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  Fritz suddenly offered his companion a sly smile. “Or become engaged to the daughter of a wealthy cit.”

  Moreland blushed, and Chance regarded him from beneath lowered lids.

  “Are congratulations in order?”

  Moreland flushed even brighter, giving an uncomfortable cough. “Yes, sir. Miss Sindall. Just announced this week.”

  “Devilishly deep in the pocket,” Fritz chimed in.

  “How fortunate,” Chance murmured.

  Chance inwardly sighed. It appeared neither could have been involved with the disappearance of the diamonds. After all, Fritz would never have braved an interview with his notably sharp-tongued grandmother, and Moreland certainly would not be contemplating marriage to a cit if they possessed such expensive trinkets. Besides, it had taken only a few moments to realize neither possessed the intelligence to dissemble. Had they stolen the jewels, they would have been blubbering the truth the moment he had approached.

  He gave a faint shake of his head. Would the truth ever be discovered?

  “Chance?”

  The surprised call of his name had Chance slowly rising to his feet and turning to discover Lord Scott regarding him through his raised quizzing glass.

  A tall, rather distinguished gentleman with silver hair and a square countenance, he had been a close friend of the previous earl. He had generously offered the same friendship to Chance after his father’s death. It was a friendship Chance cherished.

  “Lord Scott.”

  “Whatever are you doing here?” the older gentleman demanded, well aware of Chance’s preference for White’s.

  Knowing the two fribbles were watching him with great interest, Chance gave a small shrug. “Seeking Ben, although it appears that I am out of luck.”

  “Join me for a drink?”

  Certain he had learned all there was to learn from Fritz and Moreland, he readily quit their company with a faint bow. He could not imagine how Ben endured such twittering fools.

  Following Lord Scott to a table in the corner, he took a seat opposite his friend. Lord Scott leaned slightly forward, his expression somber. “How do you go on?”

  Ensuring they could not be overheard, Chance gave a wry grimace. “We have discovered nothing as yet.”

  “Have faith in Miss Cresswell,” Lord Scott advised with a faint smile. “If anyone can find those diamonds, it is she.”

  Chance did not miss the hint of affection in the older man’s tone, and a stab of unreasonable jealousy twisted his stomach. Although he had originally suspected Miss Cresswell and Lord Scott were more than passing acquaintances, he had dismissed his niggling doubts. He could not believe she would be involved with any gentleman, let alone one twice her age. Now he suddenly wondered if her delightful innocence was nothing more than a sham. She was, after all, born to a master of deception. And there was the lingering question of how she could afford a house of her own and elegant clothes to wear.

  Feeling a flare of distaste at his doubt, Chance was nevertheless unable to prevent himself from seeking the truth. “Have you known Miss Cresswell for long?” he demanded with what he hoped was a casual manner.

  “For many years. She is quite the finest lady of my acquaintance.”

  “Yes.” Chance ran a finger down the length of his jaw. “How did you meet her?”

  Lord Scott leaned back at the sudden question, and Chance fancied his expression became somewhat guarded. “Does it matter?”

  Chance was not prepared to admit even to himself how much it mattered. “I find it odd that you would be acquainted with the daughter of the Devilish Dandy.”

  Far too wily to be easily trapped, Lord Scott lifted one shoulder. “I am a great admirer of the work Miss Cresswell performs with children.”

  “And that is all?”

  The pale blue eyes abruptly narrowed. “Are you attempting to discover if my relationship with Miss Cresswell is of an intimate nature?”

  Chance knew he should laugh and deny any interest in Miss Cresswell’s personal connections. It was certainly none of his concern. But a devil deep inside him refused to allow him to halt. “Is it?”

  The square face hardened in a dangerous manner. “Surely that is a matter between Miss Cresswell and myself.”

  “Are you refusing to tell me?”

  With a concise movement, Lord Scott leaned forward until his arms rested upon the table. There was no mistaking the warning glitter in the blue gaze. “I consider Miss Cresswell much as I would a daughter,” he said in stern tones. “And I must warn you I would take great offense to anyone who has offered her an insult.”

