Page 11 of The Last Chance
“What could Lord Howard possibly have in his pocket?”
Aaron shrugged. “A threatening letter demanding he pay his debts to my club. A fake love note implying he’s been intimatewith one of my brother’s wives.” Something to blame Aaron for the crime.
Miss Lovelace pursed her lips while contemplating his demand. “You should wait for Mr Daventry. He seems like a fair man and has faith in your character. Any documents might lead us to the real culprit. Someone impartial must find them.”
Though loath to admit it, she was right.
Daventry could only manipulate the truth to a point.
“Perhaps you’d like to look through the list of club members,” she suggested, standing to fetch a ledger from the oak bureau. “You’re well informed and may know something about their families that might lead to a clue.”
Being a logical man, he accepted her offer.
Dawn was fast approaching. The sooner Daventry arrived, the better, although Aaron wasn’t sure whether to thank the agent or throttle him.
“I’ll need the names of the men who entered your premises tonight.” Seeing two men venturing upstairs drew less attention than a virgin maiden being lured through a dim corridor.
Miss Lovelace handed him the ledger and went looking for the list. She rummaged in the bureau but had a problem locating the document.
“How strange. I’m sure I placed it in the pigeonhole.” She rubbed her lips with her finger while lost in thought. “I returned it to the bureau before Madame Rossellini’s recital.”
Clearly, the murderer had stolen the list to evade detection.
“Madame Rossellini?” He knew the name of every singer gracing London’s stages. Most were the mistresses of his patrons. “Is she new to town?”
“No, she’s an amateur soprano.” Miss Lovelace lowered her voice as if the walls had ears. “She is Miss Stowe’s maid. It’s a long story which I will explain another time. I provide her with a costume and pay her fifteen shillings for an hour’s performance.I cannot afford to hire a professional and must improvise if I’m to earn a living.”
“I see.” A rush of admiration warmed his chest.
Hell’s teeth!
Where the blazes was Daventry?
Aaron paced the room, the ledger open in his hands, studying the names of the ladies who attended her club. The task kept him occupied for twenty minutes, though he’d read the same lines ten times or more.
Like the perfect hostess, Miss Lovelace offered him brandy and snuff and asked if he might like coffee or a light repast. She stoked the fire, watched the street through the window, and searched for the missing list.
Aaron prayed for an end to the torture.
Restlessness gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
This intimate setting was too much to endure.
Finally the Lord answered his silent plea.
Daventry arrived, dressed immaculately in black. He did not look tired or annoyed that they’d dragged him from his wife’s bed at this godforsaken hour.
The man’s confident air sparked Aaron’s temper.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he said once Daventry had greeted Miss Lovelace. “You encouraged her to invite men here, knowing she would encounter problems. You must bear some responsibility for this damnable mess.”
As always, Daventry remained stoic. “Miss Lovelace is a competent woman. I refuse to treat her like a child. She asked for matchmaking advice. I offered a suggestion.”
“And now Lord Howard is lying dead upstairs with a dagger in his back. I threatened to kill the fool last night. Don’t dare say it’s a coincidence. Someone means to cause trouble.” Aaron motioned to his attractive competitor. “Trouble for us both.”
Miss Lovelace glared at him before offering Daventry a winsome smile. “Thank you for coming at such short notice. Youmust forgive mycompetitor’sirate manner. He is suspicious by nature, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Do not speak for me, madam,” Aaron said.
