Lady gambit, p.5
Lady Gambit, page 5
He saw Miss Chance crouched on the pavement beside her brother’s lifeless body, shaking him and begging him to wake. A thug had a pistol trained on their coachman. Two other rogues loomed over her. One grabbed her arm roughly and yanked her to her feet.
“Let go of me,” she cried, swinging around and punching the beast squarely on the jaw. “You monster. I’ll see you hanged for this.”
Miss Darrow burst out of the modiste’s shop, wielding an iron skillet. She struck the other fiend, whacking him on the shoulder and back while calling to the crowd to intervene. Some onlookers hid in shop doorways while others fled. Amid the chaos, the armed thug didn’t know where to aim his pistol.
Dorian covered the distance quickly, kicking the blackguard to the ground to prevent him from shooting Miss Chance.
The devil scrambled to his feet, and the men took flight, barging through the few bystanders who were too craven to offer help.
Miss Chance fell to the pavement again, crying and stroking her brother’s cheek. “Theo? Can you hear me? Don’t die. Please don’t die.”
“Move aside, Miss Chance. Allow me to check for a pulse.” Dorian crouched beside her and pressed his fingers to Theodore’s neck. The weak pounding brought a sigh of relief. “He’s alive. We need a physician. He’s been shot in the shoulder. We must remove the lead and stitch the wound. Miss Darrow, fetch a needle and thread.”
Miss Chance gripped Dorian’s arm. “Please, Mr Flynn. You must save him. This is all my fault. He cannot die because of me.”
“I’ll do everything I can.” He hauled Theodore into his arms and stood, steadying himself under the strain of the man’s weight. Then he turned to their coachman. “Cross Blackfriars Bridge and head south past Walworth Common. I shall direct you from there.”
The coachman didn’t straighten or take up the reins. “In the event of trouble, I’ve instructions to return to Fortune’s Den, sir. It ain’t far to Aldgate Street. Mr Chance will send for his own physician.”
No doubt Aaron Chance would throttle Dorian for disobeying his orders, but protecting Miss Chance and saving her brother were his only concerns.
“Fortune’s Den may be under attack,” Dorian countered. The devils must have followed Miss Chance from the gaming hell or paid someone to search Miss Darrow’s diary. “We need to move out of the city until the threat can be determined. If it eases your conscience, return to Aaron Chance and explain what happened. I shall contact him before the day’s end.”
Dorian considered treating Theodore’s wound in Miss Darrow’s shop, but instinct said it was a mistake. Only hardened criminals shot a man in broad daylight. The thugs were determined. It was only a matter of time before they returned to finish the task.
“Follow me, Miss Chance,” Dorian said, desperate to be on his way. “My carriage is waiting in Water Lane. We will tend to your brother en route.”
Miss Chance sniffed back tears and nodded before addressing her coachman. “Reassure my brothers. Tell them they can trust Mr Flynn. Mr Daventry will vouch for his character.”
Miss Darrow reappeared carrying a small wooden box, not an iron skillet. “I’m coming with you. I’ve brought needles and threads.” She locked the shop door and slipped the iron key into her pocket.
He didn’t waste time questioning her motives. “Hurry. There’s not a second to lose.”
They raced to Water Lane. Once the ladies were safely inside the vehicle, they helped Dorian lay Theodore on the leather seat.
“Home, Briggs.”
The coachman frowned. “To Walworth, sir?”
“Yes. Take the usual precautions.” While his associates knew of his lodgings above the Old Swan in Long Lane, only a privileged few knew of his private abode. “Drive like the devil.”
Dorian closed the door, and the carriage lurched forward. Despite the cramped conditions, he shrugged out of his coat and handed it to Miss Chance. “There’s a flask of brandy in the pocket. Find it.”
He drew Theodore’s arm from his coat with care, then unbuttoned his waistcoat and ripped open his bloodstained shirt. The shot had missed his heart and a main vein and was embedded in the soft tissue beneath his shoulder.
“I have the flask.” Miss Chance’s eyes widened when Dorian pulled a small hunting knife from his boot.
“Remove the stopper and coat the tip of the blade.”