  A mixture of emotions flooded through his body—relief that Lord Scott was clearly no more than a father figure to Miss Cresswell and shame that he had allowed himself to misjudge her, if only for a moment. And surprisingly a swift twinge of anger that Lord Scott’s fatherly concern had not extended to ensuring Miss Cresswell did not regularly place herself in considerable danger.

  “As would I,” he said with soft emphasis. “However, I do feel your care for Miss Cresswell has been woefully inadequate.”

  Lord Scott raised his brows at the abrupt attack. “Really?”

  “You are aware that she possesses an urchin her father won in a card game and regularly consorts with Madame Vallenway?”

  A disturbingly speculative gleam entered Lord Scott’s eyes. “You do not know Miss Cresswell very well if you suppose anything I might have to say would have the slightest influence upon her.”

  “She is damnably stubborn,” Chance was forced to concede.

  “Besides, her heart is always in the right place.”

  Chance was far from satisfied at the flippant response. Really, he expected more from his friend. “That will not protect her from the dangers she deliberately courts, nor prevent her from scandal,” he pointed out in clipped tones.

  The silver brows lifted even higher. “Watts ensures she is adequately protected, and her father has seen to it she will always be plagued with scandal.”

  He spoke nothing but the truth, but Chance felt he had been slapped in the face. Her father. No matter how unfair, he could not deny that the Devilish Dandy’s legacy would haunt Miss Cresswell for eternity, a legacy that would ensure the doors of Society would remain forever shut.

  “Yes,” he breathed.

  He barely noticed as Lord Scott rose to his feet and rounded the table. “You will let me know if I can be of further service?” the older man requested.

  “Yes, thank you,” Chance agreed in distracted tones.

  Lord Scott dropped a hand upon Chance’s shoulder. “Do not judge Miss Cresswell too harshly. She is simply determined to make life better for those in need.”

  Chance abruptly lifted his gaze. “But who is to make life better for her?”

  Lord Scott gave a slow shake of his head. “That question is out of my hands.”

  With a last pat, Lord Scott moved away, leaving behind a strangely disturbed Chance.

  He was uncertain why he should care if Miss Cresswell was destined to become a spinster, or perhaps eventually marry some coarse laborer. After all, she would soon be out of his life. What her future might hold would be meaningless to him.

  Despite his reassuring thoughts, a dark scowl continued to mar his handsome countenance. Only with considerable reluctance did the proprietor force himself to approach the table.

  “My lord, may I offer you some brandy?”

  Chance abruptly shuddered. Another thick head was the last thing he needed. “Good gads, no.”

  Eight

  Sarah tossed aside her quill with a rare display of annoyance.

  She should have finished with her household accounts an hour ago. They were hardly difficult or complicated. But while she had added the columns of her ledger on a half a dozen occasions, she had yet to arrive at the same sum.

  It was, of course, entirely Lord Chance’s fault.

  Although he had been called from London over a week ago, his absence ha
d not put an end to her building sense of restlessness.

  Why had he kissed her?

  Until that moment, she had been utterly content with her existence. She had even been convinced she was one of those rare women who had no need for a gentleman in her life.

  But the sensations Lord Chance had stirred to life had disrupted her smug contentment.

  Why had no one warned her of the power of a mere kiss? Her father had taught her to detect a fake work of art at a glance, to cheat at cards and dice, to barter like a clutch-fisted housekeeper, and to carry herself as a lady. He had warned her of all types of pitfalls that loomed for a maiden on her own in London, but never once had he indicated that her greatest danger lay within.

  Blast it all.

  She had wasted enough hours brooding upon her odd dissatisfaction. She was a lady and, as such, she could not yearn for the kisses of a gentleman far beyond her reach. It would be best if she forgot all about her ridiculous fancies and concentrated instead on finding the Chance diamonds. Once they were located, Lord Chance would be gone from her life and she could return to her pleasant, uneventful existence.

  Gritting her teeth in determination, Sarah grasped her quill and determinedly set about paying her stack of bills and tallying her remaining funds.

