Page 112 of The Last Chance
Avoiding the basement was not an option. If she didn’t witness Aaron acting like the beast he claimed, he would always hide that part of himself.
“Nothing compares to being in the marshes on a foggy night with a lunatic threatening to kill the man I love.” Joanna doubted she would ever feel that afraid again.
“It takes a brave woman to fire a pistol knowing the shot will maim,” he said, offering his arm.
The memory chilled her to the bone. “It takes a desperate woman. Bravery was never a factor. I’m sure Sybil would fire if your life were in danger.”
Mr Daventry gave a proud hum. “Without hesitation.”
Since she rarely spent time alone with the gentleman, Joanna asked the questions she found puzzling. “Were you interested in matchmaking before you met Sybil? Is it your mission to rescue all men from bachelorhood?”
He arched a curious brow. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Please, they say you’re the most intelligent man in London.”
“One need only attend a scientific lecture to know that’s untrue.”
“So you have no interest in helping couples fall in love?”
He clutched his chest like the idea was ludicrous. “Have you read the broadsheets of late? Crime is on the rise despite the new police force. I barely have time to sleep, let alone play the matchmaking matron.”
“I took you for an honest man,” she said, trying to provoke a reaction. “A champion of the truth.”
He laughed above the din downstairs. “For argument’s sake, suppose there’s truth to your claim. Perhaps I’m trying to save men much like myself.”
“Men who’ve clawed their way out of the darkness?”
“Men who’ve yet to experience the beauty of loving someone.”
As they descended the stairs, she considered how Mr Daventry might have manipulated events. An instance sprang to mind, the subtle suggestion that Joanna could depend on Gabrielmore than she could Aaron Chance. The gentle nudge to persuade him she should live at Fortune’s Den.
Mr Daventry hadn’t made them fall in love.
He’d given them space to discover the truth for themselves.
“One wonders who’s next on your list,” she teased.
“You have a club full of unmarried ladies,” he replied before insisting she keep a firm grip on his arm as they entered the basement. “In the game of love, I tend to favour the outsider.”
“A wallflower might be considered a misfit.”
“And rogues often make excellent husbands.”
“I quite agree,” she said, thinking of Aaron, though judging by the rowdy men watching the boxing bouts, she might be mistaken.
Spectators lined the stairway, filling every bench, wall space, and inch in between. Men crammed into the large room like cargo in a merchant’s hold with nary a hair’s breadth between them. Candles flickered in iron chandeliers and wall sconces, yet the room felt like a dungeon—dark and oppressive, where only the lucky escaped alive.
Joanna put her finger to her nose and tried not to breathe. The stench of stale sweat overwhelmed her. “It will be impossible to push through the crowd.”
“I suggest you watch from here,” Mr Daventry said, ushering men from the stairs, “unless you want to sit with Rothley.”
She followed Mr Daventry’s gaze to where her brother’s school friends occupied front-row seats. Gabriel sat with Lord Rutland, Mr Dalton and Mr Gentry, though the latter didn’t look like the professional physician who gave lectures on medicinal remedies. He was in his shirtsleeves, the bloodstained lawn rolled to the elbows to reveal muscular forearms.
The pain of her brother’s absence cut deep, a stark reminder Justin would never join them again. While Gabriel was a friend, the other men were acquaintances. Still, they had all been affected by Justin’s passing.
“Gentry is the doctor in charge tonight,” Mr Daventry said, explaining what she already knew. As a viscount’s grandson, Mr Gentry didn’t need to work but had personal reasons for tending the sick. “He’s already dealt with numerous fractures. One man might lose an eye.”
“Don’t say such things when Aaron is about to fight.”
