A Kiss With Scandal (Scandals & Secrets 4) (3 page)

The maid’s skirts rustled as she marched through the doorway. “Here’s the ledger.” She handed him the book. “It looks as though we’ve given out three pairs of gloves this evening.”

Three?
“I had no idea so many ladies lost gloves.” Something that would make his task more difficult.

“Oh, no, my lord. We offer replacement gloves for any number of reasons. Lost pairs, stains, or tears. If there’s a noticeable blemish, we replace them.”

His eyes ticked down the list. Lady Maeble Brockhurst, Lady Charlotte Langston, and Miss Jane Locke. “And do you happen to know if any of these ladies lost a glove?”

“No, my lord. Unfortunately, I don’t. Tomorrow, I could ask the maid who was here earlier, if you’d like.”

“No. Don’t trouble yourself.” He didn’t want word spreading that he was tracking down a lady. “This is more than helpful. Thank you.”

“Very good.”

With the list secure in his mind, he quickened his pace toward the ballroom. He’d locate the witness if he had to hunt down and interrogate each lady. Before the night was over, he’d know who owned the glove.

And when Derek set his mind to something, he achieved it.

C
harlotte put
the group of women from her mind, gulped, and turned toward the person vying for her attention. She bobbed a curtsy, shielding her fluttery stomach. “Viscount Lawrence, what a pleasure.” An unexpected pleasure.

“Lady Charlotte, good evening.” He bowed to her, and then to the other ladies in turn.

Her eyes wandered over his form. He was still as handsome as ever. Drat. She would not let attraction distract her. He was polite, warm. But there was something different about him from the rest of the
ton
. He didn’t belong.

Ice skated along her neck.

He didn’t belong.

Could he possibly be the man who’d murdered Lord Barnsal? She strained, comparing his voice with the one that haunted her, but couldn’t decide.

He was kind and patient as the others spoke with him, but was it all an act?

“Lady Charlotte?” he asked a second time.

Sugar lumps
. She’d missed what he’d said. “I beg your pardon?”

His smile was slow, and her stomach fluttered in response. “I asked if I might claim the next dance. If you’re free, of course.”

Her pulse raced. He wanted to dance with her? It wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary—her sister
was
married to one of his best friends—but dances between them were few and far between over the years. “I am honored and available for the next dance.”

“Excellent.” His eyes gleamed.

At her.

What was this all about? He’d never had any interest in her before. Nothing above polite inquires and obligated dances. Oh, sure, they got on well. He was a nice man after all, but he’d never expressed any desire to pursue her.

Ever since her sister had married the Duke of Wathersby, Charlotte found herself in Viscount Lawrence’s company more often. He was handsome, intelligent, and wealthy. She would be lying to say the infatuation during her come out, years ago, had faded.

Was it possible he was interested in her?

He smiled, but there was no sparkle in his eyes. What did he want?

She circled back to her initial thoughts. It could be coincidence that he approached her, but for him to come now, after what happened earlier that night, raised suspicion even if it was hard to believe he was capable of such things. He was an honorable man, at least from everything she knew of him. Her brother-in-law would not be involved with Viscount Lawrence if he were a criminal, surely. Bradford might have been fooled. No one could be trusted.

He offered his arm, and she shivered once she took it. She didn’t know if the visceral reaction was from fear or something else, but she didn’t dwell on it. Any feelings associated with Viscount Lawrence were dangerous to explore.

“Are you cold?” he whispered, his brows knit with concern as he led her onto the polished floor.

Her eyes met his, and warmth curled low in her stomach. Enthralled by the icy blue depths, she was helpless to pull away. An inky strand of his hair pushed forward, and her fingers itched to smooth it back. She cleared her throat. “A bit, but I shall warm up during the dance. Do not trouble yourself.”

She expected a quadrille and was surprised by the first strings of a waltz. “How interesting.”

“What is?” he asked, taking her hand in his before placing the other on her waist.

She gulped. “A waltz. Surely it’s not yet time for another.”

