer than she should. “Many are too scared to work for him. He can be a hard taskmaster.”
“Privacy is important to me. As a working man, I cannot afford to be frivolous.” He could never be as wasteful as his father.
“You don’t need to explain, sir.” The corners of her mouth curled into a weak smile. “I’m not interviewing for a husband.”
He smiled. “If you were, I suspect you’d be more interested in a man’s heart than his purse.”
Her eyes widened upon hearing his compliment. “One can survive with little money. We did so for many years. But love … To be starved of love is to be starved of air.”
