But what other option did she have? She couldn’t follow Ruth there on her own again. Not now that she’d seen the danger for herself. She considered speaking with Lettie about the whole situation, but her mother had ordered Dalia and her sisters not to bother Lettie overmuch since she was with child. Dalia couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Lettie and Nathaniel were going to be wonderful parents. But her mother was certain any undue stress would cause complications.
Dalia wondered if that were true and decided to ask Lettie for herself when she next saw her. But for now, what could she do?
The Forsythes’ ball that evening might give her the option she’d already dismissed—discussing the situation with Spencer. Chances were he’d attend as Lady Forsythe was a friend of his mother’s. Could she persuade him to reconsider? Or might he have another idea on how to convince Ruth of the danger?
The niggle of doubt that accompanied the idea of speaking to him about it expanded into something nearly unmanageable by the time she arrived at the ball with her mother and Violet. How silly of her to be so nervous about discussing it with Spencer.
After greeting Lord and Lady Forsythe, she eased through the crowd, searching for his tall form.
“Miss Fairchild?”
Dalia turned at the male voice but didn’t recognize him. “Yes?”
“It was a pleasure dancing with you the other evening. I wonder if you would care to dance again.” He smiled pleasantly at her.
She did her best to hide her disappointment. Why did it bother her so much that she was frequently mistaken for Violet or Rose? “I’m sorry, but you must’ve danced with my sister, Violet.”
“Truly?” the man asked with a frown.
“I believe she’s near the entrance,” Dalia said, casting her gaze in that direction.
The man nodded his thanks and made his way toward Violet.
“How could he mistake you for your sister?” Rutland’s deep voice had her turning in surprise.
Yet his remark warmed her. “Good evening, my lord. It happens more often than I can count.” As she dropped into a curtsy, something she’d failed to do at the Argyll Rooms, she noted how different he looked than the last time she’d seen him.
His black tail coat, matching vest with shawl lapels, white shirt, and black trousers added a crisp formality to his appearance. It gave her a new appreciation for his casual attire two days ago when he’d seemed more approachable.
Or was it merely her changed perception of him that caused the flutters in her stomach?
For heaven’s sake, this was still Spencer, the bane of her existence for as long as she could remember. But that reminder didn’t quell the nerves simmering at the idea of asking for his help.
She smoothed her white-gloved hands along the pale blue silk gown, knowing she looked her best. How wearing her favorite dress aided her she couldn’t say, but it helped all the same.
“I trust you are none the worse for your adventure,” he said.
“No issues with my adventure at all.” She hated to come out and immediately raise the subject she was so nervous to discuss. Wouldn’t it be better to have a normal conversation and then ease into the issue of Ruth?
The problem was that she couldn’t think of anything to discuss, not when he watched her so closely.
“And you? No problems on your part?” she asked at last. Her cheeks heated as she wondered once again why he’d been there. Surely he didn’t seek the type of woman who frequented such places. Yet why else would he go to such an establishment?
“None. Thank you for sending me the book.”
“Of course. I hope you enjoy it.” She bit her lip, realizing that had been a silly thing to say.
He glanced away, his intense gaze shifting elsewhere, which released the tight band around her chest and allowed her to draw a breath. “Your family is well?” he asked.
“Yes. Quite. Yours?” She closed her eyes as she realized how inappropriate her comment was. His brother’s death had been well over a year ago, but her inquiry still felt like a poor choice.
“Fine.”
At his clipped word, she glanced up from beneath her lashes, wondering how deeply his brother’s accident had affected him. The details had never been discussed, other than as a “tragic accident.”
Spencer was the definition of a stiff upper lip. He rarely showed emotion of any sort, which was why him teasing her at the Argyll Rooms had been such a surprise.
Even now, his expression revealed nothing as he studied the ballroom. Then that intense gaze returned to her, reminding her that she’d been staring.
“I’m certain life has been difficult since your brother’s death. I’m truly sorry for your loss.” She’d never remarked on it before now. The times they’d been together had been with her family or mutual friends, so they hadn’t had a private conversation until the other day. How she knew he was thinking of his brother, she couldn’t say, but she knew beyond a doubt.
If it had been her brother, she’d want others to acknowledge the loss rather than pretend nothing was amiss.
Based on the stiffness of Spencer’s expression, perhaps he’d rather she ignored it. Several awkward seconds passed before he spoke. “It has been difficult. Thank you.”
The pain that flashed in his face caught her by surprise. It was gone in an instant, making her wonder if she’d been mistaken.
He turned to face her. “Would you care to dance?” He gestured toward the dance floor. “Unless you already have your dance card filled.”
“That would be lovely.” Perhaps she’d have the chance to ask him about escorting her to the Argyll Rooms again. As he offered his elbow, she realized this was the first time she’d danced with him in years.
