Falling For The Viscount

by Lana Williams

  The man was as slippery as an eel and clever as a fox. But Spencer had no doubt that with the multitude of men they had assigned to the task, including agents from the Intelligence Office as well as the Metropolitan Police, they would soon succeed.

  When they caught Pruett, McCarthy’s downfall would follow. Both Aberland and Gladstone believed that to be true. Spencer hoped they were right.

  Molly had been moved to a safe location with a woman to keep her company and men to guard her. She’d given a statement of what she’d witnessed to their office and another to the police. Both accounts matched, lending her credibility regardless of her occupation. Added to that were Pruett’s previous record and his association with a known criminal. They need only keep her safe until Pruett had been arrested.

  “Rutland,” a voice called from down the hall even as Spencer reached for the doorknob.

  He nearly groaned at the unwelcome voice. Searle. The man had been relentless in putting himself in the middle of the mission—a place he had no business being. “Searle. I was just leaving.”

  The man hurried forward. “I’m not certain you heard my earlier offer to fill the gap Atkins’ unfortunate death created.”

  Spencer had heard it but ignored the inept man’s suggestion. “I appreciate your offer but—”

  “I have gained significant field experience over the past few weeks, and I’m certain I’d be an invaluable asset.”

  With narrowed eyes, Spencer studied him. “Weren’t you part of the team who reviewed one or two of the homes for fallen women about which we’d received complaints?” Namely Dalia’s thorough report.

  Searle rocked back on his heels, a satisfied smile on his face. “Indeed. I was pleased to report that the complaints were false, and all was in order.”

  Now Spencer knew beyond a doubt that his instincts about Searle had been right. The man had no place in this office. “I didn’t agree with your findings and have to question your integrity if you found no fault in those homes. I’ll be advising your superiors of such.”

  Searle’s eyes widened in shock only to narrow with displeasure. “How dare you suggest I didn’t do my job—”

  “Did McCarthy offer you something in order to look the other way?” Spencer kept his tone mild as though he were only curious when he wanted to plow his fist into the man’s face. “Taking bribes is frowned upon in our office.”

  “H-here n-now,” Searle sputtered. “I’ll have you know that I took great care to provide details on what I observed.”

  “Then I truly have no use for you on my mission.” Having him removed from his position would have to wait until Spencer had time to deal with the matter.

  Searle glanced about then drew closer, his voice low. “You’ll be sorry for making such outrageous accusations, Rutland. Mark my words.”

  “No, I won’t,” Spencer replied. “But you will.” He turned and left without a backward glance, anger simmering inside him. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with Searle. The man had picked the wrong side of the law. Good thing he’d been discovered before true harm had befallen someone.

  Right now, Spencer had issues of greater concern, beginning with calling upon Dalia. He knew she’d be worried about Molly, especially since he hadn’t been able to attend the ball the previous night. The time had come to tell her about his position. Since he intended them to have a future together, she needed to know his secret. With luck, he could lure her into the garden and tell her all that was in his heart.

  Walking quickly, Spencer glanced about as he neared the cab stand, surprised to see a man running directly toward him. A footman, based on the look of his uniform, though it was difficult to tell at this distance. The longer Spencer stared at the curious sight, the more he realized he recognized both the uniform and the man wearing it.

  Jack. Dalia’s footman.

  His anger at Searle fled in an instant as panic took hold. He rushed to meet him, his chest tightening with fear.

  “It's Miss Fairchild,” Jack managed, breathless from his race down the walk. “A man took her as we left her residence.”

  “What? Who?” Spencer's heart raced. He couldn't believe it. Although Pruett had yet to be caught, Spencer been certain the situation was drawing to a close. “Who took her?”

  “Charlie Pruett,” Jack said still breathing heavily. “The same man who confronted us on the walk the last day we visited one of the homes for fallen women.”

  “Damn.” Spencer took the man’s arm and directed him toward the waiting cab. “What happened?”