  She had just managed to add the sums correctly when a faint noise had her lifting her head.

  Her breath caught at the sight of Lord Chance.

  Attired in a deep gold coat and fawn breeches, he appeared strikingly handsome. But it was the glitter of intelligence in his dark eyes and the unshakable character etched into his elegant features that caused Sarah’s heart to jump.

  If only ...

  No. With a firm movement she rose to her feet. She was no impressionable chit. She was a mature woman, despite the ridiculous manner in which her heart was pounding.

  “Miss Cresswell,” he said, bowing gracefully.

  “My lord.” She was relieved to discover her voice came out quite naturally. “I thought you had quit London.”

  “I had, but I returned as swiftly as possible.”

  “May I offer you a drink?”

  A dry smile suddenly curved his lips. “No, thank you. I prefer to keep my valuables intact.”

  His teasing reference to her theft of his stickpin went a long way to relieving her sense of unease, and it was with her usual calm manner that she met his glittering gaze. “I only did that because you were behaving in an insufferably smug manner.”

  He deliberately assumed that lazy nonchalance which so annoyed her. “My manners are always impeccable.”

  She refused to consider that on at least one occasion his manners had been far from impeccable. Instead she sent him a wry glance. “Is there a reason you called?”

  He strolled further into the room, his powerful presence filling the air. “I wish you to know I have spoken with Ben’s friends and I am fairly confident they have no connection with the disappearance of the diamonds.”

  Sarah’s brows abruptly lowered into a frown. She did not like being outwitted.

  “There is something we are missing,” she muttered, unable to pinpoint the elusive sense she had overlooked a vital clue. “Something ... I must speak with your brother.”

  Lord Chance gave a faint grimace at her sudden request. “I thought he had fled to Brighton, which is where I have been. He was nowhere to be found. Knowing Ben, however, it will not be long before his bout of guilt has passed and he returns from God knows where to his pleasures in London.”

  Sarah felt a stab of annoyance toward the irresponsible Ben. He clearly expected his brother to solve all his troubles while he cowered in hiding. It was almost impossible to believe the two could be remotely related. Certainly Lord Chance would never thrust his sins onto another and simply flee.

  “This is all most vexing.”

  His hint of amusement deepened. “Yes, indeed.”

  With an effort, Sarah realized it was time to swallow her pride.

  “Perhaps you should consider contacting the runners.”

  He gave a slow shake of his head. “I would prefer to keep this quiet a few more days.”

  “But I fear my boast was sadly misplaced,” she forced herself to concede.

  Expecting a teasing remark, Sarah was caught off guard as his hand reached up to gently cup her chin.

  “Absurd. I have not lost my faith in your skills,” he said softly. Then his gaze slowly lowered to the soft curve of her mouth. “Such tempting lips,” he murmured, almost as if he were unaware he was speaking aloud. “They have haunted me from London to Brighton and back again.”

  That quivering pleasure she had battled to quell burst through her lower stomach, making her knees oddly weak. “My lord ...” she attempted to protest, only to be overrode by a drawling voice behind them.

  “Mon Dieu, what have we here?”

  Jerking back as if he had been burned, Lord Chance whirled about, giving Sarah full view of her father.

  The Devilish Dandy raised his quizzing glass to his one exposed eye to better regard Sarah and Lord Chance. Although there was nothing in his expression to indicate his disapproval, Sarah was not fooled. Solomon might not have been a traditional father, but he would swiftly punish anyone he suspected of trifling with his daughter—more than likely with the point of his sword.

  Sarah stepped forward, determined to prevent the brewing trouble.

  “Uncle Pierre.”

  The quizzing glass dropped as Solomon strolled forward. Once again he had chosen a painfully striped coat and knee breeches, and his hair was pulled back with a velvet ribbon.

  “It appears my arrival was not a moment too soon.”

  Refusing to blush, Sarah attempted to play her role as hostess. “Uncle Pierre, may I introduce Lord Chance? Lord Chance, my uncle, Monsieur Valmere.”