With a shaky hand, the lady obeyed, her eyes flicking between him and the sharp point. “Can you save him, Mr Flynn? Tell me you can. Save him, and I shall be forever in your debt. I shall do anything you ask of me. Anything.”
His mind would have run amok if not for their grave situation. “The next twenty-four hours are critical.” He refused to lie to her but was careful to soften his tone. “Let us pray he doesn’t take ill with a fever.”
Only a fool would allow a Chance brother to die on his watch. But this situation demanded a logical approach. Emotion clouded one’s ability to think, and the incident proved that the secrets hidden deep within Miss Chance’s memory might get her killed.
“Reach under the seat, Miss Darrow. You’ll find a wooden box. I need bandages, tweezers, a pair of clean gloves and a tincture of opium. Miss Chance, when I expose the damaged flesh, you’re to flood the wound with brandy. Then you must both hold him down firmly while I remove the lead ball.”
Thankfully, the ball was intact. Stray fragments would likely cause an infection. Theodore would need to rest and recuperate, not lead a charge to find the culprit.
“Hold him!”
Both ladies obliged and proved quite capable.
He wasn’t sure how Miss Chance occupied herself at home, but she was intelligent and had a backbone of steel. No wonder she felt trapped by her brother’s rigid rules.
The moment Dorian dug the tip of the blade into the torn flesh, Theodore regained consciousness. The man writhed and winced in pain. All colour drained from his face, leaving him as pale as a ghost.
“Damn the devil!” He gritted his teeth as blood gushed from the wound. “Just get the blasted thing out.”
“Hold still. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Miss Chance brushed her hand through her brother’s golden hair. “Can you ever forgive me? Please know I love you and never meant for this to happen. You might have died because of me.”
“We don’t know why the men shot your brother,” Dorian said.
Aaron Chance had many enemies.
Dorian had more than a few himself.
“They came for me, Mr Flynn. I should have gone with them.”
“Had you been foolish enough to do so, we’d have found you floating in the Thames.” What did a band of thugs want with Delphine Chance? Why had they not shot her in the street? “Did they mention you by name?”
“No, but—”
“It’s not the first time someone has planned to kidnap her,” Theodore mumbled, his face twisting as he battled the pain. He tried to speak again, but the effort proved too much for him.
“I need to remove the lead and close the wound,” Dorian said, steadying his hand. “We can discuss the incident later. Feed him the opium tincture, then use brandy to clean the wound. Hold him down, Miss Darrow. Keep all your weight on his legs.”
“I shall do my best.” A blush touched the modiste’s cheeks as her dainty hands settled on the man’s muscular thighs.
Miss Chance ignored her brother’s sharp hiss as she poured liquor on the wound. “Be brave. You’ll be up again in no time.”
The man’s pride had likely taken the brunt of the damage. Such a dangerous fellow would need to prove he could still pound his opponents to a pulp. The wound would heal. The assault on his character might do irreparable harm.
Dorian braced himself as the carriage bumped through ruts in the road. He inhaled deeply, digging the blade into the torn flesh and using the tweezers to free the ball.
Theodore cursed. “Damn you to Hades!” He jerked violently. “Get the damn thing out! I swear, I’ll kill you for this, Flynn.”
“Hold still.”
“He’s trying to help you,” Miss Chance interjected. She met Dorian’s gaze. Even amid the strife, something warm and enticing swirled between them. “I assure you, Mr Flynn. He is most grateful for your efforts. He will tell you so when he’s of sound mind.”
He smiled to reassure her. Nothing would be the same after this. The Chance brothers would go to war. She would return to her impenetrable tower, the guilt a heavy burden to carry.
He pulled the lead free and used the bandage to soak up the blood. Miss Chance watched while Dorian set to work with the needle and thread.
“One might wonder where you gained such a skill, sir.” Miss Chance’s large brown eyes seemed to drink him in.
“Chasing the truth comes at a price.” He had been in many scrapes since school. “When one finds blackguards for a living, it pays to be prepared. Daventry could tell you a tale or two about our escapades.”