“Oh. Well.” He held her firmly, expertly guiding her through the first steps of the dance. “I asked them to play another.”

She tripped, but he matched her steps so fluidly that no one noticed. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I wanted to speak with you. Other dances make that difficult. This is more private.”

Her eyes widened. “You wish to speak with me privately?”

His eyes smiled into hers. “We’re not exactly alone.”

What did he want from her? As innocent as it seemed, his words and actions raised her guard.

“I thought it was time we should get to know one another.”

“You did?” She coughed, hoping it would hide the skepticism.

“Yes. I fear I have not had the time to talk to you as I should. With the duke and your sister’s marriage, I feel we should become friends.”

“You do?”
Sugar lumps!
“Why now?”

A notch formed between his brows for a second before he smoothed it away with another smile. “He is one of my best friends, and you’re his wife’s sister.”

“True,” she hedged, but didn’t exactly agree. If what he said was true, he would have done this long before. When Aubrey and Bradford had married. Not tonight.

“You have very fine gloves.”

She inhaled sharply. “What?”

“I said your gloves are very nice. I know it isn’t proper of me to comment on them, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Thank you.” She pulled away from him as much as his grasp would allow. His reminder of her gloves, why she’d received them, made her sick.

Is that what this was about? Had he somehow found out about her lost glove? About what she’d overheard?

“Forgive my impertinence, but could you tell me who made them? I need to purchase a pair for my sister now that she is so far from town, and I know she would love these.”

The explanation rang false. Lady Victoria was more than capable of ordering her own things. Then again, with her recent marriage and move to rural Scotland, perhaps finding quality garments was a hardship.

Oh, why did she have to second-guess this? Why couldn’t she just enjoy the feel the of his hand in hers, the way their bodies twirled as one as if they were meant to be together. Her skin hummed with an awareness that only he’d been able to arouse in her three years on the marriage mart, and yet she was ignoring all of it in an effort to paint him as someone sinister.

She offered him a genuine smile and pushed her fears to the side. “That is kind of you. Forgive me though, I do not know where these were purchased.” Disappointment marred his face, and she felt ashamed at having doubted him. “The truth is, I spilled lemonade on my gloves earlier and was given these by a maid. If it is that important, I’m sure you could ask them where you might purchase a pair.” She finished her explanation and glanced up to find hard eyes on her.

Breath clogged her lungs.

He doubted her.

B
uying gloves for my sister
, indeed.
Derek choked on the lie. But what other explanation could he give? Fortunately, Lady Charlotte seemed to believe him.

He twirled them around the floor without thinking of the steps. His body tuned into hers, sifting through every nuance, judging, discarding information as quickly as she presented it. She was nervous tonight. More so than in the past, but that could be for any number of reasons. So far, her answers were sufficient enough for him to move onto the next lady.

He was relieved, actually. If his best friend’s sister-in-law was the witness in this investigation, it could cause problems. And more problems were not something he wanted to deal with.

The music drew to a close with a poignant chord. “It’s been a pleasure, Lady Charlotte. Shall I escort you back to your friends?” He inclined his head toward the group of bitty women she had been speaking with earlier.

“Thank you, no,” she said too quickly, drawing a smile to his lips. “I’d like a refreshment before rejoining.”

A blond curl caressed her neck as her head turned toward the table, and he had the most peculiar need to touch it. He refrained. Barely.

Now that Lady Charlotte had been crossed off his list, he needed to find the other two ladies who had replaced their gloves, quickly, before either took their leave.

“Allow me.” He offered her his arm, and she accepted with a small smile that dimpled her cheek. How had he never noticed such an attractive quality?

What the hell was wrong with him? He needed to focus on his mission and not contemplate the charms of Lady Charlotte. Although, those charms were extensive, and the fact that he was only now noticing them spoke volumes about his state of mind the last few years.

If he hadn’t already made the decision to retire from the War Office, he would have to consider ending his career. If he missed basic details of those around him, how was he expected to notice when something was amiss?

