Except for kissing.
Her cheeks heated at the thought. Why couldn’t she put that kiss from her mind?
Based on his coolness during their conversation the previous day on Bond Street, she might’ve imagined the entire moment in the alcove. He hadn’t acted any differently toward her. His gaze hadn’t lingered on her lips. She knew because she’d caught herself looking at his. Had forced herself to look away time and again. Had stopped her thoughts from wondering what might’ve happened if they’d truly had privacy.
She shook her head at her wayward thoughts.
This evening, she needed to keep her attention off Spencer and on her goal. Her purpose was to observe and do her best to fit in. She knew Spencer regretted his offer the moment he’d suggested it.
Thank goodness he’d responded in some manner after she’d confessed her deepest secret to him. Her embarrassment at having done so knew no bounds. She’d been horrified at herself for not keeping her mouth shut. But when he’d reluctantly advised her that he might have a way they could venture out, she’d been delighted, latching onto the notion with both hands.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it herself. Now that she had the clothes to do this sort of outing, she wondered if she could risk another with Jack in tow. The new footman had not yet learned how closely to watch her and her sisters, whereas the other footmen tended to mention their plans to the butler who wouldn’t hesitate to advise their mother.
Based on Rutland’s behavior after he’d suggested she dress as a lad, she knew it would take more than her pleas to convince him to escort her on another outing like this.
She drew the cap lower on her forehead, hoping it hid her brow. Then she rounded her shoulders and stuffed her hands into the pockets, much like she’d seen the lads on the street do. She strode down the alleyway, again testing different lengths of her stride.
“What are you about?” Spencer’s whisper came from near a tall bush amidst the shadows of the alley.
She put a hand to her heart as it threatened to pound its way from her chest. “You gave me a terrible fright.”
“Somehow I doubt it will be the last one of the evening.”
“How do you mean?”
“Let us just say that I have a premonition we may come to regret this adventure.”
“I think you’re going into this with the wrong attitude.” Disgruntled at his comment, she couldn’t help but protest. How were they going to accomplish anything if he already felt like that?
“Humph.” He reached for her hand, only to draw back with a shake of his head. “I forgot for a moment that you’re supposed to be a boy. Let’s catch a hansom cab. The sooner we’re done with this evening, the better.”
Despite his dourness, Dalia’s excitement grew as they hurried down the alley though she had to run every other step to keep up with him. “Will you slow down please?”
He complied. Barely. “Can you lower your tone? And don’t speak so properly.”
“I’ll try.”
“Even better, don’t speak at all.”
“You mean don’t speak once we get there.”
“Sure.”
She glared at him. “Need I remind you that you’re the one who suggested this?”
“No, you need not. I’m well aware of the fact that I temporarily lost my sanity.”
“I don’t know to what you’re referring. This is a brilliant idea.” She tugged at the hem of her jacket once again.
“Brilliant. Certainly. I’ll be sure to tell your father that when we are caught.”
“No one is going to catch us. I make an excellent lad.”
“A pretty one, you mean.”
The fact that his offhand compliment warmed her heart disturbed her. She bit her lip to keep from asking if he truly thought her pretty. “Should I rub a bit of dirt on my face?”
“I don’t believe that will help.” He studied her appearance from head to toe then quickly looked away.
“What is it?” She glanced down, examining her clothing. “Do I have something amiss?”
“You are wearing trousers. That is definitely a problem.”
Dalia was breathless from their quick pace by the time they reached the cab. She held her silence while Rutland gave the address to the driver and did her best to keep from grinning. She couldn’t think of a time she’d been more excited.
When Spencer moved to take her hand to assist her into the cab, Dalia waved him off and climbed into the conveyance without assistance. The smile she’d tried so hard to hold back appeared as she took a seat on the bench.
“Why are you smiling?” he whispered, his proximity sending a shiver along her neck.
“It’s much easier to step into a cab without a gown on.”
Rutland only shook his head.
“I will do my best to say little if you will remember to stop trying to help me do everything.”
“I’ll do my best as well. But you must stay directly beside me at all times.”
“Of course.”
“I need you to do exactly as I say.”
“All right.” She didn’t care for that request but nor did she want him to threaten to return her home.
“Do not make eye contact with anyone.”
“How is that possible? I’m there to observe the people. I can’t very well do that if I’m not allowed to look at them.”
He turned to face her in the small confines of the cab. “If you hold the gaze of a man, he might think you’re available. For hire.”
“But I’m dressed as a boy.”
He raised a brow as though waiting for the concept to sink in.
“Oh.” Her stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. “You are saying there are all sorts of prostitutes there.”
“All sorts. And if you hold the gaze of a woman, she might think you’re challenging her in some way.”
“I see. Somewhat. This is all very complicated.”
“Indeed. And dangerous.”
“Right.” She preferred to pass over that worry. She had enough other things to remember. “What else do I need to know?”