The sounds of a waltz filled the air as they took the floor. He placed a hand on her waist, grasping her hand with the other. The intensity of his gaze put that little catch in the back of her throat once again.
She searched her mind for something to say that would lighten this feeling. “You look quite different than last time I saw you,” she said with a smile.
“No doubt.” He returned the smile, but that only made the catch worse.
She cleared her throat but still it wouldn’t disappear. What was wrong with her this evening? With effort, she reminded herself of her purpose. But how best to ease into her question?
He bent close, his breath brushing against her ear, sending shivers along her spine. The catch became a choke and caused her to cough.
“Are you well?” he asked as he drew back to study her.
“Of course. Thank you.” She gave herself a mental shake, fearing she was losing her mind. There were more layers to the man than she’d realized. With each encounter of late, she was less able to dismiss him as she’d so easily done in the past.
He leaned close again. As awareness filled her once more, he said, “I was going to ask if you’d had any luck with Ruth.”
“Oh.” She blinked quickly to dispel the other images coming to mind. Not that she’d thought he intended to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Far from it. She was dancing with Spencer, not some man she fantasized about. In truth, she was grateful he’d raised the very subject she’d wanted to discuss. It saved her the trouble she reminded herself. “Unfortunately, no. She insists on returning to that location.”
He frowned as he guided her through several steps then swept her into a turn.
How had she never realized he was such an excellent dancer? They glided along as though floating. It reminded her why she enjoyed dancing so much.
“Did you provide further details on the place?”
“Yes, but the more I share, the more adamant she becomes about going again.” She glanced at him to gauge his reaction. If someone would’ve advised her earlier this week that she’d be willing to plead with Spencer to accompany her on an outing, she would’ve declared them insane.
Yet as her gaze held his, a fragile bubble of hope rose inside her. Might he aid her?
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Spencer had a sinking feeling he knew where this conversation was going. He shouldn’t have asked about the maid, but how could he not? At times, his politeness was a curse.
“That’s unfortunate.” He said nothing more. Perhaps he was wrong, and she’d change the subject without asking for his assistance.
A person who worked for the British Intelligence Office should not be involved in such matters. Nor did he have time to help. His mission was a difficult one and required all of his attention. Venturing to the Argyll Rooms for any purpose other than his job would be a mistake.
He turned with the music, lengthening his stride with the hope of causing Dalia to forget whatever idea formed in her mind.
“Yes, quite.” She was breathless with the dance steps but by the set of her mouth, her determination remained.
He nearly groaned in dismay as he searched for a response to make it clear he couldn’t possibly aid her.
“If she insists upon returning, I wondered if you might be able to accompany me.” She bit her lower lip as she looked at him with hope in her eyes.
Damn. Already he felt his resolve slipping. Surely the maid wouldn’t want to go again despite what Dalia believed. Or perhaps Ruth would venture there on her own with Dalia none the wiser. With odds like that, perhaps he could agree to the task if necessary.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to convince her of the risks.
He shook his head. “Such an outing holds far too much danger as you learned from your first visit.”
“I realize that which is why I’m requesting your assistance. I know it isn’t something you would normally do.”
Spencer frowned, not caring for the way she’d said that. “Me?”
“Well, yes. You tend to avoid taking risks.”
He’d been in her company for less than ten minutes, and she’d managed to challenge him already. Her talent for that was amazing.
“You might be surprised.” He grimaced, wishing he didn’t feel compelled to defend himself. With effort, he held tight to his logic, refusing to say anything more. This was about her, not him.
Her eyes narrowed for a moment as though she considered his words before dismissing them. Why did it matter what she thought? Hadn’t Aberland told him that he had the perfect cover? No one would ever suspect mild-mannered Viscount Rutland to be a secret agent for the Crown.
Yet he was tempted to share some of the truth with Dalia for no other reason than to make himself look better in her eyes. He didn’t care to examine the reason for the urge.
“In any event,” he continued, “I think it best if you keep your distance from such places. Danger lurks there in many forms, some difficult to recognize.”
She stared up at him as though he’d spoken in a foreign tongue.
“What?” he asked at length.
“You speak with such authority, as though you have first-hand knowledge of such things.”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
“Of course.” The polite smile she offered had him gritting his teeth.
Reminding himself that he needed to be able to deflect such comments in order to keep his work secret, he continued, “As I was saying, I think it best that you avoid it at all costs.”
“I will try, but if I can’t?”
The music came to a close, and they halted. “Don’t go there.” How much clearer could he be?
Disappointment washed over her expression. Surely that meant she understood. Yet he remained unsettled by the glint in her blue eyes.
The sooner he left her the better. He offered his elbow and turned toward where he’d first come upon her, hoping to leave before she came up with a way to convince him to agree.
“I have to wonder if you’d prefer to keep your presence at the Argyll Rooms a secret.”
The woman was brazen and clever. Why did that appeal to him so much?
