“What?” She wanted to know if he felt half of what she did.
He shook his head as he eased back to rest his forehead against hers. “We must go back inside before we’re seen.”
At the moment, being caught kissing on the terrace didn’t sound so terrible. Especially as it would allow her to stay in Spencer’s embrace. But she knew he was right, as he so often was. “Yes, of course.”
Then his mouth took hers once more. Her heart leapt at the notion that he wanted her as deeply as she wanted him—with a physical ache that became more uncomfortable by the moment. The kiss stole her breath and her thoughts.
Spencer knew he needed to stop this madness, but no amount of mental reprimands or warnings caused him to pull back. He couldn’t get enough of her. Of the way she felt in his arms.
He ran his fingers along her waist, up to the curves of her breasts, loving how she arched under his touch. Unable to resist, he lifted his thumbs until they grazed the hint of her breasts through the smooth fabric of her corset and gown, detesting the layers between them.
“Oh, Spencer.” Her gasp of surprise only made him want to do more.
A scuff of shoes on the terrace followed by the murmur of hushed voices pulled him back. Where was his fondness for rules now?
He shifted to simply hold Dalia, part of him realizing how wonderful she felt in his arms. But nothing about their personalities matched. They’d drive each other mad within a week. Today was proof of that.
Yet somehow the thought rang hollow.
With a deep breath, he reminded himself that now was not the time to worry over such things. He needed to see her safely back to join the dancing so no one would be aware of their absence.
“Are you ready to go back inside?” he asked.
She studied him, half of her beautiful face cast in shadows. What he saw on the lighter side caused him to catch his breath. The raw passion in the depth of her eyes had him stilling. “No.”
Then she glanced away and the moment was gone, making him wonder if he’d only imagined it.
“But I know we must.” She straightened and turned toward the door. “Shall we?”
An odd pang moved through his chest that had nothing to do with his injured ribs. He guided her inside, wondering what he was going to do with her.
Chapter Sixteen
“There’s always a ‘watcher.’ Sometimes it’s a woman—an old woman, who isn’t fit for anything else—but in general it’s a man. He watches you always, walking behind you, or on the opposite side of the way. He never loses sight of you...”
~The Seven Curses of London
Dalia spent the next two days making a thorough study of the various homes for fallen women from the comfort and safety of her home. She had to do something to occupy her time lest she run back into Spencer’s arms. A certain imbalance had settled inside her when they parted ways at the ball, and she had yet to gain it back.
She made lists of the locations of the homes, the people in charge of them, the number of women they held, and any other statistics she could find from news sheets and pamphlets in combination with her own research. While some were forthright as to their funding and success rates, others were less so.
As she worked, she searched for patterns to help identify any that allowed Charlie Pruett to have his thumb on them.
Though briefly tempted to tour some of the other more questionable ones to see if she could uncover the problems, she couldn’t imagine telling Spencer of her intentions, nor did she think he’d appreciate receiving a report detailing facts only someone who visited them could know.
After the danger she’d faced the other day saving Kate, she felt a new sense of caution. It wasn’t only her life she placed in jeopardy, it might be that of her family if someone followed her home. Or it might be one of the women to whom she spoke.
No. She now knew the risks outweighed the results. Which left her studying publications to find out all she could.
When her door opened without a knock, she started guiltily. She’d rather no one know of her project, mostly because she had no desire to explain it.
But the sight of Violet in her doorway made her realize her secrecy would soon be at end.
“What is all this?” Violet asked as she drew near the stack of books and opened news sheets spread over Dalia’s desk.
“A bit of research.” Dalia finished the note she’d been taking as though Violet’s interest didn’t bother her in the least. Deciding to take a page out of Lettie’s cleverness, she played down her reaction to the interruption and her wish for privacy.
“On what?”
Hiding a smile as an idea came to mind, she turned to Violet. “Did you know there are 8,600 prostitutes in the city with 921 working and living in houses of ill-fame? Though I’m not certain of the validity of the data noted in this article. How would they count them properly?”
She and Violet had often smothered sighs of boredom when Lettie had gone on a tangent about neglected children. If Dalia continued in this vein, Violet would depart in short order, allowing Dalia to return to her project.
“You’re studying prostitution? Have you gone mad? Do Mother and Father know of this?”
Dalia was surprised Holly hadn’t shared that fact with Violet. “I’m researching fallen women, actually. I intend to share my summary with Father once I’ve completed it. Perhaps he’ll find it of more interest than the social issues in which Lettie was always trying to gain his interest.”
She wasn’t, of course. But if she convinced her sister she was going to, Violet wouldn’t dare raise the subject to their parents for fear of having to listen about it.
“Surely Ruth isn’t still considering this path.”
“I think she’s realizing it’s not the right path for her, but other women aren’t so lucky.”
With a look of disgust, Violet shook her head. “Why do you care?”
The outrage that filled her at Violet’s words took her aback. “Someone needs to care. Young women just like you and me are out on the streets each and every night, hoping to catch a man’s eye so they might earn a bit of money for food or shelter. What if that were one of us?”
