Derek slammed his informant against the wall. Fetid air wheezed from Benny’s lungs as he kicked against the wall for a hold. “Who told you this?” Derek jolted him again when he didn’t immediately answer. “Who?”
“Everyone,” Benny gasped. “Everyone.” He clawed at Derek’s arms. “There’s a price so big for information leading to ’er that she is the catch. The only catch.”
Blood drained from Derek’s face. “What do they know? Her name?”
“No.”
Derek glared.
“No! I swear. Only where she was and that she lost a glove. That’s all anyone knows. The call went out two ’ours ago.”
Damn. Derek pushed the man away.
Two hours. Someone could have found her by now.
But how the hell had they known about her missing glove? If they’d seen it, they wouldn’t have left it behind the couch. They would have taken it with them. Only a handful of people knew about the glove. He hadn’t mishandled the information. His lips thinned.
The War Office must have a leak. A traitor explained it all, and it wasn’t the first time. Greed was a powerful motivator.
Someone on the inside spied for the Black Dahlia.
Benny jerked his coat down. “Now see ’ere! You can’t push me around this way.”
Derek dropped a hefty bag of coins into the man’s hands.
Benny’s grin returned at the heavy clunk of metal. “It’s been a pleasure, m’lord.”
“Inform me immediately when something is uncovered.”
Benny tossed the bag in the air, catching it in a grimy fist. “You’re the boss.”
Derek didn’t respond. He didn’t say a word to his driver on the way to the Morrisons’ ball, the footman who opened the carriage door, or the guests who waited in line to greet the host and hostess.
Lady Morrison was the third wife of the Earl of Clarence, and by the looks of her low décolletage, she hunted for a lover.
“Viscount Lawrence, what a pleasure to see you this evening,” she purred.
He bowed over her hand politely. “The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for inviting me.”
She flirted with him through her lashes, and Derek barely held back his temper when she brushed her bosom against him. He was sick of the games, sick of the deceit.
Lord, if society knew how he truly felt, about his faintly veiled boredom, his masked repugnance for indulgent rakes who wasted both fortunes and time, and his loathing for those of his own station who used their position to crush others for their own gain, he wouldn’t be received anywhere.
“We couldn’t do without you,” she purred again. He almost wished the woman would cough already and quit using that ridiculous tone. “Perhaps I could give you a tour later. A private one,” she added.
A tight smile stretched his lips. “I would enjoy that,” he said, having no intention of doing so, but refusing to embarrass her.
“As would I.”
Derek barely suppressed a shudder as he headed into the ballroom. He was ready to get away from this life, and there was only one thing holding him back.
Charlotte.
His task wasn’t merely to gather information now, but to protect her life. He needed to find her. Now.
He nodded to an acquaintance, but didn’t accept the offer for further conversation. He scanned the room’s perimeter, systematically working his way through the crowd in search of flaxen locks.
When his gaze landed on Charlotte twirling around the floor, laughter floating from her lips, his blood heated. Soft candlelight flattered most people, but it caressed her skin in a way that made it look like cream or the softest, most delicate silk he had ever seen. Her cerulean eyes twinkled from this distance, and a bolt of lust shot through him so viciously it robbed him of breath.
As he stormed across the room, dodging swirling couples, he told himself it was because he urgently needed to speak with her, because her life was in danger and he needed to protect her. It was his duty, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that one of the most notorious rakes in society had his hand on her waist.
His fist clenched.
“May I cut in?” Derek asked with an edge but didn’t bother to wait for a reply. He bundled a spluttering Charlotte in his arms and wove into the crowd of dancers, leaving Lord Bartholomew glowering after them.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, glancing around the room. “Everyone’s watching.”
Time was precious, but he felt his lips curling. “Why?”
Her mouth dropped open. “You can’t be that obtuse.”
“Enlighten me.” He twirled her, bringing her closer into the shelter of his body on her return. Only his training kept him from groaning. She fit against him perfectly.
“You stole me from Lord Bartholomew. Everyone thinks there’s something going on between us now. That you have an interest in me.”
“Perhaps I do.”
Her eyes leveled his. “That’s absurd. You’ve known me for years, and there’s been nothing between us.”
She was right. He had known her for years, but he’d never truly seen her. He hadn’t let himself. “Things change.”
“Not everything.” She glanced across the floor as the chatter increased in the room. “Don’t you see you’re causing problems for me?”
“How so?”
“I have suitors. They might decide to give up if they think you’re interested.”
He scoffed. “Why would they? Any self-respecting man would welcome the competition. It sweetens the victory.”
“They’ll only pursue if they have a chance.”
“Do they not?” He tensed for her answer.
She laughed. Full, heartfelt joy. It was a breath of fresh air in the stale room, a light more brilliant than thousands of candles. It came from somewhere deep inside, somewhere so pure, so innocent, that he was entranced. How could anyone remain so untouched in the world? “What is it?”
She chuckled again. “You’re Viscount Lawrence. I’ve heard talk that you’re the catch of the season. Any woman would be lucky to snag you.”