  The earl’s dark eyes narrowed. “Monsieur Valmere.”

  “Uncle Pierre recently arrived from Paris,” she hastily added.

  Lord Chance’s expression was unreadable. “How fortunate.”

  “Yes.” Solomon deliberately allowed his gaze to take inventory of Lord Chance’s broad frame before returning to his coolly aloof countenance. “From my understanding, you have become a regular visitor to this household.”

  Lord Chance folded his arms across the width of his chest. “I hope you are finding London to your liking,” he said in soft tones.

  Solomon shrugged. “Tolerably.”

  Hoping to end the encounter as swiftly as possible, Sarah sent her father a warning frown. Lord Chance was too clever to be fooled for long. “Was there something you needed?”

  The tension eased somewhat as a satisfied smile touched her father’s lips. “I thought you would wish to know of my success at the gaming tables last evening. A most profitable night, indeed.”

  Sarah felt a chill of fear. Surely her father was not up to his old tricks so swiftly? “You have my congratulations,” she said in stiff tones.

  He gave a vague wave of his hand. “No, no. No congratulations. It was not my skill that provided my victory. The English gentlemen possess so little finesse, so little patience. And the way they allow brandy to cloud their wits ... it is incomprehensible.”

  The thick French accent was absurd, but Lord Chance seemed to discover little amusing about the flowery speech. “I am sorry you found so little sport.”

  “I do not complain.” Solomon removed his snuff box and measured a pinch. “If Lord Maxwell wishes to squander his fortune in such a reckless fashion, I would be most ungracious to refuse his notes.”

  Sarah’s fear swiftly altered to admiration at her father’s cunning.

  Belatedly she felt Lord Chance stiffen at her side.

  “Lord Maxwell?” he demanded.

  “Yes, a most . . . how do you English say . . . ill-natured reprobate.” The older gentleman replaced his jeweled box. “Still, he did appear quite shaken when he realized just how much money he had lost. His countenance was a most unfla
ttering shade as he confessed it would be next week before he could discharge his debt.”

  Although thoroughly conscious of Lord Chance’s piercing regard, Sarah forced herself to concentrate on her father’s words. It had been inordinately clever of him to maneuver Lord Maxwell into such a position. “Which means he shall soon be in need of a large amount of cash,” she murmured.

  The Devilish Dandy smiled. “My thoughts precisely.”

  “It appears I am in you debt,” Lord Chance said abruptly, proving he was not indifferent to the significance of the notes the older gentleman held.

  Solomon stabbed him with a steady glance. “Yes.”

  Feeling the prickly tension returning, Sarah gave a small cough. “I fear Uncle Pierre demanded an explanation for your numerous visits,” she explained hastily.

  The two gentlemen seemed to regard each other as prizefighters preparing for a bout.

  “With her father gone, I have taken it upon myself to fill the position.” Solomon smiled, but there was little humor to it.

  Lord Chance remained impervious to the obvious warning. Indeed, a glint of amusement entered the dark eyes. “Oddly enough, Lord Scott informed me of much the same thing.”

  “Scott.” Solomon gave a comical grimace. Not surprisingly, the two gentlemen had always detested one another. “A gentleman of good intentions, but no match for my Sarah.”

  “No,” Lord Chance drawled, turning to regard her with a mocking gaze. “Only a gentleman of remarkable fortitude could hope to keep the reins firmly in check.”

  Her father possessed the audacity to give a sudden chuckle, as if pleased by the outlandish remark. “You are very perceptive,” he complimented.

  Sarah thinned her lips. “For your information, I do not appreciate being likened to a horse in need of firm reins,” she informed Lord Chance tartly, then turned to regard her father in a stern manner. “You will discover if Lord Maxwell seeks a means of raising the necessary funds?”

  He offered her a slight bow. “But of course. Now I am off for bed.” He deliberately paused. “Watts, however, shall be just outside the door.”

  With his less than subtle warning delivered, the Devilish Dandy turned to leave the room. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, even though it meant she was once again alone with Lord Chance. The less time the two gentlemen spent together the better.