  “We were comin’ to see ye, my lord. Walkin’ down the street toward the cab stand. He must’ve been hidin’ as he came out of nowhere. Knocked me out cold. I woke in time to see him shovin’ the lady into a cab. I tried to follow but there was no other cab to hire, and I couldn't catch them on foot. I didn’t know what to do so came to ye.”

  The image the footman’s words created along with the fear in his eyes had Spencer reeling. What had happened to the guards he’d posted? Pruett must’ve gotten the better of them. For a long moment, he couldn’t think of what to do, where to look. “We’ll find her.”

  Saying it aloud made it seem possible. Where could Pruett have taken her? The possibilities were endless. One of the homes for fallen women? A brothel to which Pruett supplied girls? Or even one of McCarthy's numerous locations?

  How on earth could Spencer find her?

  He tried to think logically about what he would do if he were Pruett. No doubt McCarthy was furious that his man had roused the interest of so many law enforcement officials. Pruett had to be desperate to make things right. That meant he needed Molly. Killing the eyewitness would be the quickest way to fix the problem. Pruett must think Dalia knew where Molly was.

  Though a few of his associates happened to be in the office, the only person he trusted to be at his side with Dalia’s life in danger was Aberland.

  He gestured for the footman to follow him into the hansom cab. “We’ll call upon the Earl of Aberland to request his assistance then return to my residence and see if a message from Pruett is waiting. I might need your help,” he told Jack as they took their seats.

  Jack nodded. “I’d like nothin’ more than to bring Miss Fairchild home safe and sound. I should’ve paid closer mind.”

  “Pruett’s a slick one, Jack. Don’t blame yourself.” But Spencer knew exactly how he felt.

  The cab ride felt as if it took forever. He thought through every possible scenario of what Pruett might do, but no obvious plan of action came to mind. Spencer had to hope Pruett had taken Dalia for a purpose and intended to notify someone. And that Dalia would insist he be sent a message rather than her family.

  Aberland wasn’t at home, much to Spencer’s dismay, but he left a message with the hope the earl would soon return. Upon their arrival at his residence, Spencer raced up the steps with Jack behind him to where Barnes stood waiting. “Have any messages arrived?”

  “No, my lord. “

  He gave instructions for the cook to see to the bump on Jack’s head and for two horses to be readied then strode into the library. Though tempted to visit the places he knew Pruett frequented, he feared word of Dalia might arrive while he was gone. As difficult as it was to wait, the idea of missing an opportunity to save her would be worse.

  If they didn’t receive word soon, he’d have to notify her mother and father. He couldn’t imagine holding that conversation. For the moment, he hoped it wouldn’t be necessary as Pruett would surely want to resolve the situation as soon as possible.

  Only a short time crawled by before Barnes rushed in with a message. Spencer tore it open. The hastily scrawled note was difficult to read.

  If you want the girl bring Molly to the old tea warehouse on Hook Lane near the dock.

  “Advise Jack it’s time to depart.” Spencer studied the note, wishing it said more. Exactly what, he didn’t know. The part of him that preferred to follow the rules wanted to do just as Pruett ordered. But he cou
ldn’t possibly exchange Molly for Dalia. Even if she were here, he wouldn’t do so.

  Where did that leave him? How could he free Dalia without placing her in danger?

  He had no answer. His only hope was that his instincts would guide him. For once in his life, he was going to act on those alone. He scrawled a quick message to Captain Hawke then strode toward the library door as voices sounded in the foyer. To his relief, Aberland appeared in the doorway.

  “Any word?”

  Spencer handed him the note, wondering how Aberland thought they should approach the situation.

  “How do you want to proceed?” Aberland looked at him with complete confidence, ready to follow his lead.

  Spencer set aside his surprise. “I thought to go to the warehouse and see what the layout of the building will allow in terms of rescue. I’m also sending a message to Captain Hawke, requesting he bring reinforcements.”

  “Excellent.”

