Mr Chance helped her to sit and propped the pillows. The brief touch of his fingers on her back sent a delightful shiver to her toes.
After taking a long drink of water, Eleanor clutched the glass and tried to gain some clarity. “How long have I been sleeping?” It couldn’t have been three days, but to her dismay, Mr Chance confirmed as much.
“You woke a few times but were not always coherent.” A weak smile touched his lips. Was he recalling something she had said while in a stupor? “Let’s just say I may have new information to trade.”
He was teasing her, playing the jester to settle both their fears. Nothing about her mundane life was worth trading for one of his heart-stopping kisses. Still, the desire to see his smile broaden left her keen to reply.
“As this is a gaming hell, perhaps we might take command of the tables and make a proper wager.”
“Ah, you refer to the piquet and claret evening you mentioned at the Olympic. Once the lords desert the tables, we might command the card room and indulge in a midnight game of chance.”
“Having slept for three days, I think I can cope with one late night.” Bantering with Mr Chance made her forget her woes. “Does that mean you accept the challenge?”
He hesitated, pursing his lips as his gaze moved over her face. “Of course I accept, but only when I’m certain you’re on the road to recovery. I feared you would never wake.”
Mrs Maloney had a grasp of the situation. The pressure to deliver the notes had taken its toll. Trying to prevent her life from crumbling around her was exhausting. Emily had stolen the silk. Someone had taken the books hidden beneath the boards. And someone had pushed her down the stairs.
No wonder she’d not woken for days.
“You’re to blame, sir. This is a comfortable mattress.”
“I only sleep on the best.” One look at the delicate lace neckline of her nightgown and his smile returned. “I trust you found the nightwear just as comfortable and approve of fine muslin from Bengal.”
“Indeed.” Her cheeks grew hot beneath the weight of his gaze. “Though I must question who this sumptuous gown belongs to.”
As if wishing to give them a little privacy, Mrs Maloney busied herself with tidying the washstand.
“I bought it for you. When I unpacked your valise, you had nothing suitable for bed. I walked to Nightingale’s, and Mrs Maloney undressed you upon my return.”
She wore a nightgown Theodore Chance had purchased? One bought specifically for her? The gesture was borne out of necessity, but that didn’t stop the coil of intimacy tightening in her belly.
Eleanor swallowed deeply. “Thank you. My father forced me to make my own clothes. No one has ever bought me anything new.”
His smile faded. “Forced you?”
“Encouraged me in such a way I could not refuse.”
“Your talent for dressmaking must have been apparent from an early age. Did your mother teach you to sew with such skill?”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly, her heart pounding with remorse. She breathed against the churning in her gut. “My mother died in childbirth. I never knew her. My father raised me.”
“Oh.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I’m sorry. It must have been difficult.”
“Too difficult to explain in words.”
Something passed between them. A sense of empathy that came from shared suffering. A silent look of solidarity. The need to lose themselves in another soul-deep kiss.
He must have sensed she wished to change the subject. “Daventry sent word this morning. Pickering’s mobile library will be in Hart Street at noon. We plan to accost him and drag a confession from his devious lips.”
“Excellent. I’m coming with you.” Before she engaged her brain, she pulled back the sheets and eased herself out of bed. “Give me a moment to dress.”
A strained hum rumbled in his throat as he studied her nightgown. “You seem intent on punishing me, Miss Darrow. All things considered, it’s no less than I deserve.”
She could have stood there, stone-still, his eyes devouring her all day. Men had admired her before, but no one had ever made her feel the way he did—like she was the most desirable woman in the world.
“Oh, you’ll catch your death in that flimsy thing.” Mrs Maloney appeared, draping a wool blanket over Eleanor’s shoulders and drawing the edges across her bust. “I don’t know what possessed him to buy something so impractical.”
“A man is never practical when buying a lady nightwear.”
“You’re lucky she didn’t catch a chill.” Mrs Maloney wrapped a motherly arm around Eleanor’s shoulders and drew her to the washstand. “I’ll help you dress and tidy your hair, dear. You shouldn’t be left alone. Not until we’re sure you’re fit and well.”
Mr Chance took that as his cue to leave. “I’ll wait downstairs. During the journey to Hart Street, I shall explain all that’s occurred since your accident.”
Was it an accident?
Had she imagined seeing a shadow?
Had she felt the spectre’s hands on her back?
“Is Jules well? Did he offer any useful information?”
“He’s well but refuses to speak to anyone but you. I’ll take you to see him once we’ve finished with Pickering.” And with that, he closed the door, leaving her alone with Mrs Maloney.
There was something comforting about having an older woman brush her hair. Mrs Maloney’s soothing strokes were enough to lull Eleanor back to sleep.
“I know Theo is partly to blame for your troubles, but he’s a good man at heart.” She took a pin and pushed it gently into Eleanor’s hair. “I know he plays the fool but he would die for his family.”
Eleanor smiled. “You love him a great deal.”
