Falling for the Viscount_Book VI of The Seven Curses of London Series Read online

  Of all people...

  In all places...

  Why did it have to be Spencer?

  “Rutland. How...surprising to see you here.”

  Something about his stern countenance brought out the worst in her. Even now, she bristled at his regard, never mind that she knew all too well she shouldn’t be anywhere near this place.

  With dark hair clipped short, black brows with only a hint of an arch over compelling hazel eyes in a lean, clean-shaven face framed by long, black lashes, the man was too handsome for his own good. He had an aloofness about him that made conversation awkward. Or perhaps that was caused by the air of superiority that hovered over him.

  He rarely smiled. Granted, it was a good thing he didn’t walk around doing so all the time or she’d be no different than the simpering debutantes that fell at his feet at the balls and parties he occasionally attended.

  Their mothers’ friendship linked them. Otherwise, she would’ve preferred to avoid speaking to him as he always made her feel her worst.

  The idea of him frequenting a place like this shocked her. An image of him dallying in passion of any sort had her mouth going dry and her breath catching in her throat.

  She couldn’t help but ask, “What are you doing here?”

  Spencer Campbell, Viscount Rutland, stared, perplexed at the sight of the lady before him. He had mistakenly assumed he wouldn’t know anyone in attendance at the Argyll Rooms. In fact, he’d planned on it. Seeing an acquaintance changed his entire mission.

  Seeing Dalia here changed even more.

  For the briefest moment, he’d considered exiting before she saw him. But she appeared to be alone. That realization had stunned him into addressing her. He’d hoped her brazen behavior had come to an end now that she was nineteen years of age. Obviously, he’d been wrong.

  The astonishment in her tone might’ve amused him in other circumstances. She obviously believed the tables were turned, and she’d found him in an inappropriate position. She could never know he was there on Intelligence Office business.

  “I would ask the same of you,” he said.

  Her pale blonde hair covered by a modest doll hat with a cockade of brown and teal feathers had drawn the notice of every man in the room. Added to that were her blue eyes and creamy complexion with cheeks that always held a hint of color, as though she’d been rushing somewhere.

  As usual, he had to brace himself to speak with her. Her beauty affected him in a way that never failed to surprise him, leaving him tongue-tied and feeling inept, not so different from his ten-year-old self.

  He studied her, quickly concluding she wasn’t any happier to see him than he was to see her. Yet as a gentleman, he had no choice but to see to her safety. That meant escorting her home as quickly as possible.

  But first, he wanted to know why she was here. Of course, nothing was simple with Dalia Fairchild. She never responded as expected—a trait that both fascinated and infuriated him.

  Those bright blue eyes narrowed as her gaze dropped to his attire. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  Too late, he remembered he wore an old suit tattered around the edges so as not to draw attention. While it had worked well in previous situations, Dalia knew he didn’t normally dress like this.

  “No need to wear my best attire to a place like this,” he responded, hoping his tone sounded casual. The idea of her thinking he frequented similar establishments had him clenching his jaw. Not that it mattered what she thought.

  But would she mention this to anyone else?

  Secrecy was of the utmost importance in his work. Though he continued to adjust to his position in the field after spending several years working behind a desk, he’d always known the importance of confidentiality in the intelligence business.

  His organizational and analysis skills had been helpful to Prime Minister Gladstone’s efforts to gather information regarding Prussia’s growing power along with other areas of concern. But a restlessness had filled him in recent months. Analyzing data no longer felt like enough.

  His efforts in the Intelligence Office hadn’t eased the void in his life left by his brother’s death just over a year ago. He could never fill his brother’s shoes, nor did he care to try. His father still looked at him with a general air of disappointment. Spencer was now the heir to the earldom, but he didn’t feel prepared for the position.

  Nor did he want it.

  He’d forged a life without all the weight and responsibility of the title of earl only to have it thrust upon him. His father’s demand that he leave his work behind only made Spencer more determined to continue. Hence his recent restlessness and subsequent field work, which returned his attention to the problem of the woman before him.

  He sighed at the curiosity in her gaze. She was definitely a problem. Surely the best way to turn Dalia—rather Miss Fairchild’s—attention from himself was to shine it on her. At least it worked well with other young ladies her age.

  “Why are you here?” he asked again. “This is not a safe place for young ladies. Who accompanied you?” He glanced about but already knew he wouldn’t see any of her family members.

  “Ah, my footman as well as my maid are here with me.” She sounded uncertain of her claim.

  He followed her gaze to where a tall man stood waiting at the top of the stairs. The man dipped his head at Spencer’s questioning gaze. “And your maid?” Spencer asked though he didn’t understand what purpose the footman served when he wasn’t nearer to Dalia.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Ruth is over there with her cousin.” The disarming smile she sent him scrambled his thoughts, and he didn’t attempt to locate her maid.

  Dalia Fairchild was a rebel, the very type of person who set him on edge in the worst way. She went out of her way to push the bounds of propriety.

  Rules were meant to be followed for a reason. He’d discovered that at a young age. Not following them was what had gotten his brother killed.

