“For a lady of modest means, it would be a good match.” Though he did not light a fire in her blood. He did not steal the breath from her lungs or make her giddy. “Perhaps I would come to love him in time, but I would rather love sweep me up in a storm.”
“Franklin isn’t right for you,” he said, his tone sabre-sharp.
“He is undeniably handsome.”
“It’s not enough for a woman with your wild spirit. He wouldn’t make you happy. Your arousing kisses would be wasted on him.”
She smiled. “Are they not wasted on you?”
“We’re kindred spirits. Two passionate people seeking solace in each other’s company.” His voice was as rich as velvet as his eyes trailed a slow path over her body. “I must be honest. No other man would make love to you like I would. You’d come hard for me. Too many times to count.”
She stared at him, stunned and quite desperate to know if he spoke the truth. But Theodore Chance would take more than her virginity. He would carve out a piece of her soul. She could survive losing her business, but she would not survive that.
“You seem so sure of yourself.”
“The kiss we shared at your shop told me all I needed to know. I’ll wager Franklin kisses like a panicked fish.”
The thought of locking lips with Mr Franklin chilled her blood. “He would make a respectable woman of me.” Mr Franklin was a good man, kind to his sister, hardworking and pious.
“You value your independence and would rather live like a spinster than have a man tell you what to do.”
He was not wrong. Her biggest fear was marrying a man with her father’s harsh tongue and critical eye. Tyrants often hid behind affable masks.
“Perhaps.” She wasn’t sure how they’d gone from discussing Lady Lucille to her marrying Mr Franklin, but they should focus on the case. “What do you make of their story? Do you believe Viscount Wrotham wanted to read The Vampyre?”
Mr Chance sat back in the seat, his arms folded across his broad chest. “It was obvious none of them had read the tale. There’s no way of knowing if they found the sealed message or if the note was blank.”
“No,” Eleanor mused, gazing out the window. “Let’s pray Mr Daventry has luck finding those who borrowed the other two books.”
Still, there was one glaring coincidence Eleanor could not ignore. Lady Lucille had been sending secret notes for months. Did she request The Vampyre because it contained a reply?
“We must examine every piece of evidence, regardless of how insignificant,” Mr Chance said. “I’ve heard Daventry say the same thing to his agents. Follow the leads, ask the right questions, and the truth will prevail.”
“We need to know who lives in Finch Lane, Cornhill. That’s where the recipient of Lady Lucille’s note lives, the one I failed to send.”
Mr Chance nodded. “We’ll add it to the list. The barrow boy may have vital information. Once we’ve heard from Jules, we will decide our next line of enquiry.”
Jules and his family occupied a first-floor apartment on Lombard Street, Cheapside, with an excellent view of the Mansion House. His mother, Alice, was in bed when Eleanor arrived, though she’d heard the woman’s hacking cough as she mounted the stairs.
Mr Daventry’s man—a mean-looking fellow with a squashed nose—ushered them inside, shouting for Jules from the doorway.
Jules’ eight-year-old sister, Hope, came charging into the living room, her face as warm as a sunbeam. “Mr O’Hare. Have you come to play marbles? I knocked Jules out of the circle twice last night. He ain’t stopped sulking since.”
The hulking fellow smiled and patted Hope on the head. “You know I’m paid to stand guard at the door,” he said in a broad Irish accent. “Go to your mammy and give her the medicine. You remember what I said now. She’s to take the tincture and eat that broth if she’s to gain her strength.”
The girl wiped her nose with her hand, wrapped her arms around Mr O’Hare’s waist and hugged him. “Tell me you ain’t leaving.”
The man gulped. His body might have been made of stone but his heart certainly wasn’t. “I’ll be right outside the door. Now, fetch Jules and tend to your mammy.”
Hope released him and skipped out of the room, calling for Jules.
Mr O’Hare turned to them. “Ah, that child kills me, so she does.”
Mr Chance laughed. “I suspect Daventry knew what he was doing when he ordered you to guard their door.”
“The longer it goes on, the harder it will be to leave.”
“You may be here for another week,” Eleanor said.
Pursuing all lines of enquiry would take time. Indeed, her heart echoed Mr O’Hare’s sentiment. The more time she spent in Mr Chance’s company, the more it would hurt to let him go.
“I have a feeling I’ll be taking this job home,” Mr O’Hare said, smiling at the empty doorway. “Father Branagan says when a man feels the glory of heaven on earth, he knows that’s his calling.”
“All things happen for a reason,” Eleanor said, feeling the heat of Mr Chance’s gaze upon her face. Had he not stolen her box, she never would have kissed him. “Though during times of trouble, it’s hard to be optimistic. Perhaps this is your life’s purpose.”
Jules appeared. His face was clean, his brown hair combed and tucked behind his ears. He eyed Mr O’Hare cautiously. “Daventry pays you to mind the door. I don’t need you here. Wait outside while I speak to Miss Darrow.”
Mr O’Hare did not clip the insolent boy’s head but nodded. “You call if you need me.”
As soon as the Irishman closed the door, Jules grumbled, “I’m sick of him sticking his nose where it ain’t wanted. I ain’t no fool and can take care of my family. When can we leave this place?”
“When we know your life is not in danger.” Eleanor motioned to the chairs beside the hearth, and they all sat. “You’re safe here. Mr Daventry told you what happened at my shop. Stock ruined. Cupboards broken. The devil will stop at nothing to keep his secret.”
Jules noticed the minor cut on Eleanor’s forehead. “Mr Daventry said you tripped down the stairs, but I know you ain’t that clumsy.”
“Someone pushed me. I hit my head and remember very little. Mr Chance thought I had fallen and didn’t know to check the rooms upstairs.” If he had, they’d be closer to discovering the truth.