“Thank you, but you needn’t stay with me,” Lady Charlotte whispered to him.

His eyes glanced down to her, a brow cocked. “And I’m supposed to leave you all alone over here?”

“I don’t mind. Truly. You seem preoccupied, and I don’t wish to keep you if you need to leave.”

He was losing his touch. Smoothing the surprise from his face, he smiled at her. “What else could I possibly have on my mind when I am in your company? Tell me, how is your sister doing? I heard congratulations are in order.”

She flushed prettily, and damn if he couldn’t look away. What would a few minutes more with Lady Charlotte hurt?

“Yes. They are both quite pleased that Aubrey is expecting a child. The duke says he would be happy whether they have a boy or girl, but I think he secretly wants a girl.”

“A duke wanting a girl first? Unorthodox, wouldn’t you say?”

She bit her lip. “For most, maybe. But he is one of the few men I know who would love a daughter as much as a son. If only for that reason, I hope they have plenty of girls.”

Derek chuckled. Bradford was taken with his wife. No doubt the man would love any child they made together. Besides, why wouldn’t a man love a daughter as much as a son? If he had a daughter…

He whistled under his breath.
Dangerous thoughts.
If he so desired, there would be plenty of time for that as soon as this case was closed.

“I hope that for them as well. Shall we toast them?” He signaled a footman over. “Please bring us two lemonades.” It was the drink of choice for a debutante, and although he did not favor the sickly sweet beverage, he would drink it quickly and move on.

“Forgive me, my lord, but lemonade is not being served tonight. Lady Leatherby is serving punch and champagne. Would either of those be acceptable to you?”

Lady Charlotte’s eyes widened before they returned to normal.

“Punch, then,” Derek said. “Would you mind bringing them out on the terrace?”

The servant bowed before leaving.

Charlotte glanced sideways for an escape, but Derek did not allow her the chance. The minx had lied to him! And worse, he hadn’t known. Lemonade on her gloves, indeed. “Care for a breath of fresh air?” He took her arm and led her through the crush of guests.

Her hand trembled, but he didn’t release her. His mind pieced facts together, reevaluating everything she’d said that evening.

If it had not been for that blasted footman, he would have moved on and perhaps lost this opportunity. Astonishing, really. This had to be the only ball where lemonade was not served.

He could only imagine what Charlotte was thinking.

It couldn’t matter to him that she was his best friend’s sister-in-law. He had a job to do.

They stepped out into the cloudless night. The air was crisp, but the heat from the ballroom kept the flagstone terrace warm enough to linger. He released her, remaining silent. Watching. Observing. Waiting.

Had his fascination with her prevented him from noticing other details? Nerves, agitation, darting eyes. Classic signs. All indications she had something to hide. He was a damned fool.

She didn’t speak as he expected her too. Most ladies would have broken down by this point, confessed their lie, perhaps unburdened themselves with what they had seen or done. But not Charlotte. Although she appeared nervous, her chin notched up, her shoulders squared.

She’s a fighter.
Admiration warred with frustration.

He’d dealt with more filth in the
ton
than he cared to think about. As a culture, they praised modesty and control, but underneath they were just like other humans with vices, demons, and cravings. Everyone had their secrets. In the end, most people were cowards. Loyalty fell by the wayside, partners turned on one another, and people ultimately only cared for themselves. Unfortunately, very few people garnered his respect.

He eyed her determined stance a moment before leaning against the rail, his eyes piercing hers. “It’s a shame they aren’t serving lemonade tonight.”

C
harlotte gulped
, the moisture in the air mixing with a salty tang in her mouth as Derek’s gaze scorched her. He knew she lied about spilling lemonade on her gloves, but he didn’t know more than that. Sweat pricked her neck, and she took several shallow breaths, hoping to calm herself without him noticing. “It is a shame.” She shrugged, hoping it looked casual enough. “I must have been so dehydrated earlier I didn’t realize I drank punch instead of lemonade.”