“It would never be us, silly.”
“What if something happened to Father, Mother fell ill, and we lost our money? What would we do?”
“That would never happen,” Violet insisted, folding her arms before her.
“But what if it did? What if we lost our home?” Dalia rose as the idea took hold that Kate’s woeful story could be their own. “How would we survive?”
Violet shook her head. “I don’t want to think about such things.”
“One twist of fate and our situation might be completely different. That is the very thing that happened to one of the women to whom I spoke.”
Violet’s eyes narrowed. “You spoke to one of them? When? Why?” The incredulity in her expression had Dalia turning away.
She shouldn’t have mentioned that, but now that she had, what could she do but bluster her way through it? “Only by accident. The details are not important. But her story is most alarming. Her father was injured at his job on the docks, and he couldn’t work for a time. They became behind on their rent as her mother’s wages weren’t sufficient to cover it.”
Violet’s arms slowly unfolded to rest at her sides. “That’s terrible.”
“The young girl found a job mending clothes, but a week’s wages barely paid for a few meals for her family. Her brother scavenged for food in the waste to keep them from starving.”
“No.”
Dalia nodded. Violet was only one year younger than her and old enough to hear the story. “It’s true. The girl walked home one night from work and was propositioned by a man. She refused him, but after a day or two of hunger gnawing at her belly, she decided she had to do something to keep herself and her family from starving.”
Violet sank into a chair, her gaze riveted on Dalia. “What did she do?”
Dalia
paused, realizing she’d failed utterly at making Violet leave from boredom. But she had to admit she enjoyed talking about some of what she’d learned. “She put on her best dress, the one she only wore to church, and walked along the street when evening fell, near one of the better taverns. She smiled at the men who walked by, then told the first man who offered for her that it was her first time as she’d heard men would pay more than the standard fee.”
“Where did they go to...” Violet couldn’t seem to find the words to complete the thought.
“An alleyway. The man didn’t have a room nearby, and she could hardly bring him home. She said it was horrible and hurt badly, but it lasted less than ten or fifteen minutes. She earned more than a week’s wages in those few minutes. So she wiped away her tears and did it again, telling the next man it was her first time as well so he’d pay extra too.”
Violet placed a hand over her mouth as though the idea made her ill. “I cannot imagine.”
“She paid the late rent to the landlord the next day without telling her mother or father how she got the money.”
“How did she keep from...you know...having a babe?”
“One of the other women pulled her aside and told her. I don’t know the details.” Dalia shook her head as she sat in her desk chair once more. “She said I’d be amazed at what I’d be willing to do for food and a roof over my head and that of my family.”
Violet’s gaze returned to the papers spread across the desk. “What do you hope to do with all this, Dalia? I don’t understand how you think you can help. You’re just one person and a woman at that.”
“I don’t know, but I know I can’t sit aside and do nothing. Those girls should have a chance for a decent job if they want. Some choose prostitution, but others are forced into it. Some are drugged, kidnapped, and held in brothels where they’re sold to the highest bidder as a virgin. Some are so ashamed afterward that they don’t even try to return home. Others intend to earn money for a short time, only to be tricked and deceived into staying on. The more I learn, the more disturbed I am by the situation.”
“I can understand that, but I still don’t see how you can help.”
Violet’s doubt caused Dalia to clench her teeth. It was difficult to explain why she felt this burning need to make a difference. She’d started this quest to stop Ruth from making a terrible mistake. But somewhere along the way, perhaps now that she’d met some of the women involved, her goal had expanded far beyond their maid.
“I don’t know either,” Dalia admitted. “I suppose I hope learning more will provide an answer, that I’ll find a way to help.”
She already knew how wary the women were of anyone reaching out. After learning what Stephens was doing, she could see why. He wasn’t the only person who did such things. Men and women both played villainous roles in this terrible business. Learning about the tricks that occurred made it difficult to believe in the good of humanity.
Luckily, she had Spencer to aid her. He’d sent a message earlier in the day, advising that Kate had arrived at his country estate and was settling in, her injured arm on the mend.
She wondered if he’d discovered anything about Pruett’s well-being, or lack thereof. Then again, how would he? Though he’d held his own against Pruett, it wasn’t as if he knew anything about life on the rougher streets of the city.
More than anything else, she wanted to know how he fared. If his ribs continued to bother him. When would she see him again so she could find out? Never mind the urge to visit with him involved equal parts of concern for his welfare and a deep need to simply be with him.
Why was it that she’d seen him two days past yet already missed him more than she could say?
~*~
Spencer alighted from his carriage in Whitehall gingerly, the pain in his ribs causing him to wince with each step. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the injury had worsened. Hadn’t Aberland always told him that the second and third day of these sort of things were worse?
Damn.
Though he’d experienced it on a mild level before, now he knew Aberland had told the truth for certain.
