Page 22 of The Last Chance
“Not anymore.” He explained that his reprobate father had traded his birthright for an exorbitant sum of money, a move sanctioned by the monarch thirty-five years ago. “My father’s family cut all ties and forced him to change his surname from Delmont to Chance.”
It took her a few seconds to absorb the information.
“Aaron Delmont,” she mused, repeating the name three times to test the sound. “I prefer Aaron Chance. It sounds more masterful and reflects your two greatest hobbies—fighting and gambling.”
“I don’t gamble.” He needed to change the subject. Hearing his Christian name on her lips did strange things to his insides. “Building an empire took more than blood, sweat and tears. It took my heart and soul.” She would never understand what he’d sacrificed. His life was not his own.
“All the more reason to reclaim your birthright. The Crown will not render the title extinct if there’s an heir.”
“An earl cannot own a gaming hell.”
“You could sell Fortune’s Den.” She paused to thank the waiter who brought their beverages. “Or your brothers could run the business without you.”
Without him?
The notion was unthinkable.
Explaining what the club meant to him would involve revealing aspects of his painful past. He didn’t want to venture into that dark abyss. He didn’t want to face the demons living there.
“I’ll never leave Fortune’s Den.”
“Not even?—”
“Never. Let that be the end of the matter.”
A tense silence enveloped them. Miss Lovelace poured her tea while Aaron stared at his coffee, a drink as black as his heart. A minute passed, though it felt like an hour. His pulse had barely settled when his inquisitivecolleagueasked the question no one else had ever dared.
“Who are you angry with?”
Those five words slipped through a chink in his armour. The urge to stand and storm out, to put a vast ocean between them, battled with the lost child who had been denied a voice.
“The world,” he said darkly.
It wasn’t the whole truth. He was angry with himself.
“Anger is an easy emotion to feel,” she said, absently stirring her tea. “It gives you a sense of control when everything around you is chaotic. Acceptance takes strength. Forgiveness is reserved for the special few who are no longer afraid to feel vulnerable. Sadly, I am not one of them.”
Aaron shifted in his seat. He would rather tolerate her hands on his naked body than suffer this intimate probe into his psyche. Forgiveness was for fools. He would never accept the past or make excuses for his father’s cruelty.
Indeed, he breathed a sigh of relief when the coffeehouse door burst open and two women entered. They craned their necks and scanned the room before waving at Miss Lovelace and hurrying to join them. Then they saw him and came to a crashing halt at the table.
Aaron stood while the temptress opposite introduced a nervous Miss Stowe and Miss Moorland. He called the waiterand ordered more tea, though both ladies remained rooted to the spot.
“Do sit down. Mr Chance doesn’t bite.” Miss Lovelace moved to sit beside Aaron, invading his space, her thigh too close to his, while her friends occupied the opposite bench. “I imagine you’re wondering why I called you here.”
Miss Stowe’s bright blue eyes conveyed a desire to know everything. “Does it have something to do with the attack on Miss Beckett? When the assailant left, he?—”
“Mr Parker,” Miss Moorland added, looking studious in spectacles. “That’s the name of the man who left The Burnished Jade with a broken nose and bruised knuckles after being hit with the poker.”
“Mr Thomas Parker? Sir Geoffrey’s brother?” Aaron asked.
Miss Moorland, who had kept her gaze fixed on Miss Lovelace, gulped when she glanced at him. “Yes. He left promising to sue and called us a menagerie of oddities.”
“He said he would ensure the club never opened again,” Miss Stowe added.
Miss Lovelace put the threats to bed. “It’s nonsense. I doubt he would want all and sundry knowing two young women chased him out.”
Aaron agreed though he would question Parker. “Do either of you know Lord Howard? Did you see him at The Burnished Jade last night?”
