“Ah, you’re just the person I need,” Dalia began.
“Miss.” The concern in Ruth’s tone had Dalia moving toward her.
“What’s wrong?”
The maid handed her a message. “Jack said a lad brought this for you.”
Dalia took the note, the paper rough, the writing unfamiliar. She unfolded it, glancing at the signature. “It’s from Molly, one of the girls from Miss Petrie’s, the home I visited.”
“Oh, miss. I knew no good would come from that.” Ruth wrung her hands as she stared at the paper. “What does she say?”
Dalia skimmed the lines, her heartbeat speeding. “A man named Charlie locked Kate in her room for speaking to me. Molly says she fears for Kate’s safety. She didn’t know who else to turn to and is hoping I can help.”
“Surely you don’t intend to become involved in this, miss. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’ve got to do something if Kate is in trouble because of me.” Dalia reread the message, trying to determine what her options were. She had the suspicion that this Charlie was the same one who’d confronted her. A nasty individual for certain. “I’ll send a message to Viscount Rutland, requesting his assistance.”
Ruth’s expression eased with relief. “Excellent idea.”
“Perhaps he can meet me there.”
The maid’s relief dropped away in an instant. “I’ve got a terrible feeling about this. You shouldn’t go.”
“I’ll take Jack with me.”
“If your mother or father find out—”
“Advise my mother that I’ll see her at the ball later this evening. Make any excuse you can to cover for me. Tell her I went to visit Lettie or something.” An image of Kate filled Dalia’s mind—her thin frame, her young face lined with worry, her wary brown eyes, and her hesitation to talk until Dalia had pressed her.
Dalia’s guilt nearly overwhelmed her. Kate was in trouble because of her. If only she hadn’t encouraged the woman to share her experiences, this Charlie wouldn’t have reacted this way.
Yet the idea of confronting the same man who’d frightened her that day on the walk gave her pause. She could imagine how scared Kate must be as her own heart thudded heavily in her chest.
Surely Spencer would join her soon. She pulled an old cloak out of the wardrobe. Thank goodness she hadn’t yet changed for the ball.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Ruth said as she followed Dalia across the room. “Why don’t we just send a message to the viscount so he can deal with it? He’ll be better able to do so. How can you possibly help?”
Doubt surged at Ruth’s question, especially since she had no answer. “I only know I have to try to keep Pruett from hurting Kate until Rutland arrives.” Dalia paused, uncertain if this was the best action to take. Perhaps all of Spencer’s dire warnings were finally sinking in, causing her to hesitate.
Yet the situation was her fault. She had to do something.
Resolution filled her. Spencer would most likely arrive soon after she did, and all this worry would be for nothing.
With Molly’s message in hand, she hurried to her desk and added a note for Spencer, requesting he meet her at Miss Petrie’s as soon as possible.
The true question wasn’t whether she’d survive a discussion with Pruett but rather how she’d manage Spencer’s anger when he received her message.
~*~
Spencer’s heart stopped as he read the message, then read it again. The idea of Dalia in such danger was unfathomable.
He glared at the Fairchild’s footman who’d delivered the message. “Is Jack with her?”
The man’s eyes widened as though uncertain if his answer would please him. “Yes?”
“Are you certain?” Spencer gritted out.
“Yes.” The footman braced himself, obviously ready to accept the ramifications of his response.
Spencer had returned home later than planned from a meeting at the Intelligence Office to find the footman waiting with the message from Dalia. If only he would’ve come home earlier, perhaps he could’ve intervened before she’d taken such a risk.
The idea of Dalia returning to confront Stephens had concerned him greatly. But the idea of her attempting to stop Pruett was horrifying. He knew all too well of what the man was capable. She might be at the mercy of both men at this moment.
Damn and blast.
“Your horse should be brought around any moment, my lord,” Barnes advised.
