Page 30 of My Kind of Scoundel
He stepped back. “Now, what is it you’d have me do?”
Watching him prance like a peacock would be wholly amusing. But he had used his forfeit to rouse her desire. While the need to kiss him again was a potent beat in her blood, she wished to know him better.
“Answer one question.”
“Which is?”
“What is your greatest fear, Mr Chance?”
He jerked, apparently shocked by the question. Deep furrows marred his brow. No doubt he would rather yap like a Pomeranian than divulge something personal.
“My greatest fear has nothing to do withmylife,” he said, leaving her more than intrigued. “Few things frighten me, but I’m afraid of what will happen to my brother Aaron if he’s left to live alone.”
It was an answer worthy of the King of Hearts.
It was an answer that caused a flutter in her chest.
“Aaron Chance is the most formidable man in town,” she said. He was a dangerous devil who seemed happy his siblings had married. “I imagine nothing fazes him.”
“Aaron thrives on solving problems. He lives to protect his family. Every sacrifice he has made has been for us.”
“I’m sure he will adapt.” Living alone could be daunting. It had taken her months to sleep through the night and notwake thinking every creaking board was an intruder. “Is that the reason you’re avoiding female company?”
“I’m not avoidingyourcompany.” He smiled as his gaze raked over her body. “And you’re every bit a woman, Miss Darrow.”
“And you’re a scoundrel who lives to tease me.”
“I’m merely helping you forget your troubles.”
He had certainly done that.
“Then there is a more efficient way to spend your time. Gather anything of value. Fill a drawer with gloves. Search for bolts of material. We must take everything we can carry.”
Putting distance between them would prevent Eleanor from falling into his arms again. Salvaging the small things might pay for a ticket to Boston. A modiste who had dressed the haute ton would easily find work overseas.
“I shall pack a valise and fetch the villain’s book.” She gestured to the sprinkling of buttons on the floor. “These will fetch enough to cover a few months’ rent.”
She didn’t linger on the first floor but hurried upstairs.
Mr Chance’s soothing scent seemed to follow her, though it did little to prevent the wave of despair when she saw the devastation in her bedchamber. Clothes lay crumpled and scattered everywhere. The bedclothes had been torn from the mattress and now trailed forlornly across the floor. Amidst the chaos, she searched desperately but couldn’t find the patchwork blanket her mother had made—the cherished blanket she had clung to all these years.
Suppressing the need to cry, Eleanor dropped to her knees by the loose board. She brushed the mound of clothes aside and raised the plank.
Her heart sank.
The hollow space was empty.
No leather-bound book.
No record of those who had paid her to deliver their missives.
It wasn’t enough that the intruder left her feeling violated. He had stolen her only means of putting an end to this nightmare. How could she deliver his note? Mr Pickering knew to accept a specific book.
Eleanor tried to recall the title.
It was something obscure, likeFalkirk or Falkland.
She could not locate another copy, not in time to deliver it to Mr Pickering. A different book would have to suffice, along with an explanation.