Her gaze moved over him as if she could see the scars beneath his clothes. “Aaron almost died once. His body is like a journal of his life. Each mark and blemish tells the story of his endless battles.”
Everyone knew of Aaron Chance’s pugilistic skills. He began fighting at the tender age of twelve when his disreputable father forced him to brawl with men twice his age. Being the sons of selfish prigs, they had something in common. In siring a bastard, Dorian’s father bore some responsibility for the ugly scars on his body, too.
“Most women disapprove of violence.” He took another bandage from Miss Darrow. “Yet you speak with a semblance of pride.”
“Along with honour, courage is the greatest quality of the mind.”
“You quote Aristotle.” He was equally well-versed in the ancients. When a man had a buffoon for a father, he sought guidance elsewhere.
She gave an embarrassed shrug as she watched him secure the bandage over the neat stitches. “I could quote many philosophers. Their message is often the same. My brothers refused to be defeated. Against the odds, they built an empire. That takes courage, Mr Flynn. How could I not be proud?”
He studied her for a moment, compelled to discover what else lay hidden behind those intelligent eyes. What delights lay beneath her fashionable blue dress?
He became aware of how close she was. So close he felt the soft breeze of her breath on his cheek, warm like summer air and just as enticing. He could smell her lilac soap, feel lust’s undercurrent coursing through his blood.
Miss Darrow’s discreet cough broke the spell. “It seems the opium is taking effect. Do you have a blanket, sir? We should ensure Mr Chance is warm while he sleeps.”
“Sadly, a blanket is the one thing I don’t have.” He glanced out the window and noted they were passing the alms’ houses in Newington. “We’ll reach our destination soon. We’ll see to his every comfort while awaiting a physician.”
Miss Chance stroked her brother’s forehead. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for him, Mr Flynn. I’m sure you know to expect Armageddon when my eldest brother arrives. But you’ve saved Theo’s life. As silly as it sounds, I shall be your protector.”
The comment slipped through a chink in his armour. It stole the breath from his lungs. He’d have staggered back were he not crouched on the carriage floor.
I shall be your protector.
She didn’t know what those words meant to him. His entire life, he’d had no one. No one to fight his corner. No one to save him from the wolves. No one but a white-haired Greek man who lived long ago urging him to strive for greatness.
Sensing his discomfort, she added, “I will ensure my brothers know none of this is your fault.”
“I appreciate the gesture, Miss Chance, but your brothers do not intimidate me.” She intimidated him. She made him imagine things he shouldn’t. Feel things that had no place in his ordered world. She made his body ache and his cock throb. Her perfume drove him to distraction. Now she would enter his home and touch his private things.
And when she was long gone, when he was ambling through the manor’s empty rooms and corridors alone, those five simple words would haunt him. A painful reminder that, for one brief moment, someone cared if he lived or died.
“Few men could make such a claim.” She looked at him with a kind of fascination. “My brothers can be quite terrifying.”
“I pride myself on being unique.” Which was better than saying when a man had nothing to live for, he had nothing to lose.
The conversation came to an abrupt end when the carriage turned into the narrow lane hidden amidst a thick copse—the long drive leading to Mile End.
Miss Chance’s hand rested on her brother’s arm, though her eyes remained fixed on the window. “You live here?”
“I stay mostly at the Old Swan.”
The coachman climbed down from atop his box to open the wrought-iron gates. As the vehicle charged along the tree-lined drive, she faced Dorian and frowned.
He knew what she was thinking. The Earl of Retford had purchased the house for his only son. That despite being a bastard and a working man, he’d led an entitled life. That he had no idea what it was like to sleep in a baker’s shop doorway or spend restless nights fearing for his life.
He rarely cared about other people’s opinions and surprised himself when he said, “Lord Carstairs paid me to find the captain of The Conquest. He stole the ship and its valuable cargo. The reward for retrieving the goods paid for this house.”
Miss Chance looked relieved. “Anything worth having comes as a result of hard work. It’s why I admire you, Miss Darrow.”
“Me?” Miss Darrow drew her worried gaze from their patient. “Independence comes at a price. We’re all trying to escape something,” she said cryptically. “And please, call me Eleanor.”