“Thank you.” As always, he was grateful for the butler’s efficiency. Spencer had taken a hansom cab from Whitehall. Navigating the streets at this time of day in a carriage would take far too long.
He dismissed the Fairchild’s footman then checked to make certain his knife was tucked in its sheath at the top of his boot. He waited with impatience until Barnes advised him his horse was ready.
Spencer donned his hat and set off, his entire focus on reaching Dalia as quickly as possible. If only she’d waited for him. Apparently, his attempts to instill a sense of caution in her had failed.
Situations like this were exactly why he’d never believed himself suited for field work. Defeat a criminal? Rescue a lady? Neither seemed possible, let alone both.
He wasn’t even certain what he was up against. He could wield the knife he carried in his boot, but a man like Pruett surely possessed more skills with a blade than he did. His fighting lessons had been limited to some boxing at university.
His strengths were in his ability to analyze data and intelligence. What good were those skills in circumstances such as this?
With a shake of his head, he urged his horse faster, winding through the busy streets toward Miss Petrie’s. A snarl between two carriages and a cart blocked his path, but he maneuvered around them, ignoring the shouts of those he cut off in his rush.
As the image of Dalia filled his mind, he realized he wouldn’t leave her rescue to anyone else. How could he trust someone to understand how truly important she was? How much he cared for her? The idea of her in danger sent his pulse racing, caused his mouth to go dry.
He refused to allow his fear to overshadow the task at hand.
She was depending on him to save her, and in this moment, that was all he needed. She believed in him, that he could aid her in freeing Kate.
The knowledge she had confidence in him eased his worry. Already various scenarios formed in his mind as to how he could confront Pruett and convince him to set Kate free.
Unfortunately, he found a flaw in each plan. As he approached the home, he slowed his pace, hoping the instincts Aberland was always insisting he had would come forth to aid him. With a shake of his head at himself, he realized he should’ve brought one of his own footmen with him. He didn’t care to think overlong as to why his normally rational mind had failed him so badly when Dalia was in danger. Perhaps Jack would be of help.
He quickly searched the area, hoping beyond hope to find Dalia and the big footman waiting for him outside Miss Petrie’s.
But no. Of course not. Why would she do something as logical as wait for him to arrive?
He continued past the home, seeing nothing to be alarmed about from the street. He rode around to the alley behind the home to find the rear entrance, wanting the element of surprise to be on his side.
After dismounting, he led his horse through a wrought-iron gate that listed heavily and lashed the reins to it, hoping his horse would be there when he emerged.
He rushed up the steps, relieved when the door was unlocked. Once inside, he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior and to gain his bearings. With slow, careful steps, he moved down the long hallway, ignoring the closed doors.
All was quiet on this floor of the building. Too quiet. Where were the women who stayed here? He better understood why Dalia had been taken aback by the atmosphere. Its rundown and dirty appearance gave a feeling of hopelessness that surely made the women who entered wonder if this place could aid them in making a fresh start.
A staircase came into view near the center of the building. Spencer glanced back to make certain no one had emerged behind him then climbed the stairs, keeping his back to the wall. He paused to listen, cursing under his breath when a stair squeaked beneath his weight.
Before he’d gone more than halfway up, he caught the sound of voices.
Angry voices.
From what he’d observed, Pruett rarely went anywhere without a couple of thugs at his side. Spencer needed to be prepared to deal with not only Pruett but his men as well.
Relieved when no one came at the sound of the squeaking stair, he continued until he reached the next floor. He glanced up and down the long hallway, alarmed at the sight of a crumpled form on the floor.
He approached the man cautiously, noting the doors of the rooms on this floor were also closed. A quick look revealed Jack, Dalia’s footman. Spencer gently squeezed his shoulder to see if he’d revive but to no avail. Relief filled him when he realized he still breathed. The only wound he found was on the back of the man’s head. Hopefully, he’d soon rouse of his own accord, but it appeared Spencer was on his own.
Voices came from the end of the hall, but he couldn’t make out what was being said.
