Page 14 of My Kind of Scoundel
“Forgive me. I had nowhere else to go.” A sob caught in Miss Darrow’s throat. “I’ve lost everything, Mr Chance, my dreams and aspirations crushed like ants beneath a blackguard’s feet.”
Despite the thread of fear in her voice, a sense of calm washed over him. She was alive. Nothing else mattered.
“You speak of the damage at your shop? I have just returned from New Bridge Street. I assume you know someone broke into your premises.”
“Why else would I be here?” The hint of contempt in her tone said she had not come to listen to his flirtatious banter or endure another breathtaking kiss.
“Take my hand.” Tucking the wooden box under his arm, he reached for her. “Let me help you.”
“No one can help me now,” she uttered, slipping her ice-cold hand into his and letting him haul her to her feet.
With a sigh of regret, Theo offered her the box. “You should have told me what this meant to you. I would haverespected your need for privacy. By nature, I’m distrusting, though that is no excuse.” A boy left to survive in the rookeries became suspicious of people’s motives.
She stared at the box, though she did not snatch it from his grasp or sag in relief. “I need you to do something for me, Mr Chance.”
“Anything,” he said, a vision of her ransacked home bursting into his mind. “The game went too far, and for that, I am truly sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to put this right.”
She met his gaze in the gloom, her tear-filled eyes shimmering like stars in the night sky. She seemed so distant now. Any connection they’d shared had evaporated into the ether.
“Will you see me safely to Dover? I believe you owe me that.” Tears traced a silent path down her cheeks, and he fought the urge to dash them away and insist on a different course. “I need money. You may raid my shop and sell anything of value. An established modiste will purchase the lace and gold brocade.”
The knot in his chest tightened. “Where will you go?”
She seemed a shadow of her former self as she hung her head. “Wherever the first ship out of port will take me. Anywhere far, far from the home I love.”
Chapter Four
Mr Chance stood clutching the box he had stolen two weeks ago and stared into her eyes. He was no longer grinning like the sinful scoundrel who had kissed her at the theatre. He offered no teasing retorts or wicked suggestions. From his strained expression, he knew nothing he could say would make this right.
“The destination is unimportant,” she lied, her throat tightening at the thought of abandoning everything she had worked so hard to achieve. How many ladies of six and twenty had the skills to dress London’s elite? “I don’t care where I go as long as it’s far from England’s shores.”
“May I ask why?”
“You may not.” It was too late to care now. He sealed her fate when he stole her box. “The secret might cost me my life. I’ll not place you in danger. Not when I bear some responsibility for you being shot outside my shop.” Having seen her beloved home ravaged by blackguards, surely he knew to heed her advice. “See me to Dover—or Portsmouthif you prefer—then put this dreaded business behind you. Forget you ever met me.”
“It’s not that simple.” He opened the box and peered inside as if it were something of the devil’s own design. “I cannot forget the part I played. My thoughtless actions are the cause of your ruin. I will?—”
“Greed was my downfall, Mr Chance. Greed, and an elevated notion of being the most famed modiste of the decade. The fight for financial security can cloud a lady’s judgement.”
Guilt plagued her, too. The crippling guilt that came with knowing she had stolen someone else’s life. Every breath she took was not her own but made in her beloved mother’s memory.
“It’s not a sin to want a stable future,” he said, unaware of the real issue. “To excel, one must take risks. I assume that’s how you’re in this predicament. Do you owe a debt you cannot pay?”
A fear of failure was the root of her problem.
The risk of bankruptcy was great indeed.
Thieves stole silk from shipments. Bolts arrived ruined. The middle-aged clerk at the shipping office tried to bribe her with reduced costs on imports if she dined with him each Friday.
One sly remark at a ball was enough to relegate her design to the compost heap. Gowns would need unpicking and altered. Eleanor would spend endless hours trying to save the expensive material. All while her father’s dying demand was like the prod of a pistol in her back.
Your mother dreamed of having her own shop. You’ll do it for her. Don’t let me down, girl. You owe her your life. It’s the least you can do.
Though her father had died five years ago, his veiled contempt was still a crushing weight on her shoulders. His gentle jibes still hurt more than the stab of a blade.
“While your actions have made it impossible for me to remain in town, Mr Chance, I got myself into this regrettable mess.” Much like his silly wager, what began as an innocent game had cost her everything. “There remains but one way to evade my tormentor.”
“You’re fooling yourself if you think you can escape your problems.” He retreated to the dim depths of his chamber. Perhaps he thought she needed space to think. Perhaps he hoped to entice her to confess every wicked secret. “Is that how you want to spend your life, always looking over your shoulder? Forever living in fear?”