“Yes. That can happen at balls. I’m surprised you did not remember the color though. A punch stain is much more noticeable than lemonade.”

“Exactly,” she rushed. “There was no way to conceal it on my gloves. Lady Leatherby is an angel.”

“She is, indeed.” He smiled at the footman, and he and Charlotte each took a glass off his tray. “To Lady Leatherby, and of course, the Duke and Duchess of Wathersby.”

She murmured her agreement and clinked glasses, relieved he’d switched topics. Gulping down punch with unladylike haste, she didn’t care what he thought of her in that moment. She needed to get away from him, from his searching comments and contemplative stares.

She choked, spluttering punch into the cup. “Forgive me, my lord, but I believe I have promised the next dance to another.” She shifted under his gaze.

He passed the glass between both hands a moment before setting it on the balustrade. “Lady Charlotte, I apologize, but there is no other way I can ask this. Is it possible you misplaced your glove instead of spilling punch on it? I would understand if there were reasons for keeping the truth to yourself.”

Lead pooled in her stomach, rooting her in place. “Of course not. Why would I need to tell a falsehood if I had lost my glove? There is nothing wrong with that.”

A breeze tousled her hair. The perspiration on her skin froze. She couldn’t tell him the truth. Even if he hadn’t been in that sitting room, if she told him, if she told anyone what she’d heard, it was possible that they’d confide in someone else, and from there she would be found out. If she kept it to herself, she would be safe.

His jaw clenched before he looked out to the garden. “Forgive me. I did not mean to upset you.” He bowed in apology. “Allow me to escort you inside.”

Why was he backing off so easily? “Thank you.” She hesitated giving him her hand, but there was no way to refuse without being rude. Doing so would only further his curiosity.

For the next few hours she would dance, laugh, eat, and be merry. She would be the affable debutante everyone knew her to be. And when she arrived home and locked herself in her chambers, she would fall apart. But only then.

With a final bow, Viscount Lawrence left her near the refreshment table and walked away without looking back.

He would never know what she’d witnessed. Neither would anyone else.

D
erek studied
Lady Charlotte from a column along the edge of the ball. She appeared as every young lady should. No one would find anything wrong with the way she held herself, danced, flirted. But Derek saw what others didn’t. Candlelight from heavily laden chandeliers softened her features. Below the sweetly curved lips was strain. Behind twinkling eyes, worry. She glanced over her shoulder for the third time during her dance with Lord Harold, assessing the floor like a hunted creature.

Oh, yes. She had been in that sitting room. She’d heard something that scared her. And she should be scared. He knew what these people were capable of. He had seen too many lifeless bodies, too many lives destroyed because of their deeds.

His fists clenched. He had witnessed the misery a handful of people could spread to dozens. Husbandless wives, fatherless children. Statistics, mere numbers to the War Office. But not to him. He had seen too much for detachment. He had seen those lives torn apart. The horror of knowing you would never see a loved one again.

He was done with that, with this life. And Lady Charlotte was the key. He was sick of knowing what others hid behind a thin veneer. Once he locked away those responsible, he would be free.

But he’d made a mistake tonight. Coming to her so directly, blatantly asking about her glove spooked her. He’d calculated the risks, acted, but it had not yielded the results he’d expected. He needed her trust, but fear held her back. He had to push past that. Only then would he get what he needed.

Assured she was partnered for the next set, he slipped into the library, confiscating a crisp sheet of vellum and a quill before scribbling a note.
No arrests. We have a witness.
He sealed the note with his ring, knowing his news would disappoint, but at least there was a glimmer of hope.

His servant and friend, Henry, found him outside the library, pocketing the letter without a word. Derek had learned long ago to have a trusted man with him at all times. With the corrupt vein that ran through the
ton
, he sent messages at all hours of the night from any number of places. Most were time sensitive. Tonight was no exception. “Meet me once you’re done. George will tell you where.” His driver could be counted on.