He paused on the walk to let the pain ease before moving toward the Intelligence Office entrance, doing his best to hide his injury.
“Spencer!”
The feminine voice was not one he’d expected to hear at this particular location. He turned to see Dalia rushing toward him.
Shock seeped through him as he glanced about, wondering what else he’d missed on his way to report in at the office. If Dalia had found him so easily, who else might do so? Clearly his ribs weren’t the only things suffering of late.
“Dalia. What a surprise.” He couldn’t help his incredulousness as to how she’d come to be here.
She slowed her pace as though sensing he questioned her presence. “I—I happened to be driving near your residence,” she explained, blushing at what he guessed to be a blatant lie, “when I saw you pass by. I instructed my driver to follow so I might have a word.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow, hoping she realized he didn’t believe her.
“I—” Her gaze skimmed over his face. “I wanted to know how you are. You didn’t mention that in the message.”
“I’m quite well as you can see. No need to go to all this bother.” Yet he couldn’t deny how pleased he was to see her, how his heart lightened at the sight of her.
She looked none the worse for her adventure, much to his relief. Her blue eyes sparkled. The hint of color in her cheeks gave her a rosy glow, making her even more beautiful than usual.
“No bother. As I said, I was passing by.” She glanced around as though taking in their location. Her maid stood waiting nearby. “Whatever are you doing here?”
He couldn’t very well tell her the truth. He should’ve had an excuse prepared, but he’d never expected to be confronted here. How foolish of him. “Er, a bit of a stroll to enjoy the view.”
The odd look she gave him nearly made him smile. She nodded. “It’s a nice spot and a lovely day. May I join you for a time?”
What choice did he have but to continue with his lie and wander around outside the Intelligence Office with his aching ribs? He hoped no one watched from the office window as they saw him walking aimlessly about. Then again, he was escorting a beautiful woman. He’d be a fool to turn down such an opportunity. Aberland would surely be applauding right now if he could see him.
“Of course.” He held out his arm, careful to offer it on his uninjured side.
She glanced up at him. The light of her smile caused the pain of his aching body to recede considerably.
“Now tell me. How do you truly feel?” Her mischievous smile had him chuckling, much to his dismay.
“Please, do not make me laugh. I can name only two places on my body that don’t contain bruises.”
“A whole two?” She shook her head. “Pruett and his men went easy on you then, didn’t they?”
“I’d like to know their condition. I do believe they received the worst of it.”
“I wondered the same,” she said. “Serves them right. Such terrible men, especially Pruett.”
Spencer paused on the walk to face her. “He is a terrible man. You must never forget that. I hope you’ve put the notion of these homes and the women in them behind you.”
She glanced away, giving him the answer he didn’t want.
“Dalia,” he began. “After all that happened, you can’t think it safe to enter that world again.”
“I don’t intend to venture there, but I can’t help but think of those women, those girls, who have no choice. There are other Kates who need assistance. Something should be done.”
His heart shifted at her words. Hadn’t he felt the same way as he’d learned more about Pruett and McCarthy? “I urge you to allow others to deal with these issues.”
“Who?” The earnest worry in her eyes tugged at him. “Who cares enough to reach out a hand to them?”
“There are people l
ooking into the matter of Pruett and his activities in particular.” He shouldn’t have told her that much, but he’d say nearly anything to gain her promise to stop putting herself in danger.
Her eyes went wide with interest. “How do you know?”
“I hear discussions on such matters. You’re not the only one who has read The Seven Curses of London. It is a fairly popular book.”
“I can hardly imagine you and other lords sitting around your club discussing social issues.”
“You might be surprised.”
“Truly?” Her brow furrowed as though she tried to picture it.
Was it so difficult to believe some members of Society cared enough to take action when informed of the hopeless conditions less fortunate individuals faced?
He sighed. Yes, it was. He could’ve been counted among those who ignored social issues merely six months ago. It was only at the prime minister’s request that he’d taken on this fight.
When the general population learned of a travesty, the initial outrage might turn into action by a few. But the rest of the people tended to think someone else would do something about it. The topic would be discussed for several days following a new revelation from a recent article in the paper only to have the sense of injustice fade.
Human nature tended to be a selfish thing. If it didn’t involve a person or their family directly, they often convinced themselves it wasn’t their business. Never mind the poor conditions were taking place within a few miles—in some cases, a few streets—from their own homes.
What was it in Dalia that caused her to become so concerned? Her passion for this issue was admirable. While he knew this had begun with her maid, her concern had only grown from there.
Perseverance was a quality to be applauded, but not when she continually placed herself in harm’s way.
“I have it on good authority that Pruett’s movements are being closely watched.” He waited, hoping his words were enough to ease her worry.
“That does help.” Her gaze shifted to the horizon, making him wonder at her thoughts.
He sensed a “but” in her answer. When she offered nothing more, he decided it best to set the topic aside and let her ponder his words. With luck, they’d sink in.
Falling For The Viscount (The Seven Curses of London Book 6) Page 17