Falling for the Viscount_Book VI of The Seven Curses of London Series

by Lana Williams

  “My apologies. Perhaps I should plead a headache and return home.”

  The sprawling estate sat at the edge of London, making it the perfect location for an afternoon and evening of fun. The lawn on which they played had been specifically designed for croquet so was perfectly level. The estate also boasted a tennis court, which Dalia had hoped to try. But her mother insisted that was an activity for fast women, therefore none of her daughters were permitted to play.

  Dalia was sorely disappointed. She’d found the racquets inside and tried swinging one several times as she’d seen a few other women doing. The handle had felt wonderful in her hand, the racquet neither too heavy nor too light. She’d been certain striking the ball with that satisfying smack would ease her angst.

  That hope had been taken from her as well. Playing croquet wasn’t the same because she’d played it countless times before.

  The cloud hanging over her made her a bit irritated with Spencer.

  Why hadn’t he given her a chance to explain? She’d only wanted to protect him. She supposed his pride or masculinity or some such thing had been insulted.

  Men.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself.” Sophia’s brow rose in warning, making Dalia realize she’d sighed once again.

  “I’m sorry.” Luckily, the other people playing were some distance away, giving them a small measure of privacy.

  Sophia leaned on her croquet mallet. “Why don’t you tell me what is perplexing you so? Perhaps we can find a solution together.”

  “You’re only saying that so I’ll stop distracting you from the game. How did you become so good at croquet?”

  She smiled broadly. “Elliott won’t play with me any longer. He says I cheat.”

  “Do you?”

  “No. He is just a sore loser.” Sophia gave a little wave at one of the other players when she complimented her own playing.

  “I can’t believe you’re calling the Earl of Aberland a sore loser.”

  She lifted a delicate shoulder. “One must do what one must. Now then, I digress.” She reached out a hand to squeeze Dalia’s. “Truly, I would help if I can.”

  “You’re very kind.” Dalia hesitated. The offer was tempting. Yet this was no simple issue to be discussed openly. Secrecy was of great importance on all fronts—her relationship with Spencer, what they’d been doing together, and what she’d done on her own.

  Did she dare confide her secrets to anyone?

  Their conversation was interrupted when several other women joined them briefly before continuing to play.

  Sharing her problem with Sophia might carry risk, but she trusted her cousin and had appreciated her advice in the past. Dalia had already realized she was unlikely to solve the true crux of the issue—her relationship with Spencer—on her own.

  Sophia had encountered some challenging days when she first met her soon-to-be husband. Perhaps she’d learned something useful that might be of benefit.

  Dalia drew closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Sophia’s eyes widened with interest. “Of course.”

  “I’ve become...reacquainted with Viscount Rutland of late.”

  Her cousin stilled as though fearing a display of too much excitement would silence Dalia. “Oh?”

  Dalia didn’t want to tell her all they’d gone through together, or how Spencer had rescued her. Perhaps it was best if she simply focused on the actual problem. “I believe I insulted him.”

  “Hmm. In front of others?”

  “No.” Was that a point in her favor?

  Sophia gave a call of encouragement to another of the ladies who was taking her turn before facing Dalia. “How did he react?”

  She couldn’t help but give another beleaguered sigh. “He retreated and left. Without allowing me to explain why I’d said what I’d said.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?” Hope had her squinting at Sophia.

  “Not exactly. But I can advise you that men are fickle creatures, their feelings as easily bruised as ours, though they’d never admit it.”

  “I suppose that is why I spoke so freely to him. I didn’t realize there was a chance of insulting him.”

  “Did it have anything to do with his ability to protect you? They hate that.”

  Dalia considered the idea. “Yes, I suppose it did.”

  “Then that is most likely the problem.” Sophia gave a nod. “Men don’t take kindly to being doubted.” She eyed the black ball then the hoop a short distance away and struck the ball with amazing accuracy.

  “How do I fix it?” Dalia asked, anxious to find a solution.

  “I suppose that depends on why you want to do so.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you simply wish to apologize and convince him to accept it, or do you want to apologize with the hope of returning to or perhaps even improving upon your previous relationship?” Sophia gestured for Dalia to take her turn.

  As she lined up the ball with the hoop, Dalia pondered Sophia’s question. What did she want? Though she’d only been without Spencer a few days, she didn’t care for his absence in her life. In fact, she detested their separation. “Improve it.”

  “Well then, you’ll need to make a bold move when you give your apology.”

  Dalia’s ball went wide of the hoop as she looked up to stare at her cousin. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Sophia glanced about the lawn, making Dalia realize how loudly she’d voiced her question. She stepped closer before responding. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last few months, it’s that men have pride. You’ve insulted him, so in order to repair it, you’ll need to do something...different.”

  Dalia still didn’t understand. “What would you suggest?”

  “Is there something he’s particularly good at? You could ask for his help with that.”

  “He’s good at following rules.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Sophia expertly struck her ball again and hit it through the next hoop. “Think back on what you said that insulted him and see if you can turn it the opposite way. Instead of offending him, you’ll be able to compliment him.”

