Page 37 of The Last Chance
Aaron clenched his jaw. “Touch her, and you’ll deal with me.”
“Justin is no longer with us.” Miss Lovelace strode to the study door and motioned to the hall. “Decide where your allegiances lie.”
Rothley cursed under his breath. He scowled at Aaron before gritting his teeth and surrendering. “Fine. But you will tell me everything.”
Chapter Eight
“Good night, Gabriel.” Joanna escorted the marquess through the Den’s opulent red hall. She opened the front door, gripping it firmly when the blustery November wind threatened to slam it shut. “Thank you for your support and for abiding by my wishes.”
“I had little choice in the matter,” he grumbled.
Gabriel had listened to the evidence gathered thus far and agreed to help them find the culprit. He had left Fortune’s Den three hours ago, returning with Lord Howard’s diary, his recent letters and a pile of social invitations tied together with a tatty red bow.
They had examined the elegant cards from people who valued Lord Howard’s company and wanted to pack their ballrooms with titled gentlemen. People who knew nothing of the monster hiding behind his affable facade.
“Why the devil didn’t you confide in me?” Gabriel’s voice held the agony of a man always scrambling in the dark. “I would have made Howard pay for what he did to you. He always was the odd man in our group, always boasting and seeking ways to feed his vanity.”
“His social calendar suggests he hid a licentious appetite.”
While flicking through the lord’s diary, they found he had visited Mrs Flavell’s abode on many occasions. His last sojourn into the demimonde was as recent as two weeks ago.
“Men often display one personality while secretly harbouring another.” Gabriel nodded at Mr Chance’s study door. “You owe him nothing. Think of yourself, Joanna. Leave this place while you can still salvage something of your reputation.”
She placed her hand on his arm. Gabriel was a handsome man, though she felt nothing but the warmth of friendship. “What reputation? My brother died mysteriously. My father?—”
“We don’t know Justin is dead.”
They had the same tiring conversation whenever they met. Gabriel could not accept what was obvious to most. “My father is a wastrel who left me alone to face his creditors. My brother’s friend stole my virtue. In supporting myself and other women, I have earned people’s disdain.”
“There’s only one way to silence the gossips. Become the next Marchioness of Rothley.” Gabriel must have seen her eyes roll in frustration. “The offer is there should you come to your senses. As I have no desire to sire an heir, I would ask nothing of you.”
His response carried the chill of the November air.
She would wait for a man who wanted everything. A man who yearned for her love and loyalty. A man who would die for one kiss.
“You know why I must refuse. One day, you might meet someone special and regret your benevolent gesture.” Someone who might help him exorcise her brother’s ghost before it drove him mad.
A cynical snort was his only reply.
“Good night, Gabriel. I will tell you what Mr Daventry says once we meet with him tomorrow.”
“Send word to me in Hanover Square.” Gabriel drew his greatcoat across his chest and pulled his beaver hat down over his brow. Prepared to brave the cold, he stepped out onto the street. “I shall remain in town until this sorry business is over and you’ve regained your sanity.” Then he disappeared into the night like the spectre haunting his dreams.
Joanna locked the door and drew the bolts, inhaling deeply before slipping into the study and closing the door gently behind her.
The fire had dwindled to amber embers, the smoke from the snuffed lamp a fading white trail in the dimness. The soft flicker of the solitary candle sent shadows dancing across Mr Chance’s handsome features, but he didn’t look at her as he placed Lord Howard’s letters in his desk and moved to extinguish the last light.
“Is it not a little early for you to retire?” She glanced at the fire, wishing the distance between them would burn away just as easily. Was he desperate to avoid spending time alone in her company? “You often sit at your desk until the early hours.” She didn’t say she spied on him sometimes.
He seemed surprised she had noticed his daily habits. “We have a busy day tomorrow, and there’s less paperwork now the gaming tables are empty.”
“Will you manage while the club is closed?”
He’d agreed to fund her trip to France, but she didn’t want to make assumptions.
Mr Chance snorted. “The club generates a third of my yearly income. I plan to reduce that to a quarter when I rent the apartments I’m having built north of Regent’s Circus.”
“You mean to strengthen your empire,” she said, impressed.