Miss Chance’s smile could warm the coldest heart, brighten the darkest days. “And you must call me Delphine. Well, until I discover if that is indeed my given name.”
After the shocking attack outside the modiste shop, it was imperative he discovered the lady’s identity. There were many reasons why thugs would attempt to kidnap the sister of a gaming hell owner, but that was for Aaron Chance to determine.
Briggs parked the vehicle outside Mile End Manor. He climbed down and opened the carriage door. “I’ll let Kingsley know we’re here, sir.”
“Tell him to alert Mrs James.” Dorian struggled to stand without brushing his body against Miss Chance. He gripped the seat, but his thigh touched hers as he stood.
They gasped in unison.
The lady scrambled onto the seat, giving him room to alight.
“I keep a small staff, Miss Chance.” He offered his hand to assist her descent, though he wished he had the manners of a sewer rat and had no cause to be polite. “They will attend to your needs where possible, but you should expect to handle basic tasks yourself.”
Having both removed their bloodstained gloves, Miss Chance slipped her bare hand into his. “We k-keep a small staff at home, too, Mr Flynn,” she said, her cheeks turning an alluring shade of pink.
His knees almost buckled. Her hand was soft and small and warm. The instinctive need to protect her rose in his chest. But he was quick to remind himself it was not his job to keep her safe.
“My eldest brother trusts few people,” she added, holding on to him a second longer than she should. “Many are too scared to work for him. He can be a hard taskmaster.”
“Privacy is important to me. As a working man, I cannot afford to be frivolous.” He could never be as wasteful as his father.
“You don’t need to explain, sir.” The corners of her mouth curled into a weak smile. “I’m not interviewing for a husband.”
He smiled. “If you were, I suspect you’d be more interested in a man’s heart than his purse.”
Her eyes widened upon hearing his compliment. “One can survive with little money. We did so for many years. But love … To be starved of love is to be starved of air.”
The comment sliced through his defences. Memories he’d tried hard to forget burst into his mind. He could hear his mother’s needy voice echoing in his head.
Don’t send him to school, Augustus.
The boy can have a tutor.
She had selfish reasons for keeping him at home. When Augustus tired of her, he still had a reason to visit.
The boy needs an education, Martha.
Oh, he’d learned many hard lessons in that hellhole.
Kingsley appeared, his panicked tone dragging Dorian to the present. “Briggs mentioned an accident, sir. A shooting in town.” The thin man’s gaze moved from Dorian to the beautiful woman with blood on her dress, and he stared, somewhat dumbstruck.
“We have guests, Kingsley.” His butler had never had to deal with visitors, let alone a beautiful woman of marriageable age. He needed to brace himself for Aaron Chance’s arrival. They all did. “Miss Chance’s brother has been shot. Briggs will take you into Walworth to fetch Dr Skinner.”
Briggs returned. “Mrs James is heating the water, sir.”
Dorian instructed Briggs to help him carry Theodore Chance upstairs to the largest bedchamber and then sent him on his errand. The room was decorated in a soft pink, the bed hangings a sage green velvet that matched the chairs in the adjoining salon.
Miss Chance scanned the decor with an appreciative eye. “Are you sure you’re not looking for a wife, Mr Flynn? This would be a perfect room for a new bride.”
“I’ve not decorated the room since I purchased the property. I’ve been too busy to make any changes. And I’m not wasteful.”
Mrs James arrived with a pitcher of water for the washbowl. “Sir, if I’d known to expect guests, I’d have aired the room.”
He made the introductions and assured the middle-aged woman she was not at fault. “Mr Chance will sleep for the most part. I doubt he’ll notice a speck of dust on the nightstand.”
Miss Chance took the heavy pitcher from the housekeeper’s shaky hands. “Thank you, Mrs James. I know what a terrible inconvenience this must be. If there is anything I can do to assist you, please ask.”
Mrs James glanced at the lady’s fine clothes and kind brown eyes. “I thank you, miss, but I’m more than able to cope. Tending to a sleeping man will be no trouble.”
