Violet raised her brow. “What is so special about it?”
Dalia sighed. “Once in a while, it's important to reflect on the fact that you're alive and safe and, for the most part, happy.”
Violet stopped on the walk to stare at her. “What an odd thing to say.”
“Do you ever feel truly happy?” Dalia asked. While she and Violet were together often, she realized she didn’t really know the answer.
“I’m not particularly unhappy, so I suppose that makes me happy.”
“Are you enjoying the Season thus far?” She thought back to the numerous balls and parties they’d attended in the past few weeks. Was there a man who’d caught Violet’s eye? Dalia had been so involved in her own life that she’d paid little attention to Violet’s.
“You’re in an unusual frame of mind today.” Violet shook her head as they continued walking along the storefronts. “What has gotten into you?” Before Dalia could answer, she continued. “I think you’ve spent far too much time studying fallen women.”
“Hush.” Dalia couldn’t help but glance around to make certain no one had overheard. “You make it sound as if I’ve become one.”
“I didn’t mean to imply such a thing.” She looked about as well. “It’s just that you’ve become obsessed with the topic.”
Dalia hesitated, uncertain how to respond. Violet was right, in part. She had become obsessed. To her, this wasn’t a random subject. Rather, it was Kate and Molly and the other women she’d met along the way. The statistics had names and faces to them.
Not three months ago, she’d been a different person. She’d been listless, searching for more meaning to her life than the constant round of social events. Attempting to help not only Ruth but one or two of the women she’d encountered had changed everything. Her life held purpose, which had her waking each day with enthusiasm.
There was one other reason for her brighter outlook.
Spencer.
Not that she’d admit that to anyone. She could barely admit it to herself. To think how mad he’d driven her their entire lives. She paused, thinking over their relationship to realize that might not have changed entirely. They were different in many ways. He had a cautious soul and avoided risks at all costs whereas she tended to take action and weigh the risks later.
Blending the two of them was like mixing oil and water. They remained separate regardless of the amount of stirring.
Yet the image of him coming to her rescue spoke of something much more than she’d ever expected. There were layers to the man she’d missed. How could she have thought him stuffy and overbearing? Now hardly a minute went by without her thinking of him for one reason or another.
The kisses they’d shared had shown her a different side of him as well. In fact, that desire had shown her a new side of herself. She hadn’t realized she was capable of such passion until she’d been with Spencer. The longing that filled her when he was near, and even when he wasn’t, stole her breath.
What did he feel for her?
“Don’t you have any sort of response?” Violet asked, impatience lacing her tone.
“I’m sorry. I was giving serious thought to your remark.” Her mind sifted back through the conversation to what Violet was waiting for.
Oh, yes, fallen women. Dalia still wasn’t certain how to answer. She couldn’t tell Violet she’d met several without revealing things that would send her screaming to their mother. “The topic is quite depressing, but in order to help, I need to know more.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said. We were lucky compared to others before, but with Rose’s marriage to the duke, most of our worries are gone.”
“I wonder if Mother would agree with that?” Dalia asked.
“I’m certain she has a new set of worries with Lettie and Rose’s futures secured.” Violet heaved a sigh as she met Dalia’s gaze. “It involves who we will marry.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that as well. Has anyone caught your eye?”
“No. I wish someone would, otherwise Mother will find a possible husband for me.”
“Frightening thought, isn’t it? Speaking of Mother, I’m surprised she hasn’t yet returned.” Dalia looked over her shoulder but didn’t see her among the passersby nor had Jack returned. A shiver of unease passed over her.
“She should be done by now. I’ll see what’s keeping her.”
“Wait—” Before Dalia could further protest, Violet disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone.
What could be keeping Jack? She searched for his tall form, her unease increasing as she shifted closer to the edge of the street to avoid people walking past. The traffic was snarled with carriages and cabs and horses and carts.
Only one or two minutes had passed when she was roughly bumped from behind. The jolt had her teetering toward the street, reaching out to catch herself but finding nothing with which to hold. Just when she feared she’d fall, a hand on her arm jerked her upright.
But that hand didn’t release her. Instead, it held tight. Painfully tight. She gasped as she struggled to pull herself free and discover the identity of the person.
Charlie Pruett.
Her heart rattled in her chest with fright as she took in his snarling face.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
Words failed her, choking in her tight throat.
He shook her and squeezed her arm once more. “Where is Kate?”
“Gone.” Mouth dry, she barely managed to answer. She looked around, appalled to see that no one paid them any notice. Yet she realized he couldn’t do much harm to her in the middle of a public street. Someone was bound to come to her aid. Wouldn’t they?
“Gone where?”
“Release me.” Anger arrived not a moment too soon. When he failed to comply with her demand, she tugged at her arm. “Let. Go.”
He looked around, seeming to realize his actions were starting to gain notice. He reluctantly released her but stepped even closer. “Where is she?”
“Leave her be. She’s done nothing to hurt you.”