“If I say run, run. I will be directly behind you.”
Her mouth went dry at his words. Did he truly think this was that dangerous or was he only trying to frighten her into complying with his orders?
The cab drew to a halt before she could ask. As she hopped down to the street, she stared at the sight before her.
Cremorne Gardens sat near the River Thames in Chelsea. All types of entertainment were offered, including restaurants, hot air balloon ascents, and dancing. Colorfully dressed ladies strolled along the elm-lined, gas-lit walks.
Music rang through the air and even from this distance, her gaze was drawn toward the platform where many couples danced. The majority of the crowd consisted of men. Soldiers, sailors, middle-class and even upper-class men roamed the area.
The hungry expressions on many of their faces gave Dalia pause. Yet most of the women seemed to enjoy the attention. They preened, not so different than the debutantes in ballrooms. Some flipped their skirts, their smiles broad as they walked past. A few of them were outrageously flirtatious, even to Dalia’s jaded eye.
As Spencer and Dalia made their way along the walk with hundreds of others, it was all she could do not to take his arm. But they were supposed to be two men out for a stroll. That knowledge didn’t keep her from drawing as close to him as possible without holding onto him.
“Entertained?” Spencer asked.
“There’s so much to take in.” She hardly knew where to look first.
“That is apparently part of its appeal. So much to see and be amused by.” He dipped his head toward the far end of the walk. “The dancing platform is just ahead.”
The bright lights, the colors, the loud music, all invaded her senses. She knew her head turned this way and that as one thing caught her attention followed quickly by another.
“We’ll find a place to watch from a safe distanc
e,” Spencer suggested, his casual pace so different from his hurried one earlier.
Dalia hoped it wasn’t too distant. She wanted to understand how the men interacted with the women. Even more, she hoped to have a moment to talk to one or two of the women. Yet now she realized how naïve she’d been about how all this worked.
What if the woman she approached wasn’t a prostitute but happened to be here with her beau? Dalia had no desire to insult anyone by asking if they wanted help escaping a life of prostitution.
That was one of the problems about which Lettie had warned her. Regardless of the good intentions of the people who wanted to help, those on the receiving end were suspicious of an outstretched hand. Even more so if there was no obvious benefit to those reaching out.
From what Dalia had read in the Seven Curses book, she knew working class people were far warier than one might expect. Scams abounded, even in this crowd.
Young girls might be tricked into prostitution, then swindled into giving the few coins they’d earned for a quick toss to a person who played the role of middle-man in the transaction. Dalia didn’t quite understand how it worked but hoped to learn more this evening.
But where to start?
“Can we get closer?” she asked.
~*~
Spencer nearly groaned at Dalia’s request. The sinking feeling in his gut wouldn’t release. Why he’d allowed sympathy for her honesty to override his good sense, he didn’t know. Something about this woman encouraged him to toss aside his normal set of rules.
Breaking rules led to trouble.
Despite knowing that, here he was. His brother was no doubt chuckling in glee wherever he resided at the moment.
“How much closer?” He glanced at Dalia, unable to see much of her face with the brim of the cap blocking it. From the stillness of her form, he assumed the scene riveted her.
He’d come here once several months ago to observe, but Charlie Pruett wasn’t known to frequent the place. If Pruett’s business interests involved the pleasure gardens, they must play a more minor role.
Gaslights illuminated the area, and those dancing, with their colorful clothes, drew the eye. The music was loud, and a festive quality shimmered in the atmosphere.
But if one looked closer, the darker side to the evening became visible. Many of the women had a hard edge to them, their smiles predatory. A man to his right studied the passersby with an intensity that boded trouble. A young lad a few inches shorter than Dalia drew near him. At the man’s nod, the lad eased into the crowded walkway, moving steadily toward a target the man had identified.
The boy wove through the crowd, bumped into the target, apologizing for his clumsiness, then drifted back to the intense man and handed him something. No doubt the lad had picked the target’s pocket.
Spencer turned away. His job wasn’t to stop such thefts. The temptation to do so each time he’d witnessed those type of events had plagued him when he’d first started field work. In fact, he’d given into the urge several times. His efforts had resulted in nothing. The police didn’t care. Those involved would find another location to work their skills if necessary. And it took away from Spencer’s true purpose and risked his cover.
The Earl of Aberland had advised him that no matter how difficult it was to watch other crimes being committed, unless someone’s life was at stake, he’d do more good in the long run by staying focused on his goal.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t affected by such things.
When the intense man signaled another target for the lad, Spencer couldn’t stand it.
“Let’s go,” he told Dalia.
Dalia stepped to the side of the walk and moved toward where the dancers whirled across the platform.
Which happened to put Spencer in the perfect position for action. How could he resist? He walked to the left of the lad and after the boy made his move, Spencer made one of his own, bumping into the lad.