With only a few minutes wasted, he returned to the ballroom and waited. Ah. And there it was. Lady Charlotte made her way to her mother, fanning her face. After all the dancing she’d done that night, everyone would believe she was fatigued.

Her mother nodded quickly, searching the crowd for her husband. Within a few minutes, they gathered up their party and said good-bye to their host.

He trailed the group, exiting a moment after them. From now on, he’d protect Lady Charlotte. Whether she accepted it or not. Her knowledge was too valuable to be left vulnerable.

Ever ready, George, his driver, perched atop the carriage.

“Follow that coach. Not close enough they’ll notice, but enough so we can get to them if anything happens,” Derek ordered before vaulting into the chaise.

The carriage jerked forward as the horses maneuvered around parked vehicles. Derek didn’t watch her conveyance through his window. He couldn’t risk exposing himself. His driver was well trained and knew what the stakes were if he failed to follow them. They all did.

Turning down a side street, George slowed the horses, allowing Derek to jump out. The shadows hid him as he turned the corner, blending with the building. Skulking down the sidewalk, he leaned into an alcove deep in the darkness and watched Lady Charlotte and her family descend the coach and make their way into the brightly lit house in Mayfair.

It was quiet this time of night. Rain had watered the streets recently, and the fresh scent lingered. The streets glistened from lights reflecting from the row of townhomes before him. Every window blazed, warding away the dark. Or more aptly, the miscreants who roamed the night.

He wasn’t a vagrant, but neither was he only a peer of the realm. He had seen too much, done too much, to ever go back. His callused knuckles attested to the backstreet brawls he engaged in. Scars marred his body—a testament to failed attempts on his life. A bullet had grazed his shoulder, but the knife to his abdomen had almost killed him during his first year with the War Office. He’d made the mistake of trusting the wrong person only once. Trust was now a liability.

Life filled Charlotte’s house, but it resembled other homes in this part of town. Clean, expensive, classy.

Movement in one of the second-floor windows drew his eye. He couldn’t make out who it was, but he didn’t need to see them to know. He felt her.

Her body stilled as she gazed out into the night. For a second, he thought she must have seen him, but she didn’t call for help. Surely if she saw a stranger staring at her through the window, she would alert someone.

Her body leaned closer to the glass. Yearning.

He relaxed against the stone, unable to look away.
What did she yearn for?

In the eyes of society, she was perfect. Perfect manners, perfect physique, perfect station, wealth, temperament. She held the
ton
in her palm. His eyes traveled over her silhouette as pleasant warmth settled in his gut.

Intriguing.

Why was she unmarried?

He had seen Lady Charlotte more times than he could count over the years, but he’d never had such a reaction to her.

He frowned. He’d never had that reaction to anyone in society, now that he thought about it.
Bollocks. Of course I have.
But as he tried to recall someone, anyone he’d desired, he came up empty.

He rubbed the back of his neck. Not that he’d been a monk, but the women he’d been with were in the lower class. Just a moment of mutual pleasure where both walked away satisfied. That’s how he’d always managed his affairs.

Affairs. That’s all his life had been up until this point. That’s all he’d ever been able to manage with his responsibilities to queen and country. A string of useless affairs.

But now life evolved. He could change. His future held endless possibilities. Those possibilities included attachments to women in his own class.

Familiar footsteps echoed toward him and he shut his thoughts of Charlotte and the future away. “Was the note delivered?”

Henry stepped beside him. “Yes. I placed it in the War Secretary’s hand myself.”

“Good.”

The wiry man beside him waited, his limbs loose, relaxed, but Derek knew what lurked beneath the calm. The man could kill with an arc of a blade.

“I want you to watch the woman in that house,” Derek said. “Do not lose her. Blond, petite, early twenties. I’ll send someone to relieve you in the morning.”

He didn’t wait for Henry’s confirmation before leaving. Almost out of view, he turned for a last look, wondering if she remained in the window.

She was gone.

But even with her absence, she remained in his mind.