A dull red filled his face. “You and Kate are going to pay dearly. Have no doubt.”
“Dalia?” The sound of her mother calling had her taking a step back.
Charlie glanced that way, seeing there was no true threat so turned back to Dalia. “If I were you, I’d be watching my back.” He looked again toward her mother, his gaze lingering there. “And maybe that of your mother’s and sister’s as well.”
“Don’t you dare—” But before Dalia could protest, he was gone, blending into the crowd.
“To who were you speaking?” her mother asked when she and Violet reached Dalia.
“No one. He mistook me for someone he knows.” Well aware of the high color in her cheeks, Dalia looked away, willing her pounding heart to slow.
“Very forward of him.” Her mother searched the crowd as if prepared to berate him.
“Shall we stop by the lace shop?” Violet asked, making her voice light though her gaze lingered on Dalia.
Dalia knew she hadn’t fooled her sister. No doubt she’d have questions as soon as they were alone.
The more important question was what could she do about Pruett’s threat? Something told her it wasn’t an idle one. Though she hated to burden Spencer further, what choice did she have?
~*~
Spencer had put off the task for as long as possible. Visiting his mother was something he used to do on a regular basis, but those visits had become less frequent in the past few months. She didn’t seem to take any pleasure from his company, so why put either of them through the awkward silences that punctured the limited conversation they managed to hold?
But he certainly didn’t need another reason for his father to berate him, so he knocked on the door to his family home, telling himself he’d make this brief for both their sakes.
“Good afternoon, my lord.” Stokes, the butler who’d known Spencer since he was in breeches, greeted him with a broad s
mile and a deep bow. “I’m pleased to see you.”
“I hope all is well.” He clasped the older man on the shoulder. Stokes had been a voice of reason on more than one occasion, an odd sort of mentor to Spencer when his father had been especially harsh.
“Indeed. Might I inquire how you are faring?” He held Spencer’s gaze for a long moment as he often did. What did he see?
“Well, thank you.” Surely Stokes noted the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He’d most likely attribute his tiredness to too many social events when that was the least of his problems. Not speaking of his occupation was often frustrating.
“May I suggest a bit more rest?” Stokes asked with a pointed look.
“I’ll see what I can do.” It was kind of the man to notice. Neither his mother or father would. “Is Mother receiving?”
“Yes. She’s visiting with someone now.”
“Anyone I know?” Spencer asked as he followed Stokes toward the drawing room.
“Mrs. Fairchild and two of her daughters.”
He halted, reluctant to join them. Would his mother sense his interest in Dalia and interfere? Had Dalia told her own mother anything about their relationship?
What had once been nothing out of the ordinary had become a complex web where one misstep would have their mothers making plans. Spencer told himself he didn’t care for that notion, but part of him remained unconvinced.
“Is something amiss?” Stokes asked.
“No.” He gave himself a mental shake at his overreaction. Dalia wouldn’t tell her mother anything about them as that conversation could lead to a discussion about her recent activities.
By now, he’d learned to better hide his emotions. He need only think back to the numerous times over the years when he’d arrived to find his mother visiting with Mrs. Fairchild and her daughters. This was nothing unusual.
Stokes sent him a puzzled look before opening the drawing room door. Spencer entered, putting aside the tingle of nerves that followed him.
Dalia.
His physical reaction at the sight of her was something he should be used to by now—a lift in his stomach, a tightening in his chest. What to do about it was another matter entirely.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Dalia, her mother, and her younger sister, Violet, all rose to greet him, but he waved them back to their seats. “Do not let me interrupt.”
“But you already have, dear,” his mother said as she offered him her cheek.
Not that he’d expected a warm welcome, but still...
He didn’t bother to respond to her comment. Though her eyes were much like his own, the similarities ended there. Motherhood had been a duty for her, holding little joy. She wasn’t a compassionate person by nature. Indeed, her distaste for the less fortunate had become more obvious as she aged. He wondered if she continued to wear full mourning attire though a year had passed since his brother’s death to garner sympathy or because she truly missed Edward.
Tea was being served, making him grateful for his timing. The refreshments provided a distraction. Between that and the weather, he shouldn’t have much problem making conversation.
Of course, there was a good chance he could leave that up to Mrs. Fairchild. She enjoyed visiting far more than any of her daughters.
“I hope the day finds all of you well,” he began as he took a seat.
His gaze sought Dalia’s of its own accord, studying her.
Worry lurked in the depths of her eyes, at odds with her breezy reply. “Very well, thank you. And you?”
His concern sharpened. Something had obviously occurred. Why hadn’t she told him of it? Then he remembered that he’d discouraged her from doing so. Her best hope was to run into him somewhere. Such as at his mother’s house, though he rarely visited.
“I do believe this Season has been busier than the last, don’t you?” Mrs. Fairchild asked him.
“Indeed,” he agreed. His schedule certainly was, but it had more to do with his work.