  “I see your logic. I’m just not certain it’s possible.” Dalia thought over the conversation they’d had as she went to retrieve her ball. But no ideas came to mind.

  “You have another option,” Sophia said with a smile when Dalia returned. “Make him realize he cares for you and that you care for him, which would make it easier for you both to move past this toward a future together.”

  Dalia’s stomach did the oddest flip at her cousin’s words.

  Spencer dismounted then handed the reins of his horse to a servant, having ridden from London to the Duke of Burbridge’s estate. His carriage should’ve already arrived with his things as he’d sent it an hour prior to his own departure. The idea of riding inside a carriage had held no appeal, not with the pent-up energy he couldn’t seem to shake.

  He nearly hadn’t come to the house party. In truth, over the past few days, he’d found it more and more difficult to move between the two worlds he straddled. Placing Pruett behind bars would surely ease his quandary. McCarthy’s demise would most likely take a little longer but would eliminate his worries.

  Attending parties and watching others’ frivolous behavior seemed a waste of time and energy when he knew the challenges many of the less fortunate faced.

  He now better understood it wasn’t good enough to simply throw money at a cause and hope the problem fixed itself. Dalia had helped him see that. After much consideration, he’d decided to create his own foundation to help others. The lengthy list of problems Dalia had discovered at the homes for fallen women had been disappointing. While he knew that wasn’t the case with all of them, more should be done for those who needed a helping hand.

  Unfortunately, he had neither the time nor the expertise to manage a charitable organization. In the middle of another sleepless night, he’d come to the conclusion the answe
r was in gathering the right people together who had the funds and connections to make a difference. That was something he could do.

  Hence one of the reasons he was here. The Duke of Burbridge had immense wealth and influence, which made him the perfect person for Spencer to approach about joining his efforts to form a foundation to help those in need. He’d attended university with the duke and, while he didn’t know him well, he’d found Burbridge to be an affable man with the intelligence needed to manage the vast holdings he’d inherited upon his father’s death just over a year ago.

  Spencer certainly didn’t have all the answers, but he recognized many of the problems. Hopefully, he could convince others to join him. Aberland had already agreed with enthusiasm and suggested Spencer mention his project to the duke.

  He eyed the imposing façade of the massive house as he mounted the steps. From what he’d heard, it sat on over a thousand acres and the interior held over fifty bedrooms, which made it the perfect place to entertain.

  Would Dalia be here?

  An odd mix of hope and wariness filled him at the thought. It had taken him aback to learn she thought so little of his abilities. And of him. Her words had brought forth old wounds from things his father had said that he couldn’t put behind him.

  His poor reaction to her comments had no doubt roused her curiosity. He should’ve been able to brush them off more easily. After all, he worked in a field where people told lies on a daily basis. He should’ve mastered the art of pretense by now. Clearly, he was overreacting.

  What truly bothered him was her lack of faith in him. For heaven’s sake, he’d rescued her from Pruett’s clutches and still had sore ribs to prove it. What more did he have to do to prove his worthiness for—

  He halted halfway up the steps of the mansion, his heart pounding, mouth dry. Why did he want to prove his worthiness? For what purpose? Surely he hadn’t forgotten how she drove him mad or that he’d decided a long time ago they’d never suit. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t shake the notion that she would’ve been a better match for his brother than him. However, he never would’ve allowed such an event to come to pass. He cared deeply for Dalia. How deeply remained to be seen.

  Before he had a chance to clarify his thoughts, two liveried footmen wearing the duke’s green and gold opened the front doors. That same green and gold matched the flag that flew from a turret on the north side of the mansion.

  To his surprise, Burbridge himself stepped onto the front steps to greet him. The duke’s handsome if stern appearance had made him one of the most desirable catches in all of England. With dark hair, startlingly blue eyes, and a powerful build, not to mention his title, women of all ages fluttered around him. “Rutland. Good of you to come.”

  “Burbridge.” Spencer gave a bow. “Thank you for the invitation.”

  “I know how busy you are these days, so I appreciate you making time for this gathering.”

  Spencer frowned, uncertain as to the duke’s meaning.

  “I had an interesting conversation with Aberland several days ago.”

  “Oh?” Spencer was surprised. Aberland had made a great effort to keep his own work for the Intelligence Office a secret, going so far as to play the role of scoundrel to cover his activities both on foreign shores and at home.

  Burbridge offered a knowing smile. “He said that while secrets were well and good, it was worthwhile to keep one’s friends informed of certain...activities with the hope they could be of assistance.”

  The idea of men like the duke knowing what he did was reassuring to Spencer yet made him uncomfortable. He supposed he’d been keeping the secret for some time now so doing otherwise felt uneasy. But the way Burbridge looked at him now, with respect and perhaps a hint of envy in his eyes, wasn’t unpleasant.

  He didn’t know how Aberland had dealt with the fact that his peers thought he did nothing other than attend social events. Nor did Spencer want it advertised that he worked for the Intelligence Office. Perhaps Aberland had found a balance of some sort.