Before he’d moved more than a quarter of the way, the door flew open and a man backed out. “I’ll fetch Stephens.”
Spencer’s nerves stretched tautly, and all thoughts stopped as the man closed the door then turned, catching sight of Spencer. He frowned as he took in Spencer’s fine clothes as though unable to reconcile his presence but not sensing any threat.
“Good day.” Spencer nodded, continuing forward as though he had all the right in the world to be walking along the hall.
His coarse features and dull-witted demeanor were familiar. Spencer was fairly certain he was one of Pruett’s men. Awareness shifted slowly over his expression. “Here now. What are ye—”
Spencer plowed his fist into the man’s face, causing his head to strike the wall behind him. By some miracle, the man dropped to the ground, unconscious. Spencer shook out his aching hand, feeling as if he’d struck a brick building. He did a quick search of the man’s pockets, rewarded for his thoroughness when he found a knife. He pocketed it, not wanting it to be planted in his back if the man regained consciousness.
Next, he opened a nearby door, relieved to find the room empty. He pulled the heavy body inside and closed the door, locking it from the outside. The idea that the women could be locked in disturbed him greatly. What would happen if a fire broke out?
With a shake of his head, he continued down the hall toward the voices.
“She didn’t mean any harm.” Dalia’s voice was easily recognizable and had the tightness in his chest easing. “Surely you can see that.”
The fact that she was arguing with someone, most likely Pruett, didn’t come as a surprise.
“I can’t allow that sort of talk to spread among our girls. Surely you can see that.”
Spencer didn’t recognize the male voice, but it had to be Pruett, considering he’d just come across one of his men. He eased nearer to the closed door to listen, wanting to know who was in the room and where Pruett was in relation to the door.
“I didn’t mean no harm, Charlie,” an unfamiliar female voice pleaded tearfully. “I won’t say no more. I promise.”
“Your promises are as worthless to me as your shoe. They don’t mean nothin’.”
Spencer frowned at the odd comparison. Based on the silence in the room, apparently the other occupants were pondering its meaning as well.
“In any event,” Dalia continued, “Kate has decided upon a change in occupation. She will no longer be a problem for you.”
Spencer was amazed at the lack of fear in her voice. Did she not realize how dangerous Pruett was? Or was she hiding her worry that well?
No matter. He intended to have her out of harm’s way shortly.
“Kate’s mistake was in thinking she had a choice.” Pruett was obviously losing his patience. “I don’t make the rules. I merely enforce them.”
The short scream set the hair on the back of Spencer’s neck on end. He didn’t know to whom the feminine cry belonged, but that didn’t matter—it had to be halted.
He shoved open the door, sending it flying on the hinges. A muffled groan came from behind it, but he paid no heed.
Kate sat on the bed. Dalia stood near her. Pruett had his back to the door but turned when he heard it open. The surprise on his face gave Spencer a certain amount of satisfaction.
He lunged toward Pruett only to be stopped short when someone grabbed him from behind. He nearly groaned at his mistake. An experienced field operative would’ve more thoroughly checked the room for adversaries before proceeding.
He spun to slip out of his captor’s grasp then grabbed hold of the man’s lapels and struck him in the jaw, sending him howling back in pain. Before Spencer could deliver another blow, he was caught from behind once again, this time by Pruett.
“Spencer!” The alarm in Dalia’s voice warned him a moment too late as a chair came flying toward him from someone else in the room.
He couldn’t escape its path with Pruett holding him but managed to duck, allowing the main part of the chair to strike Pruett. A leg hit Spencer in the temple, causing his head to thunder with pain and his ears to ring.
Trying to gather his wits, he glanced around the room, wondering how many more of Pruett’s men were in the space.
Two plus Pruett. Damn. Less than favorable odds. He glanced at Dalia, relieved to see her unharmed. Kate pressed a cloth to her arm and evidence of tears streaked her face but otherwise appeared well.