“Why, this week alone, we have invitations to over fifteen events. Can you imagine?” She shook her head as though it were madness, but he knew she reveled in it.
The more invitations, the more popular one tended to feel. With Dalia’s sister having married a duke, he had to assume the Fairchilds received invitations to even more events.
A glance at Dalia revealed her lifting her teacup as she gave a subtle shake of her head.
His mother handed him a cup along with a plate of small sandwiches and biscuits. The refreshments were a welcome diversion, especially since he rarely bothered with such things at home.
“Are you experiencing the same, Mother?” he asked politely.
“Oh, yes. Many invitations to consider.” She kept her gaze on her tea as she spoke the lie. He well knew she didn’t even look at them. She rarely ventured out since his brother’s death.
“Are you enjoying the Season?” he asked Violet.
She had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as Dalia, Rose, and Holly. Her features weren’t quite as fine as Dalia’s, but each of the daughters was attractive in her own way.
The conversation continued to other topics. He took great care to keep his gaze from wandering to Dalia too often, but he wasn’t certain he succeeded. It would’ve been difficult under normal circumstances, but since he knew something was amiss, it was all he could do not to request that she walk with him in the garden so they might speak.
Doing something like that in the presence of their mothers would draw more notice than either of them was willing to risk.
“My lord?” Dalia’s voice penetrated his musings.
“Yes?”
“I wonder if I might request your escort in the garden?”
The silence in the room was deafening.
His mother and Mrs. Fairchild stared back and forth between them as though he and Dalia had each grown two heads. That, along with the light of interest in Violet’s expression, had him smothering a groan.
What on earth was she thinking?
“I’m feeling a bit light-headed and am certain a breath of fresh air would aid me.”
“Of course. That would be my pleasure.” She left him no choice. Walking with her in the garden would give him a chance to wring her neck. Or kiss her senseless. It was astounding how often he had the urge to do both with Dalia. He rose. “Will you excuse us, please?”
The women all spoke at once, giving their approval. Already, his mind searched for a valid excuse they could give upon their return.
He opened the garden door that led from the drawing room onto the side of the house, allowing Dalia to proceed him. Aware the others watched them, he smiled politely as he closed the door behind him.
“Have you lost your mind?” he whispered, the smile still in place for their audience.
“I merely wanted a moment to speak with you.” She looked at him as though astounded at his reaction.
“You do realize that now our mothers think there is something between us.” They weren’t the only ones who were beginning to believe that.
“This is far more important than their assumptions.”
“But we have no way to advise them of that fact. Might I remind you to ponder your actions at length before proceeding?”
She glanced back at the door. “Perhaps we should simply go back inside.”
“Then it will appear as though I’ve rebuffed you.”
A scowl twisted the lovely bow of her lips. That only made him want to kiss her even more.
As her profile was still visible to the others, he offered his elbow, so they could at least step farther into the garden and away from the watchful eyes.
“I didn’t mean to cause problems,” she began. “I wasn’t thinking about—”
He waved his hand in dismissal. “I won’t bother to remind you how often you’ve said those very words to me.”
“But you just did.”
He studied her, doing his best to keep from smiling. He adored her spirit and dete
rmination even as they frustrated him. The mix was maddening. “You have approximately thirty seconds to tell me what’s occurred before we must return inside.”
“Pruett.” Speaking his name filled her expression with the worry he’d caught upon his arrival.
“What’s he done?”
“He approached me while we were shopping on Regent Street yesterday, demanding to know where Kate is.”
She shared the conversation with him, and Spencer grew more concerned by the moment. Pruett would be angry that they’d escaped with Kate, especially since two women were involved. If McCarthy had caught wind of the events, he was probably putting pressure on Pruett as well. Added to that was Pruett’s bruised pride. No wonder he’d confronted Dalia.
Thus far, Spencer hadn’t discovered a pattern to Pruett’s movements. But he had a list of the areas he frequented, including brothels and three homes for fallen women in which he appeared to be involved. He still felt like there was something he was missing, a larger piece to the puzzle that had yet to reveal itself.
He needed to check with Atkins to see if he’d come across anything new. If they had evidence to link Stephens and Pruett to brothels and the homes, they could put both men away. Public outrage at such a connection might prove useful. McCarthy hated the news sheets with a passion.
“What should I do?” Dalia asked.
“Don’t give Pruett an opportunity to speak with you—or threaten you—again. With luck, we’ll soon find a way to stop him.”
“We?” She frowned clearly puzzled by his words.
He nearly groaned in dismay at the slip. “I meant that figuratively not literally.”
“Oh.” She looked as if he’d let her down, causing a pang in his chest.
Did she think he’d implied her and him? That he’d want to involve her in this more deeply, placing her in further danger? Yet at the moment, he hated to refuse her anything.
What was it about her that had him setting aside all common sense and logic just to see her smile? To see her look at him with that special light glowing in her face?
Falling For The Viscount (The Seven Curses of London Book 6) Page 19