  Within a few minutes, the three men were riding toward the dock, weaving through traffic. Spencer knew the location of the empty tea warehouse as McCarthy had previously leased it. Spencer often observed the man’s properties for any unusual activity.

  He led the way to the rear of the building, pausing out of view of the windows. While he knew it had been used to box tea, he didn’t know if any of the equipment or furnishings remained. He hoped they did as the items would provide cover.

  The idea of Dalia in Pruett’s grasp became all too real as he studied the two-story brick structure. Its soot-coated windows gave no hint as to what was happening inside.

  He fought the urge to bust down the door, aware the situation required stealth. Dalia’s life might depend on it. Drawing a deep breath, he dismounted and tied the reins to a post. Aberland and Jack did the same, then the three hurried to the building next to the tea warehouse, trying to stay out of view of the windows.

  Pruett wouldn’t be alone, that much Spencer knew. More than one set of eyes would be keeping watch.

  He sidled along the brick building until he reached the first window, the other two men directly behind him. The panes here were coated so thickly with dirt and soot that it was nearly impossible to see inside except the vague outlines of long tables.

  “Anything?” Aberland whispered.

  Spencer shook his head then crouched low to move to the next window, hoping this one revealed more. He risked rubbing the bottom corner of the pane. His effort paid off as he could see two men pacing at the front of the warehouse, pausing to stare out the windows every so often. “Two men toward the front.”

  Aberland nodded.

  Spencer kept moving, this time toward the rear door. No windows were nearby, but they could still be seen if anyone was posted near the second-story windows. The quicker they entered, the better their chance of surprise.

  He tried the door latch, but it was locked. While he had no doubt he could kick it in, the noise would draw too much attention.

  “Allow me.” Aberland withdrew a slim leather wallet from his inner breast pocket and opened it, revealing several picks and blades of different sizes. In short order, he’d popped the lock then stepped back to allow Spencer entrance.

  Heart pounding, Spencer eased open the door and slid inside, quickly looking first left then right. To his surprise, no one guarded the entrance. Noise from the street muffled any sounds they made. He stayed low and rushed to the first table. A glance back showed Aberland entering followed by Jack, who closed the door before approaching another table. The two men near the front showed no awareness of their arrival.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Spencer decided it best to incapacitate the two. If he’d learned anything in his brief time doing field work, it was to even the odds as quickly as possible. He gestured to himself and Aberland then toward the two men. Aberland nodded as though he understood Spencer’s meaning. Jack could step in if either of them needed assistance.

  Spencer moved toward the farthest man, darting from one table to the next, remaining hidden as best he could. He waited until the earl was also in position then rushed the man, shoving him head first into the wall. The staggering man let out a muffled oath then spun to face him. Spencer struck him in the jaw, using the momentum of his body to lend strength to the blow.

  The man slumped to the ground, head lolling to the side as Spencer shook his aching fist.

  Aberland stood with his hands on his knees, catching his breath over the prostrate man before him. It made Spencer feel a bit better to think this sort of physical encounter wasn’t effortless for the earl even after his many years of experience.

  Spencer listened hard to determine if their presence had been noted and for any hint of a feminine tone.

  Jack drew near and pointed to the loft where the sound of voices drifted down.

  The upper level covered over half the warehouse and had an open area along with several enclosed offices. A set of stairs stood against the far wall. Apparently, that was the only way to the second story. That meant it would be well guarded. Spencer scowled at the thought of being attacked before he’d made it to the top of the stairs. While Pruett preferred knives, that didn’t mean one of his thugs wasn’t armed with a gun.

  Aberland drew near and seemed to come to the same conclusion as Spencer. “Is there any other way up?” he whispered.

  Spencer studied the walls, but the framing wasn’t conducive to climbing. Yet he wasn’t willing to lose the advantage of surprise they currently held. Several pulleys and hooks dangled from ropes the ceiling where the crates of tea stored above must’ve been lowered to the tables.

  “How do you feel about lifting me up with the pulley?”