  Spencer’s physical response to Dalia was both puzzling and annoying, an odd reaction he needed to overcome. Never mind that he’d failed to do so in the lengthy time they’d known each other, and it had only worsened as they’d grown older.

  One of the many flaws in his character. His father so enjoyed pointing them out.

  But now was not the time to dwell on such things.

  “I’d be pleased to escort you home.” He took her elbow as he spoke, well aware that his opportunity to gather information on a certain suspect had passed. He couldn’t do what he needed to with Miss Fairchild there.

  “That is kind of you but unnecessary. Ruth and I wanted to have a brief look around then we’ll be returning home of our own accord.”

  He gave her a grim smile. “I insist.”

  “No, thank you.” She pulled her elbow from his grasp with the barest jerk. “We have only just arrived, and I have not yet had a chance to take in the atmosphere or enjoy the music.”

  Spencer felt his pulse pounding in his temples. He reminded himself that he hadn’t expected her to cooperate with his suggestion. She didn’t do so when it came to inconsequential things, such as in which chair she might like to sit. Why would she do so when his request would keep her safe?

  With a careful glance around to make certain they weren’t drawing too much attention, he leaned close. A hint of some sweet floral fragrance teased his senses. Unthinking, he sniffed in an attempt to name it.

  She drew back with a gasp. “What are you about, my lord?”

  Damn his response to her. His thoughts and common sense fled when she was near. What could he do but pretend she didn’t cause this ridiculous reaction? “I am merely attempting to tell you that we must go. Now. You cannot be here.”

  Those blue eyes of hers stared at him. He’d never realized they held gold flecks before. Her lips were the perfect shape. Neither too wide nor too narrow and a compelling shade of rose. It took him a moment to realize those lips were moving. He blinked, hoping to clear the f
og that had seeped into his normally sharp mind.

  “You shouldn’t be here either,” she whispered heatedly. “What would your father say?”

  Were they going to resort to the arguments that had filled their time together when they were children? “Nothing compared to yours, I’m sure.” He raised a brow, waiting for her to disagree.

  To his surprise, the truth of his statement seemed to sink in. Her lovely lips opened and closed before twisting into a scowl, and she held her silence.

  “I cannot fathom that you are truly here on a lark to enjoy the atmosphere.” While she often acted recklessly, this venture was beyond her normal behavior.

  She dropped her gaze and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’d rather not explain at this juncture, but please know that my presence here is for a purpose, as you guessed.”

  That only made him more curious. What possible “purpose” would bring her to such a place?

  Her gaze lifted to his, causing him to appreciate the long sweep of her lashes. “We won’t be here overlong, but it truly is important to me.”

  He paused, weighing her words. While he couldn’t imagine why she felt the need to look around, he felt hard-pressed to deny her wish.

  “Excuse me, miss.” A large man with a jacket a size too small approached them. “Would you care to dance?”

  Spencer’s pulse began to pound once again. He reached for Miss Fairchild’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “The lady is with me.”

  He expected the man to go on about his way, but as with everything today, his expectations meant nothing.

  “I’d hear the lady speak for herself.” The big man’s gaze narrowed as he glared at Spencer.

  This was the part of field work he was as of yet unaccustomed to. Physical altercations outside the boxing ring at university were few and far between. Surely, he had the communication skills necessary to avoid a fight.

  “I’m with him.” Dalia grasped his elbow tightly before he could respond.

  The feel of her hand along his side gave him the strangest pang. He wasn’t certain what to make of it.

  The man gave her a long look as though to make certain she knew her mind then nodded. “Very well then.”

  He moved away, much to Spencer’s relief.

  “We are leaving now,” Spencer gritted out. Dalia opened her mouth as though to argue but seemed to think better of it after glancing at his expression.

  “May we walk along the upper gallery on our way out? I would like to speak with Ruth before we leave.”

  Surprised at her agreement, he nodded. Perhaps he owed his thanks to the man who’d asked her to dance. That might’ve been the tipping point to convince Dalia of the danger she risked.

  “Very well.” He tightened his arm to keep her close as he eyed the people nearby. No one else showed signs of approaching them, so he guided her forward.

  The sooner he escorted her home, the better. What a strange course of events this day had brought. Work away from his desk was proving to be nothing like he’d expected.

  Chapter Two

  “...the ‘well-dressed’ creature, in fact, does not habitually ‘walk the streets,’ but betakes herself to places of popular resort [the Argyll Rooms} for persons of a ‘fast’ turn.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Dalia drew a quiet breath of relief, grateful for Rutland’s presence as they walked along the upper gallery, as shocking an admission as that was. She’d overestimated her ability to deal with the visit to the Argyll Rooms and never would’ve guessed how reassuring his company would be.

  In her mind, she’d imagined following closely behind Ruth, so she might see what the maid saw. Dalia hadn’t considered the attention she would draw. After all, she drew little notice during the routine of her daily life. It wasn’t as if heads turned when she entered a room. But apparently convention was different in this world, as was the man whose arm she held.

  Once again, her rash actions had led to a brush with trouble. Why did it never seem rash when she made her plans?

