Page 49 of The Last Chance
Mr Chance’s eyes rolled in their sockets. “Has the woman lost her mind? You’re suspected of murdering a man with a dagger. If you’re caught with a knife, it shows intent.” He beckoned her with a sharp, impatient flick of his fingers. “Give it to me. I’ll not have you putting yourself at risk.”
Agreeing it was an odd request on Mrs Daventry’s part, Joanna turned away but struggled to hold her skirts and unbuckle the belt. Eloise was still tidying the room on the third floor and wouldn’t hear her calls.
“You’ll have to help me, Mr Chance.” She faced him, her gown raised to her knees. “You’ll have to hold my dress or remove the dagger.”
He looked like she’d asked him to scale the dome of StPaul’s blindfolded. He glanced at her silk stockings and groaned. “Where the hell is Eloise?”
“Upstairs.” The sound of a carriage rattling to a halt on the street had Joanna checking the viewing window. “Hurry. Mr Daventry is outside.”
“Hellfire!Hold your skirts. A little higher. I’ll not fiddle with the buckle but just remove the blade.” He did so swiftly, barely touching her as he drew the weapon. “Mrs Daventry has a lot to answer for,” he grumbled, depositing the knife in the console table and slamming the drawer shut.
Minutes later, they found themselves squashed beside each other on Mr Daventry’s leather carriage seat, her skirts spilling over Mr Chance’s thighs as the vehicle charged through the dark London streets.
Mrs Daventry looked stunning in an emerald green gown, her red curls piled high, a few tendrils teasing her bare neck. Mr Daventry mirrored Mr Chance and wore all black. It was hard to tell who looked more dangerous.
“I gave the magistrate my word you’d be home no later than one,” Daventry said, reminding them he was their chaperone. “A constable may call, so we must abide by the rules. We can discuss recent updates later.”
“And if Venus doesn’t show?” Mr Chance said.
“We lock the door, hold everyone hostage and question the guests individually. I warned Mrs Flavell I might make an arrest. I said we’d be discreet unless forced to act otherwise.”
“You told Mrs Flavell we’re looking for Venus?” Joanna doubted the woman could be trusted.
“No. She knows we’re looking for someone but doesn’t know who. I said we would mingle. Give the impression we’ve come seeking entertainment.”
Mr Chance stiffened beside her. “It will look odd if we’re not cavorting with the guests.”
“I shall cavort with my wife. We’ll wear masks. As long as it looks like we’re seducing someone, people will pay us no mind.”
“What about us?” Heat crept up Joanna’s neck at the memory of Mr Chance pushing her against the wall, his rampant hands sliding under her skirts. “How are we to make it look convincing?”
She knew how.
He needed to kiss her, and she needed to pant and moan and grasp his collar like she had the other night. He needed to stand between her thighs, the hard ridge of his arousal pressed against her belly.
“The power of one touch can be mesmerising.” Mr Daventry turned to his wife, tilted her chin with one finger and gazed at her lips. “If you speak in low hushed tones, people assume you’re saying lewd things.” He released his wife and faced them. “There’s no need to do anything more. Perhaps you should use the journey to practise.”
“We’re not children,” Mr Chance snapped.
Mrs Daventry chuckled. “In that gown, it’s quite clear Miss Lovelace is every bit a woman.”
They spent the rest of the journey to Belgravia in silence. Mr Chance stared out the window, his annoyance palpable in the confined space. Yet every time the carriage bounced through a rut in the road, his arm became a protective barrier to prevent her from slipping off the polished seat.
The carriage stopped outside an imposing four-storey townhouse in Grosvenor Place opposite the majestic Green Park.
Joanna stared at the impressive facade. “Mrs Flavell entertains the demimonde here?”
It was a house fit for a king. The vast portico and towering stone columns exuded an air of opulence and grandeur. It wasn’t just a home—it was a statement, where every carved detail whispered of wealth and timeless sophistication.
“Mr Flavell made his fortune in the steel industry,” Mr Daventry said with a hint of admiration. “He was a forward-thinking man. Don’t be fooled by the widow’s friendly demeanour. She’s astute and uses these parties to find new investors.”
Mr Chance gave a distrustful sneer. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she arranged Howard’s death. Perhaps she’s purchased a gaming hell and means to dispose of the competition. I’d wager Mrs Flavell knows Venus’ identity because she hired her.”
Mr Daventry shrugged. “At this point, anything is possible.”
They alighted, and Joanna donned her mask while Mr Daventry instructed his coachman to park directly opposite and note anything suspicious.
Music and laughter spilled onto the street, mingling with the lively hum of conversation echoing from within the grand mansion.
