Page 1 of A Second Chance for Love

One

London

1817

Justin squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his eyelids—hard—the soft leather of his gloves cool on his hot skin.

But when he opened his eyes, she was still standing there.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he murmured. He closed the door to his carriage with a soft click and slumped back against it, unable to move his gaze from this specter from his past.

Juss was some distance away, and the light was dim, but he could see her clearly enough, and he’d know that prim mouth, turned-up nose, and fiery red hair anywhere—although most of it was covered with a hideous cap right now.

Even though he could see her with his own eyes, he had a hard time believing it.

She was carrying a large wooden crate down the back steps of Madam LeMonde’s stylish Bond Street dress shop. There was a small lantern perched on top of the box and it was illuminating her face in an eerie fashion. Judging by the way she was staggering, the box was heavy.

A gentleman would help her, his conscience prodded.

But I’m not a gentleman. Juss thought the word with all the loathing he felt for the breed.

He’d known his share of so-called gentlemen and a goodly number of them would just as likely push her against the wall and mount her as help her.

So he stayed where he was, his eyes dry from staring—as if she’d disappear if he blinked.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs and lifted one shoulder to rub at something on her jaw, an itch that had inconveniently developed while both her hands were full. The only other light in the narrow mews was from the lamp outside the back entrance of the nearest business, The Greedy Vicar public house.

It had been a decade since he’d last seen her but Justin would have recognized her even if it had been a century: Miss Oona Parker, the woman whose judgmental self-righteousness had sent his life into a downward spiral of poverty and suffering—a spiral that had, at long last, led him here. Miss Oona Parker, his damnation or his salvation, depending on how one looked at things.

She propped the box on her hip and unlocked the heavy wooden door that led to Madam’s storage vault. Even from this distance he could see that her movements were slow, almost bone-weary. Well, working as a drudge for a harpy like Madam LeMonde could not be easy. She lifted her burden with both hands and disappeared into the black maw, leaving the door ajar behind her.

Justin turned toward his coachman; Beekman was waiting patiently, wearing his customary bored expression. The two of them had first met in the louse house—not long after he’d seen Miss Parker for the last time—many years before Justin was a wealthy, powerful businessman in a position to offer Beekman—or anyone else—employment. At least not legal employment.

“Return for me in ten minutes” he told Beekman.

“Yes, Mr. Taylor.” Beekman clucked his tongue and the four chestnuts leapt forward, quickly disappearing into the velvety darkness of Cork Lane.

Justin didn’t normally tool around the city in his traveling coach but he’d just returned from his country house, which was a two hour drive, and he liked to work during the trip rather than take his curricle. Especially when the weather was sharp and chill like it was tonight.

He smelled snow in the air. As if on cue, a large snowflake landed on his nose—a prominent organ that attracted such assaults—and then the sky opened its vaults and the air around him swirled with white fluff that sparkled beneath the lamplight.

Fortunately he had on his heaviest woolen greatcoat even though his plans for the evening had included nothing more adventurous than stopping in at The Greedy Vicar for a meal, a few pints, and the monthly meeting with his manager before going home for the night.

Pure chance had brought him out the back entrance of the pub tonight; otherwise Juss might never have seen her. He usually visited this property just once a month, and almost always in the evening, when most of the other shops in the string of buildings would be closed for the night.

Yes, it had been a night like any other—until now. Until her.

Justin’s lips curved into a smile he knew was not nice. What were the bloody odds that he would see her after all these years? Especially now?

It had to be fate.

He pulled up his collar and strode through the quickly blanketing snow toward the dark rectangle that led to the building’s warren of vaults, his booted heels echoing damply as they struck the cobbles. He paused at the doorway, anticipation causing his pulse to accelerate and sending blood racing through his body. The freezing air chilled the sweat on his brow but he was uncomfortably hot beneath the layers of wool: hot with barely suppressed excitement.

What are you doing, Juss?

Fate has thrown her into my path, it doesn’t seem right to ignore this . . . opportunity.

It was a long, long time ago—another life. Leave it be; leave her be.