  Her heart still pounded from the brief conversation with the large man. She was grateful he’d respected her answer. The viscount wasn’t the type to brawl, nor did she think he’d be good at it. He’d be the last to fight anyone or to break the rules, for that matter.

  His chiseled good looks caught the eye of many young ladies here as he did in ballrooms, but he gave the impression frivolity of any sort was beneath him.

  She seldom ran into him anymore, but just last summer, he’d been among a party of young people who met at Hyde Park for a ride. When she’d suggested a friendly race, he’d been appalled, reaffirming that he hadn’t changed since their childhood.

  Despite his aloofness and obvious dislike of her throughout their youth, she had to admit that when he looked deep into her eyes, as though she had his entire focus, her heart pounded rapidly and her stomach fluttered. She could only credit it to how handsome he was.

  That sort of physical reaction was easy to ignore, especially when they were rarely together and never alone.

  Until now.

  Depending on him in this uncertain situation was a new experience. It set her off balance, as though she were wading through deep waters. She didn’t care for the helpless feeling that had flooded her when the stranger approached. At times, she wished she’d been born a man. The freedom their lives offered surpassed women’s in endless ways—so unfair.

  She pulled her thoughts away from her escort to look for Ruth but couldn’t find her amidst the many people lingering along the crowded gallery. Several were arm in arm with an escort. Some ladies appeared to know exactly what they were about, based on their coy looks and sultry smiles. It was difficult not to stare in fascination at those dressed in exotic-colored gowns with revealing necklines who moved with confidence. Even the way they walked was different with their hips swinging. They drew everyone’s notice. They laughed as though they meant it, something ladies didn’t do in public.

  Dalia understood why such a life might tempt Ruth. They didn’t seem to be bound by the same restrictions as other women.

  As a maid, Ruth was up before the family rose and often went to bed long after. According to Betty, Ruth could make far more in wages and work far less as a prostitute. But surely the drawbacks were many.

  The idea of being with a man—a stranger—for that purpose caused Dalia to shudder. Yet was it so different than women forced to marry a virtual stranger for a title or money and then be expected to produce an heir?

  Both would be so different than being with a man one loved and desired.

  She couldn’t help but glance at the man at her side, only to squeeze shut her eyes as the image of doing such an act with Spencer filled her mind. Her face heated as her imagination took flight. She opened her eyes to stare at him once more.

  His broad-shouldered form beside her.

  Those lips pressed against hers.

  Spencer glanced at her as though sensing the weight of her regard. “Is something amiss?” he asked, the rumble of his deep voice adding to the mental picture she’d created. Would he whisper sweet nothings?

  She shook her head then quickly looked away, hoping he wouldn’t ask what was on her mind.

  But her curious thoughts continued their path, pondering what the feel of his bare hand against her skin might be like. In truth, she couldn’t.

  She’d danced and flirted with men since her first ball. Doing so came naturally to her, compared to her oldest sister, Lettie. But Lettie had other advantages Dalia didn’t.

  Lettie’s appearance with dark hair and eyes was far different from the rest of the Fairchild daughters, who all shared their mother’s blonde and blue-eyed beauty. Dalia couldn’t count the number of times she’d been mistaken for Rose or Violet. It was annoying. She wanted to be different, special, not easily replaced by one of her sisters.

  Lettie also had intelligence and determination which Dalia admired. Though Dalia attempted
to follow Lettie’s example, thus far her efforts needed improvement.

  All that aside, she hadn’t done more than share a brief kiss with a man in a dark garden one night. It hadn’t been particularly pleasant. Imagining anything beyond that was difficult.

  “What is it?” Rutland asked.

  “Pardon me?” Dalia tried to clear her thoughts, deciding it best to pretend ignorance.

  “You’re scowling. Again.”

  Now he sounded like her mother, who frequently warned her against making that particular facial expression for fear it would give her wrinkles.

  She cast her thoughts toward some way to change the subject. “You didn’t say why you are here.”

  “No. I did not.” The firmness in his tone made it clear he didn’t intend to.

  She couldn’t help but antagonize him a bit. “Then I must assume you were searching for some female...companionship.” She winced at how inappropriate a comment she’d just uttered.

  His quickly drawn breath had her wishing she hadn’t said it. Once again, she’d taken things too far. She bit her lip, prepared to apologize for her outrageous remark.

  “What am I to think of your presence here? Have you not found enough dance partners amongst the ton?”

  With a gasp, she stopped to face him in full. Unable to deal with the first part of his comment, she latched onto the second. “I’ll have you know that I am never—” She broke off at the falsity of that and tried again. “That I am rarely short of dance partners.”

  It took her a moment to notice the light of mirth in his hazel eyes, the slight crook of the corner of his mouth.

  “Are you teasing me?” She was truly astounded at the thought. She didn’t think he’d ever done so.

  He reached for her gloved hand then patted it as he drew her forward. “We are friends, are we not? Friends tease each other. Why are you so surprised?”

  She had a list of reasons, the first of which was because he was Viscount Rutland, a man who failed to find levity in most, if not all, situations. He was not well known for his sense of humor. To think he had one added a new dimension to his character she didn’t welcome. She’d placed him firmly in a box years ago and knew what to expect when she encountered him.