He could handle Wrotham, but the sight of the woman who had tricked him brought bile to his throat. His arrogance, once a sturdy coat of armour, had taken too many hits to be effective.
“Are you well, Mr Chance?” Miss Darrow’s worried tone jolted Theo back to the present. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She was still gripping his waistcoat in her dainty hand, still standing so close they looked like lovers. That’s when he realised there was a way to bolster his defences. A way to slake his curiosity, too.
“Shall we make a trade, Miss Darrow?”
“A trade?”
“I shall tell you where you can find your box.” Resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder, he held Miss Darrow’s gaze. Her eyes had a tranquil allure, like a verdant meadow beneath the moon’s soft glow. “In exchange, I have a demand of my own.”
Miss Darrow was near breathless when she said, “What could you possibly want from a lowly modiste, Mr Chance?”
He smiled to himself.
“A kiss, Miss Darrow. That’s what I want from you.”
Chapter Two
“A kiss?” Eleanor was convinced she had misheard. A minute ago, they had been waging war. Now, the man who haunted her dreams stared into her eyes and offered the one thing she craved. “Have you lost your wits?”
Perhaps he had taken a dose of laudanum tonight.
Maybe he’d downed a bottle of claret before the performance.
“There’s no time to explain.” Theodore Chance bent his head until his mouth was mere inches from hers. “Kiss me now, Miss Darrow. The more authentic the caress, the more information you’ll earn.”
Authentic? She had never kissed a man in her life.
But as she locked eyes with him, she found herself lost in the beauty of his cerulean gaze. A lady could dive into the fathomless depths and never resurface. One might be hypnotised into forgetting danger lurked below.
“Miss Darrow?” he pressed, his warm breath breezing over her lips.
Three figures emerged from the left, catching her eye. In a world where social connections were currency, it paid to know every fashionable lady in town. Thus, she knew the golden-haired beauty on Viscount Wrotham’s arm was a woman Mr Chance admired.
“You plan to use me to annoy Lady Lucille Bowman?”
She would tell him to go to the devil if she wasn’t desperate to reclaim her sewing box. Without it, she might not survive the night.
“Does it matter? We’ve contemplated kissing each other before.”
“Have we? Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
A sly smile played on his lips. “Your feminine qualities have not gone unnoticed. I’ve seen the way you look at me, Miss Darrow. I’m experienced enough to know you’ve thought about more than kissing.”
The conceited devil.
As her life depended upon bringing a swift end to this game, the time for honesty was nigh. “You have many fine qualities, Mr Chance.” Her heart had melted upon hearing the loving things he had said to his sister, Delphine. He would die to protect his family. Both were attractive attributes. “I may have admired your countenance, but that was before you stole my box. You’re like a fine wine that proves disappointing on the palate.”
“If you want it back, you’ll kiss me. I believe you’ll have a different opinion when you do.”
Eleanor stared at the face that made women swoon. Could she trust Mr Chance to keep his word? Did she want to kiss her tormentor? In all fairness, he was unaware of the dangers she faced. He didn’t know the heavy price she must pay for being part of his foolish game.
“And you will keep your word?” she said.
“I will tell you exactly where you can find the box. It is up to you to retrieve it.” Aware the viscount was fast approaching, he added, “It’s now or never, Miss Darrow.”
Her heart skittered. Lady Lucille was a prestigious client. One she would likely lose after this debacle, but living to see another day was more important than filling the coffers. The ladies of the ton were fickle. One exquisite design would have them swarming to the shop like bees to blossom.
“Very well. One kiss. That is all.”
Mr Chance grinned like his horse had won the Derby. He moistened his lips. “Close your eyes, Miss Darrow. Remember, I shall be in your debt if you make it look authentic.”
There was no time to reconsider.
Theodore Chance captured her chin and slanted his lips over hers in a kiss that proved quite shocking. It wasn’t a rough, carnal mating of mouths. It wasn’t a prelude to something salacious. It was soft and slow and tender. A heart-stopping kiss that sang to a lady’s soul, not her senses. A thief’s caress.
He robbed the air from her lungs. He pilfered her hopes and dreams and replaced them with ones in his own image. He stole every wicked misconception she had ever had about him.
Then he pulled away, taking a tiny part of her with him.
Their eyes met.
“You seem surprised, Miss Darrow.” His gaze lingered on her lips as if he yearned to reclaim them. “What were you expecting?”
She had expected to be mauled by a selfish scoundrel.