  Aberland nodded. “Think it will hold you?”

  He didn’t bother with a reply but hurried over to the nearest one while Aberland released the rope from its wooden hook on the wall.

  “I’ll do it, my lord,” Jack whispered.

  “I’ll go up first. You follow. Then Aberland can try the stairs.”

  Jack lowered the large metal hook to the ground, and Spencer put one foot in it then gave a nod, holding tight to the rope, hoping the pulley didn’t make too much noise. Jack and Aberland pulled the opposite end hand over hand, raising Spencer slowly toward the loft. He held his breath at the occasional squeak of the pulley, but no one sounded the alarm.

  Spencer signaled for them to stop so he could look over the area. Balancing on one foot, he stretched to see over the edge.

  At the far side, a man stared out the window, seeming unaware of their presence. Spencer glanced over the rest of the loft, but crates and barrels were stacked high in rows along the floor, hiding his view, along with walls that formed offices toward the back.

  He nodded at Aberland and Jack, and they pulled him up the rest of the way. When the loft edge was at chest height, Spencer lifted himself up the rest of the way onto the floor as quietly as possible.

  The man at the window turned and spotted him. “Hey!”

  Footsteps sounded from the other side of the crates. Spencer could only hope Jack and Aberland had decided to take the stairs to join him. He ran toward the man who’d called out, ducking as the man threw a punch. Spencer landed a blow to the man’s stomach as his opponent struggled to pull his knife from its sheath.

  The delay was enough to allow Spencer to connect with the man’s nose, blood spurting forth. Whether it was the sight of his own blood or the pain, the man screamed like a girl.

  Spencer ignored him, tossed the knife over the edge of the loft, and turned to face the next thug who’d come around the stack of crates. But all he could think of was where was Dalia?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “As everyone can vouch who has taken an interest in these fallen ones, and questioned them on their condition and willingness to turn from it, nothing is more common than the answer, ‘I don’t care. It’s a life good enough for me.’”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Dalia’s heart flew to her throat at the sound
s echoing in the warehouse. Did they herald Spencer’s arrival? She bit her lip, torn between hoping it was and hoping it wasn’t. The idea of anything happening to him brought tears to her eyes. She simply couldn’t bear it, especially if it were because of her.

  As she sat in the chair in the back office on the second floor with her hands bound together, all she could think was how much she wanted to have the chance to tell Spencer that she loved him.

  “Go see what’s happening,” Pruett ordered the other two men just outside the door.

  “Sure, boss.” They hurried away.

  “Damn,” Pruett cursed then pulled a gun from his pocket as the noise continued.

  That was one more reason Dalia hoped Spencer wasn’t about to burst into the room. The dull gleam of the metal in the dim light caused her stomach to drop to her knees.

  No. She wouldn’t allow him to shoot Spencer.

  She tugged at her hands once again, the skin along her wrists raw from her previous attempts to free herself.

  “Sit still,” Pruett ordered as he glanced at her only to spin back to face the door as a man cried out.

  “No.” If she couldn’t free herself, the least she could do was distract her captor. She stood only to be roughly shoved back down.

  He glared at her. “Stupid woman. Do as I say.”

  “Release me, and perhaps he’ll spare your life.” She hoped her confidence outweighed the fear in her voice.

  “See this?” He raised the pistol in front of her face. “He’ll soon be the one dead. Especially if he didn’t bring Molly.”

  His words infuriated her, making her all the more determined. A kick to his shin caused him to hop on one leg, cursing in pain. She shoved him, and he flailed as he tried to right himself. Before she could push him again, he struck her temple with the gun.

  Pain, sharp and unwelcome, blurred her vision and she fell to the floor, trying to catch her breath and regain her senses, willing the throbbing in her head to ease.

  “Stupid chit.” Pruett rushed out the door.

  Shouts and the sound of breaking wood that came from the other part of the loft were terrifying. If Spencer had come alone, he had no chance. Especially not with her lying there like a sack of coal.