He absorbed her joy, hungering for more. “That can’t be true.”
She nodded. “It is true. I heard it just the other night. A large group was discussing it, and your name was unanimous.”
“Unanimous, huh? You agree?”
“I’m the one who suggested you.”
He edged the room and pulled her behind a potted plant so quickly she squeaked. “What are you doing? Everyone was watching us. They’ll know we’re here.”
He gripped her shoulders, and heat poured through him. The need to pull her closer overwhelmed, but he suppressed both. He had a job to do. And time was running out. “Listen very carefully to me. After this dance I want you to walk to the lady’s retiring room. Powder your nose, adjust your hair. Linger only long enough to pacify other ladies present. I want you to head down the hall away from the ballroom and meet me on your second left.”
Her eyes widened as she shuffled back a step. His grip held her in place. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Your life is in danger. I can help you.”
Her eyes widened. Recognition flared, removing all doubt as she understood precisely the circumstances he referred to. “How do I know I can trust you?” she whispered, her gaze darting around the room.
“Because you know me. Because you know I’m someone you can count on.”
Haunted eyes met his. “Not everyone I know is trustworthy.”
“Bradford trusts me.”
“He does.”
“And you trust him, don’t you?”
She bit her lip, then nodded. After weighing his words for a moment, she eased into the crowd without looking back, weaving, greeting, smiling as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She must be terrified, but by the looks of her, no one would ever suspect.
Charlotte Langston was smart. It took strong character to maintain composure. Then again, y
ears in the ton trained women in such a way. Behave too eager, a lady will lose a suitor. Act demure, they’re dull. Appear vibrant, and they’re scandal worthy. Young ladies walked a fine line in society. It bred qualities he loathed in most women. Pettiness, intrigue, infidelity. But others, such as Charlotte, honed qualities he admired.
He cursed.
He needed to stop thinking of her as a woman. His objective was to gain information on the Black Dahlia and keep his witness alive.
There wasn’t a moment to lose.
Chapter 6
Charlotte had ignored propriety at the Leatherbys’ ball and overheard the dangerous discussion of murder.
Now, here she was, making the same decision to head away from the safety of the crowd. Except this time, she wouldn’t be alone. She shivered.
Your life is in danger.
She was afraid to be alone. Afraid to go out in the daylight, let alone at night. She didn’t want to live this way for the rest of her life, hiding a secret she didn’t want to keep. She wanted to be free.
Freedom. She snorted. It always boiled down to that.
Tiptoeing down the hallway, she moved away from the main areas of the house, her shoulders bunched with unease. What was she thinking going to a secluded part of the house with a man she truly didn’t know that well? Seeing him at functions over the years did not mean she knew him or could trust him, regardless of her brother-in-law’s confidence.
Sugar lumps! She stumbled to a stop. She shouldn’t be doing this. There was no way Viscount Lawrence could know if she was in danger or not. There was no way he could know what she overheard—unless he was in on it.
With a whimper, she spun back toward the ballroom.
A hand shot from the shadows, yanking her into a dark corner.
Fingers clamped over her lips, muffling her screams as a forearm snaked around her abdomen, bringing her firmly against a hard, dangerous physique.
“Don’t scream,” the masculine whisper against her ear warned.
Viscount Lawrence. She sagged in relief.
“You aren’t going to scream if I let you go, are you?”
She shook her heard, willing her racing pulse to ease. If he were the villain she’d overheard plotting, he wouldn’t very well offer to release her, would he? “I didn’t know it was you.” She didn’t apologize.
He nodded, releasing her, and she feared he understood too much.
“Be glad it was. Because next time…”
She straightened her spine, refusing to be cowed by his implied threat. “Why am I here?”
His finger went to his lips as he looked around the corner. He gripped her hand, not bothering to gain her permission before doing so, then ushered her through a maze of rooms and hallways that somehow led to a side door.
Where on earth were they going? She should be frightened to be alone with him, but, in some strange way, being in his presence made her feel safe.
They were on the opposite end of the house in a small garden, lit only by moonlight and remnants of candlelight through windowpanes. Music floated on the air from the ballroom.
“What are we doing here?” she whispered, unable to keep silent a moment longer.
“We need to talk.”
“We couldn’t converse inside?”
He leaned against a pillar, his eyes hard on her. “No.”
She took a step back at the edge in his gaze, unease pumping through her once again. He looked dangerous now. What had she been thinking? “Look, my lord, I don’t know what to tell you. There must be some mistake.”
His jaw clenched. “There’s no mistake, Lady Charlotte. You misplaced your glove the other night at the Leatherbys’ ball.”
“But the punch—”
“We both know you didn’t spill anything. I know you lost it, because I recovered it.”
Her chin shook. He couldn’t have found it. He couldn’t have known. “But you can’t be!”
His head cocked. “I can’t be what?”
“You can’t be the man from that room. Your voice is too low. Too smoky.”