  “I appreciate that.” He needed to remember to thank Aberland the next time he saw him. This made his goal much easier. “I’d like a few minutes of your time before I leave to discuss an idea with you.”

  Burbridge nodded. “I look forward to it.” He turned toward the front door, placing his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Now then, a footman will show you to your room. I believe your things have already been placed there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The men are gathering in the billiard room shortly. I hope you’ll join us.”

  Spencer wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or disappointed. Meeting in the billiard room meant the ladies were involved in other activities. He admonished himself as he followed a servant up the grand staircase that swept gracefully to the upper levels. Though he didn’t know if she were here, already she distracted him.

  Between the work Atkins was doing as well as Choral, something should shake loose soon on Pruett. And once the man was behind bars, Spencer had intended to place some distance between himself and Dalia. But the idea no longer felt like the right path.

  He washed off the journey’s dust then changed his clothing before venturing downstairs once again. The numerous servants striding through the house could’ve formed a small army. No doubt all were on duty for the house party. Another footman lingered near the foyer and showed Spencer to the billiard room.

  The two-story room had dark paneling, stuffed exotic animals, and boasted two billiard tables along with tables for cards.

  Another footman circulated amidst the men with a variety of drinks. Spencer selected a glass of whisky. Burbridge was deep in conversation with several other men. Not wanting to interrupt the intense discussion, he wandered to the windows to look across the expansive lawn only to have his breath catch.

  Damn.

  Dalia and Aberland’s fiancée, Miss Sophia Markham, were playing croquet with several other women. He devoured the sight of her. She wore a pale pink gown with a modest bustle and puffed sleeves. Her matching hat had a broad brim, perfect for keeping her out of the sun.

  She was beautiful. Her blonde hair was tucked beneath the hat, leaving the tempting length of her neck visible. The catch in his chest, the tightening of his belly, the lift of his spirits at the sight of her told him just how much he cared for her.

  Why had he thought it best to stay away from her?

  She appeared to be in a rather heated game with her cousin based on her focused expression. He recognized that intensity, for he’d had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of it during their last kiss.

  To distract himself, he took a sip of his drink, appreciating the smoky taste as it sent heat down his dry throat. He glanced at the other women, noting several familiar faces, but his gaze was drawn back to Dalia.

  He’d missed her. Missed her to the depth of his soul. Seeing her made that so much clearer.

  Suddenly she turned to stare straight at him, as though sensing the weight of his regard.

  “Isn’t that one of the Fairchild daughters?” Burbridge asked from his side. “Violet? Or Rose? I can’t seem to remember.”

  “Dalia.” The sudden irritation that filled him on Dalia’s behalf surprised him. How could anyone confuse her with her sisters? They didn’t look that much alike, and they were completely different personality-wise as well.

  “Dalia.” The duke nodded. “I remember now. She’s a pretty thing.”

  The pang of jealousy surprised Spencer with its strength. He bit it back, reminding himself that Burbridge hadn’t said anything untoward. “Yes.” He deliberately turned away, certain she couldn’t know he watched her. The reflection of the window panes would prevent her from seeing inside. Yet the idea of them being linked on such a fundamental level wasn’t easily dismissed.

  “I wanted to introduce you to the others.” The duke gestured with his own drink toward the men to whom he’d been speaking.

  The timing of Aberland’s
conversation with Burbridge had been perfect. Under normal circumstances, Spencer knew he would’ve been lucky to have received anything more than a casual greeting from the duke. Now he was not only seeking out Spencer but taking the time to introduce him to others.

  As they visited, Aberland joined them along with several other men, some of which Spencer knew. After a few minutes of general conversation, Aberland turned to Spencer.

  “Perhaps you’d like to share your new endeavor.”

  Excitement filled Spencer. Aberland had turned out to be more of a friend than Spencer realized he needed.

  “We’re looking for certain individuals interested in the welfare of our city,” Spencer began. “This opportunity isn’t for everyone, of course. Only those with a strong sense of purpose.”

  Many of the men showed interest as Spencer shared some of his ideas and the reasons behind them.

  The long-term success of the endeavor would require not only funds but the determination of the investors to follow through with the foundation’s goals. Revealing the need then creating a method of helping to make each individual feel like a vital part of the plan would aid in its longevity and success.

  “I say, do you know the Earl of Adair?” one man asked. “He founded Adair House to provide food and shelter to those individuals who are homeless but seeking work.”

  “He’s due to arrive soon,” Burbridge added. “The two of you will have much to discuss.”

  The idea of speaking with someone already doing something similar was appealing. He knew Adair but hadn’t realized he was concerned with social issues. A lively discussion on the topic ensued, which only made Spencer miss Dalia more. She’d be delighted at the interest the group had in the topic.

  “We should prepare for dinner and dancing,” Burbridge said at length. “The ladies await us.”

  Spencer’s stomach dipped in anticipation as he wondered what other surprises the evening would bring.