“My apologies,” he told the boy. Then he bent to retrieve the thick wallet he’d forced the lad to drop. “You seem to have dropped this.” He held out the item to the man who hadn’t even realized his pocket had been picked.
“Thank you.” The man’s expression lit with gratitude. “Don’t know how that happened.”
“Take care as pickpockets abound this evening.” Spencer stared at the lad who glared defiantly back. No doubt he didn’t appreciate Spencer interrupting his work.
The lad stepped away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.
“What was all that about?” Dalia asked.
“Nothing of importance.”
The look she gave him suggested she knew differently, but she remained silent.
With a nod toward the platform, Spencer moved toward it. The crowd was even denser here. He found a place they could stand just off the walk that provided a good view but kept them out of the thick of things.
“Are all of those women prostitutes?” Dalia asked.
“No. The working class come here as well. Some of the couples are probably married.” He’d studied people on the streets long enough to think he could tell the difference.
He wondered what she thought when she watched the dancers. Did she picture her maid up there? Did she wonder what sort of home or families the working girls had left behind?
He’d give her a few more minutes and then he was escorting her home. One never knew when a fight might break out. They could end up in the middle of it. When the men outnumbered the women by ten to one, fisticuffs were often involved.
“What are two fine men such as yerselves standin’ over here fer?” a woman asked, coming from behind to pause between them. She looped her arms through theirs as she spoke. “Why don’t we go have ourselves a bit of fun?”
“We’ll have to pass this time,” Spencer said, pulling his arm from hers.
“What about this one?” She tugged on Dalia’s arm as she waggled her eyebrows. “I could show ye pleasures ye’d never forget.”
Dalia kept her head tipped down, hiding her face, much to Spencer’s relief. If she held her silence and acted like an embarrassed lad, the woman would most likely take her leave and find a more willing customer.
“How much?”
Spencer stilled, hardly able to believe Dalia’s question.
The woman gave a flirtatious laugh then tightened her arm around Dalia’s as she named her price.
“How long does it take?”
Spencer felt his shock at the question down to his toes.
“Depends on ye, luv. Might be two minutes or it could be fifteen. There’s a nice big tree in the dark over there that’d give us a bit of privacy.”
“How many times each night do you...do this?” Dalia’s effort to make her voice sound more masculine was a dismal failure as far as Spencer was concerned, never mind the inappropriateness of her inquiries.
“Here now. What kind of question is that to ask a lady?”
“Sorry. I meant no offense. Do you...er...enjoy it?”
“What’s with all the questions? Do ye want to tup or not?”
“I just wondered if you’d prefer a different line of work.”
The woman released Dalia’s arm and faced her, hands on hips. “Who the devil do ye think ye are?”
“What’s the problem, Mary?” A big man swaggered toward them, his narrowed gaze studying Dalia and Spencer.
“I’m tryin’ to do my job, but this here boy is askin’ too many things.”
“No questions allowed,” he growled. “Do ye want a toss or not?”
“No, thank you,” Spencer said, moving to stand beside Dalia. “Forgive the lad. He’s a bit curious is all.” He sensed a crowd beginning to gather around them, no doubt hoping for an altercation of some sort, preferably involving fists.
“Ye’d better keep yer questions to yerself.” The big man jabbed a finger in Dalia’s face.
Spencer saw her draw a breath, no doubt prepared to offer an explanation. He elbowed her as subtly as possible.
Dalia looked at him with a frown before finally realizing what he was about. She turned to the large man, still keeping her face averted. “That’s right. No more questions, sir.”
The man puffed out his chest as though he’d expected them to comply with his wishes. “I should hope not. Mary here has better things to do with her time than talk.”
“Now now, Tully, the boy didn’t mean any harm. If he had a bit o’ money, I’d give him a sample of how it all works.”
“For the same price, would you be willing to discuss your work instead?”
Spencer held back his groan. Hadn’t he always known Dalia held little regard for her personal safety? Finding her in the Argyll Rooms had proven she hadn’t outgrown that. Why had he expected anything different for this outing?
“Why would ye rather talk about it than do it?” Tully asked, his irritation with Dalia apparent.
Before Spencer could interrupt, Dalia lifted her hand and removed her cap. With a tug of a couple of pins, she freed her hair to spill over her shoulders, revealing she wasn’t a lad.
Words failed Spencer. He should’ve listened to his instincts that the evening would not go well. Various scenarios rushed through his mind as he determined how best to disentangle them from the situation now that Dalia had changed everything.
“Ye ain’t no Danny,” the woman screeched.
Dalia reached for the woman’s hand as though to calm her, but the woman was having none of it.
“What is wrong with ye? I ain’t that kind of woman.” She acted as though Dalia had solicited her for an indecent act.
More people gathered around them. It took a moment for Tully to gather his wits about what was happening. But when he did, he roared, his outrage matching the woman’s.
“What do the two of ye think ye’re about?” The large man’s face flushed with anger.
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