“I’d be happy to keep that information to myself if you would be so kind as to escort me if the need should arise.” From the triumphant look on her face, she obviously thought he had no choice but to agree.
“I couldn’t possibly do such a thing without your mother’s approval. Or your father’s. Are either of them here?” He glanced about as though searching for them, prepared to call her bluff. The idea of her thinking she could manipulate him so easily would never do. “There’s your mother.”
Dalia stiffened, dragging Spencer to a halt. “No need to mention all this to her.” She turned to face him. “I won’t bother you with this any further.”
“I’m pleased you understand that your safety comes first.” He took her gloved hand in his to pat it.
“Of course.” The bland smile she gave him set off alarm bells in his head.
“You won’t venture to the Argyll Rooms.”
She blinked up at him. “I can only state that I will do all in my power to protect Ruth. I’ll bid you good evening.” She turned away.
“Miss Fairchild.” When her gaze met his again, he shook his head, already regretting what he was about to say. “You will advise me if you have need of my assistance.”
With a solemn nod rather than the triumphant expression he’d expected, she said, “Thank you, my lord. I hope it won’t be necessary.”
“As do I.” But he had the suspicion he’d be hearing from her soon.
Chapter Five
“She is to herself vile, and she has no other resource but to flee to the gin-measure, and therein hide herself from herself. She has no pleasure even.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Spencer drew his tattered coat collar tighter around his neck, wishing he had a scarf to chase away the chill that had settled in his bones. His waltz at the ball earlier that evening with Dalia was now a distant memory. Even his frustration with her had faded, leaving him with only the warm glow of holding her in his arms. Who knew dancing with her would be so enjoyable?
He’d hoped to seek his bed by now as the church clock had struck two several minutes ago, but his target had yet to make an appearance.
Watching and waiting for Charlie Pruett was something Spencer did three or four times a week, often after attending various balls and parties. Such evening activities made for an extremely long day.
He supposed that was the biggest advantage office work had over field work—more regular hours.
The doorway of a building just off Grandby Street, not far from Waterloo Station, an area notorious for prostitution, lent some protection. The rumor that had reached his ears suggested Pruett often sought new prostitutes in this area to bring into his fold. McCarthy rarely made an appearance near his business endeavors, which was why discovering what Pruett was up to was so important.
Spencer wanted to know if that were true and, if so, how many girls and how often it occurred. Though the idea of Pruett recruiting women who were already prostitutes wasn’t his main concern, learning more about any facet of the business could prove helpful. He needed to know as many of the moving parts as possible in order to determine where best to strike, hence the numerous agents spread amongst McCarthy’s various operations.
But at times like this, when exhaustion tugged at him in equal measure with loneliness, he wondered what purpose he served. The women along the street appeared satisfied enough with their lot in life. Who was he to try to tell them they weren’t?
Only last week, he’d spoken with a woman who’d advised him she nearly had enough money saved from her work on the streets to buy a coffee house. She’d insisted no other occupation would allow her to improve her situation in three short years as prostitution had. Granted, she was an unusual case but a memorable one.
Criminals like Pruett and McCarthy complicated the situation by organizing and expanding it for their personal gain. That was why they were the focus of his mission. But late nights like this one where nothing of note occurred made his attempts feel pointless.
Fog eased its way along the street, lending a mysterious air to the already dangerous area.
No doubt it would thicken to the point where navigating the neighborhood became difficult. If possible, he’d like to make his way home before that.
He’d learned within a few hours during his first night here to stand where his back was protected and not to linger directly on Granby Street unless he wanted to be approached time and again by the women working there. He’d been solicited more often that first night than he could count. As his purpose was to observe rather than participate, it was better to do so from a distance. His presence raised fewer questions that way.
Perhaps Pruett wasn’t coming to this particular area this evening. He might be at one of several brothels he ran for McCarthy. Spencer had divided his time between watching those and this area, trying to find a pattern to Pruett’s activities, which would help reveal what his next move might be.
Spencer’s knowledge of how prostitution rings were run was limited, leaving him at a distinct disadvantage. Yet how else could he find out more except by observing? It wasn’t as if there were books on such topics he could study.
That lack put him out here in the middle of a chilly night with the cold and damp seeping down his neck.
“Rutland, is that you?”
Spencer turned to find one of his associates approaching from the shadows. “Searle, what brings you out on this miserable evening?”
Robert Searle had been a clerk in the Intelligence Office for the past six months but made no secret of his wish to do field work. Those who made such decisions had suggested he learn the internal workings before he ventured out. With no experience of any sort, nor any connections that would be of help, his skills were of better use inside.
Spencer had agreed, especially until they could unveil his strengths. His lack of thoroughness had not impressed Spencer thus far. When he’d pointed out several key developments Searle had missed when combing through incoming intelligence reports, Searle had merely used that as evidence that he was better suited for the field.
Falling for the Viscount_Book VI of The Seven Curses of London Series Page 5