“The man from what room?” He stalked closer, and she darted behind a bench to keep her distance.
Something happened when he touched her, an unexplainable feeling of warmth and comfort. He could not touch her right now.
She shuffled, scurrying away from him across the flagstone. If he meant to kill her in this garden, he would have a fight on his hands. Her slipper finally connected with the rake she’d stepped over earlier. Swooping down, she scooped up a muddy rake, juggling it clumsily in gloved hands. “You know what I’m talking about. But how? Did she send you to kill me too?”
His step paused as he considered her. “What are you doing?”
“Strike you. If I must.”
His brow quirked. “Why on earth would you hit me?”
The nerve! She might have been naive to believe he wanted to help her, but she wouldn’t let him near her now. “If you think I won’t defend myself, you’re sadly mistaken.”
His jaw slackened. “Defend yourself… against me? Lady Charlotte, there are plenty of people who want to do you harm, but I’m not one of them. Unless you bash me over the head with that stick, then we might have words.”
The rake lowered an inch, but her grip stayed sure. “Then why are we here? How did you know about the glove?”
“I know about the glove,” he gritted out, “because I was supposed to be in the Leatherbys’ sitting room.”
He’d admitted it. She brought her weapon back up to strike.
“I was ordered to overhear their plans and arrest them, but I arrived too late.”
“Arrest them?” Her thoughts spun. It didn’t make sense.
“Yes.”
Her brows furrowed. In front of her was a peer of the realm, a man with a brilliant mind for business, a distinguished pedigree, and the most handsome form she had ever seen. But even he had his limitations. Gentlemen of his social standing did not arrest ruffians. “I don’t understand.”
He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m a spy.”
* * *
Lady Charlotte’s cheeks paled as her body swayed. Derek hoped she wouldn’t faint. It made him feel hulking and brutish when women fainted. Particularly due to something he’d disclosed.
“You’re a…” She gulped, gesturing with a muddy glove.
“Spy.”
She nodded slowly. “A spy.”
“That’s right.”
She lowered her rake a fraction. “You were supposed to be in the room with them? You were sent to arrest them?”
“Yes.”
To his relief, color surged back into her cheeks. “Then what happened?” She rested the gardening tool over her shoulder like a seasoned field hand, clueless of the dirt that now marred her gown.
He gritted his teeth. He hated explaining himself. And hated it even more when he’d botched it up. “I couldn’t get away in time. Couldn’t remove myself from company without causing speculation. It was more important to maintain my cover.”
“More important than arresting murderers?”
He nodded once. “They might not have showed. My cover would’ve been blown. It’s happened more times than I can count. If I had compromised myself, then plenty of other criminals would walk free.”
Her rake fell to the ground, chunks of dirt plopping on impact. “I think I need to sit, if you don’t mind.” She flopped onto the bench without awaiting his answer. “What am I to do?” she whispered. His heart wrenched. She gazed unseeingly at her once-white gloves. “I don’t even know who they are.”
Knowledge was powerful, but also dangerous. But she was already in trouble. Thugs were coming after her. More information couldn’t hurt her at this point. “The woman is called the Black Dahlia. She’s the leader of a dangerous smuggling ring that sells secrets and anything else of value. She values neither human life nor our country. She’d murder her own mother to get what she wanted.”
&nbs
p; Charlotte’s hands clenched. “What will happen to me?
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The truth about her situation was sinking in, and there was only one conclusion she would reach.
“They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?” Haunted eyes met his.
The urge to protect surged through him, forcing him to move, to go to her. “I won’t allow that to happen. I can protect you.” Her wrapped her hand in his.
“From them? Even though you don’t know who they are? Their voices were familiar, but I can’t identify them.” She trembled against him. “They’ve killed others.”
It wasn’t a question. She heard things she never should have heard, and he wished he could take that from her. Take the burden, take the fear, the danger. “Yes. They have. But you will not be their victim. I’ll protect you and find them. This will be over. You’ll be free.” He’d never made such a promise to another. In truth, he could never guarantee anyone’s safety. No matter how hard he tried.
But this was different.
He wouldn’t rest until Charlotte was safe.
No matter what, even if he had to forfeit his own life, Charlotte would not be harmed. Once he captured them, he’d be done. He’d be free. As free as she would be.
His sacrifice would mean something.
“How will you stop them? You said yourself, they’re going to find me. You can’t be by my side every second.”
He grasped her hand, pulling her to stand beside him. As things stood, she was correct. He couldn’t be by her side every moment. But he could change that. “Listen to me very carefully. We will go back into the ballroom separately, but I will always have my eyes on you. Once we’re back inside, we will dance a set together, then promptly start another.”
She gasped. “But everyone will think—”
“Exactly.”
She edged away. “You forget. They’ll think your intentions are serious. That you’re close to proposing. Especially after you cut my dance with Lord Bartholomew short.”
“And what better excuse would justify you and your family leaving tomorrow for a country party at my estate?”
A Kiss With Scandal (Scandals & Secrets 4) Page 4