“So much has changed since then.”
One kiss at the theatre had altered the course of fate. They’d grown closer. She was slowly learning to trust him and enjoyed his company. But nothing about this situation was permanent. Guarding her heart should be her only priority.
“I need to know you’re happy,” he clarified.
A moment of inward reflection confirmed what she already knew. Happiness eluded her. She had been living someone else’s life. Fulfilling her parents’ dream.
“I’m not your responsibility, Mr Chance. You’ve offered to help me and need do no more. Your conscience is clear. Once we’ve gained the information we need from Mr Pickering, our partnership will end.”
She hoped the librarian confessed and they had the vandal in custody by nightfall. There’d be no more threats. No more sudden attacks. No more sleepless nights spent wishing for a peaceful life. No more kisses from the only man who had ever made her soul sing. No fears of heartbreak.
She would return to the shop and her silent companion, the ever-present figure of loneliness lingering over her shoulder.
“You sound keen to get rid of me, Miss Darrow.”
“The arrangement was always temporary.”
“When I trust someone enough to call them a friend, is it wrong to hope the relationship might last a lifetime?”
A lady could not be friends with a man like Theodore Chance. He was like a well-honed blade, powerful enough to slice through her defences. While his masculine prowess had her gawping in awe, his chivalrous deed left her an emotional wreck. Any thoughts of urging him to be realistic vanished when he played his ace card.
“I have never had a friend outside of my family circle,” he said. “There has never been a need until now. But I have a feeling you need a friend, too.”
She might have melted into a puddle of tears had the carriage not stopped outside Mr Daventry’s premises in Hart Street. Her heart hurt more than the dreadful bruise on her back, but the need to comfort him overrode common sense.
“We make an unlikely duo, but I can be myself with you. That’s important in any alliance.”
Pleased with her answer, he smiled. “Honesty above all else. That will be our motto.” His gaze fell to her mouth, his eyes turning an attractive shade of blue. “The odd little lie won’t hurt. How else can I claim a kiss when we play cards tonight?”
“Friends do not kiss like we do.”
“We’re scoundrels and friends. We make our own rules.” He alighted and offered his hand. “Besides, you need something valuable to wager. I’ll not accept pearl buttons.”
This will end in tears, she told herself as he handed her down to the pavement. But the brush of his fingers made everything feel right.
The housekeeper led them into Mr Daventry’s study. The gentleman stood and rounded the desk, keen to ask about her health.
“I wasn’t expecting you, Miss Darrow. Are you sure you’re well enough to tackle Pickering? When cornered, all men have a propensity for violence.”
Eleanor smiled, banishing the memory of the only time she had challenged her father. “Finding the wretch who destroyed my home is all that matters. He said I would die if I failed to deliver the note, and I believed him. Mr Pickering is the only person who knows the villain’s identity.”
“It’s a pity you don’t have the book.” Suspicion clouded Mr Daventry’s gaze. “Had we played along and hidden the note inside, Pickering would have led us directly to his source.”
Did he think she’d lied about it being stolen?
“Emily must have taken it along with my diary.” Had the girl panicked and fought to save what she could? Had she taken the opportunity to line her pockets instead? “We will visit her at her parents’ home later today.”
Mr Daventry perched on his desk. “Why would Emily want your book or diary?” he mused. “None of this makes sense.”
“Unless the devil who ransacked the shop stole them,” Mr Chance suggested. “He came for the book or the diary and took both.”
Unsure why the man had targeted her to begin with, Eleanor sighed. “Why use me and not deal with Mr Pickering himself? Hopefully, the librarian will provide us with the answer.”
A timely knock on the door brought the housekeeper, Mrs Gunning. “You asked to be notified when Mr Pickering arrived, sir. He’s outside, opening the doors of his fancy caravan.”
“Thank you, Mrs Gunning.” Mr Daventry waited for his housekeeper to leave before asking Eleanor, “Did you bring the sealed note?”
Mr Chance reached into his coat pocket. He turned the tiny missive over in his hand. “Amongst other things, the desire to break the wax and read the message kept me awake most of the night.”
“Read it now. I have black wax to reseal it.”
Eleanor looked at Mr Daventry, fear holding her rigid. “But what if the villain knows we’ve tampered with the note? What if he knows we’ve read his message?”
“I suspect he will come looking for you to carry out his threat,” he said in the calm tone of a man who fought crooks for a living. “Mr Chance will be your protector as we draw the rogue out.”
Mr Chance smiled like a cat in a room full of mice. “I’d like nothing more than to wring the blighter’s neck.”
“Then it’s settled.” Mr Daventry waved his hand to hurry Mr Chance along. “We need something we can use to scare Pickering. Let’s read the damning words that have caused Miss Darrow such misery.”
Mr Chance turned to her, his tone softening. “What do you want to do, Miss Darrow? I shall abide by whatever decision you make.”
Oh, this man was dangerous.
In a world of patriarchal dominance, he knew how to make a woman feel valued.
“I trust you will support me, whatever happens.” She was tired of hiding, tired of running, and meant to fight for what was right. “I say you open it, sir, regardless of the consequences.”
Her stomach churned as he broke the seal and peeled back the tiny folds. He studied the paper, shaking his head, a deep frown marring his brow.