“Who the hell are you?” Pruett demanded as he tossed aside the remains of the chair.
“A friend of the lady’s.” He stepped closer to Dalia, gauging his next move.
Pruett’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Spencer. “You’re the bloke who was with her at Cremorne Gardens.” He gestured toward Dalia as he spoke.
Spencer didn’t respond. Whether Pruett recognized him was the least of his worries at the moment.
“What are the two of you about?” Pruett asked.
“I’ve come to collect the ladies.”
Pruett smirked. “And you were thinkin’ I’d just hand them over when you asked?”
“I’m not asking.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It would be to your benefit if you released us all,” Dalia advised him, lifting her chin.
“And if I don’t?”
Spencer ignored the rest of the conversation, weighing his options. The two other men, one holding his jaw, the other wary, now stood on either side of Pruett, apparently waiting for instructions. If he could disable Pruett, the other men might abandon ship.
His best bet was to take the initiative and do it quickly. With luck, he could free Dalia and Kate despite the poor odds.
Pruett stepped forward, his form rigid with anger at whatever Dalia had said, providing the opportunity Spencer needed. Now was not the time to worry about fighting fairly. He needed to fight to win.
He kicked the side of Pruett’s knee, knocking him off balance. But the man was obviously a seasoned opponent and regained his footing before Spencer could land another blow. Spencer advanced to throw a punch, but Pruett shifted to the side. Though Spencer missed his mark, he caught enough of Pruett’s face to make him cry out in pain.
The other two men jumped into the fray. Spencer swung madly, landing punches here and there based on the grunts and groans coming from the men.
Yet after several moments, he sensed he was losing the battle. The men struck him as much if not more than he hit them. Pruett stepped back to urge them on.
Movement caught his notice out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over to see Dalia using a porcelain basin to beat one of the men over the head.
Kate screamed, adding to the din.
Spencer lashed out, only to feel a meaty fist connect with his ribs. The next brea
th he drew stung, making breathing difficult. He ignored it, determined to protect Dalia no matter the cost. As he fought harder, the sharp pain in his ribs dimmed. He landed a solid blow to a man then stomped the other’s foot.
“Enough,” Pruett demanded.
Spencer froze as he realized Pruett had pulled the basin from Dalia’s grasp and now held her arm, a knife near her throat. The alarm on her face had Spencer raising his hands, palms out as fear seeped through him. “Release her. You don’t want to harm her. That will cause far more problems than you have already.”
“I will if you force me to.” He held the knife threateningly then glanced at his men, scowling at the sight of their injuries. “Two against one and you still can’t win?”
“He—”
“I have a few questions I want answers to,” Pruett interrupted, ignoring his men. He looked back at Spencer. “Why are you here?”
“To take the lady.” Spencer had no intention of sharing any details with Pruett, nor did he want Pruett to threaten her to force him to speak. Where did that leave him?
“I want a real answer,” Pruett demanded.
“It’s true,” Dalia said. “He’s here because of me, and I’m here because of Kate. Allow us all to leave. No one need know that she offended you.”
“That ship has already sailed,” Pruett insisted. “She’s told far too many. The other girls have already heard of this. If they think she escaped without harm, they’ll be doing the same.”
“Allow her to disappear.” Spencer glanced at the young woman who listened with hope in her eyes.
“Yes,” Dalia agreed. “No one will know.”
Pruett shook his head. He wasn’t having any of their suggestions. “That’s a ridiculous notion. You haven’t answered my question. What were you doing at the gardens?”
“Put down that knife,” Dalia suggested, “and I’ll tell you.”
“I ain’t puttin’ this down until the pair of you are gone from my sight.”
From Pruett’s expression, Spencer knew he was losing his patience. That made two of them. Yet what could he do to set Dalia free and get both her and Kate out of the room without harm?
Falling For The Viscount (The Seven Curses of London Book 6) Page 15
