Page 46 of Becoming Lady Dalton
Viola’s heart caught in her throat. He wouldn’t. She’d told him her darkest secret. He wouldn’t display her deepest shame before London society…
He wouldn’t. He’s too decent.Viola knew it in her bones.
“Madam. If you’ll come quietly.”
Viola stopped short, the soles of her jeweled dancing slippers sliding over the polished wood. A familiar shape of broad shouldered, blunt-featured man appeared at the edge of her vision. He manacled one meaty hand around her arm, over the exposed skin just above the edge of her glove and the puff of her gold-braid trimmed sleeve.
Reed.
His touch was rough, like the rest of him. Not like Piers’. Her heart ached as fear flooded through her. She reared back but couldn’t break free of Reed’s grip.
“What are you doing here?” Viola hissed.
“You’re needed for questioning. A lady’s brooch was stolen this evening, along with an emerald necklace and a pocket watch. There’s a witness who says it’s you.”
“It isn’t.”
“An’ how do you aim to prove it, Mrs. Cartwright?”
Viola opened her mouth, then closed it.
“Wait!” she exclaimed. “I’m missing an earring. What if it was stolen?”
Reed’s jaw worked. He raised one thick eyebrow.
“This is best addressed in private, don’t you think?”
“I—” She could hardly refuse.No, by all means, let’s air this sordidness before all London.The one thing she couldn’t afford to be was a scandal. Harper and Edward were depending on her. Cooperation was her only option, though, Viola knew damn well the other end was likely to be the hangman’s noose. She exhaled, fighting for calm, and lifted her face to memorize the room. Overhead, golden chandeliers sparkled like constellations of stars. The orchestra sounded strangely discordant.
For a single moment, Viola was exquisitely aware of the grasp of Reed’s hand on her arm, the weight of her gown, her tightly pinned curls that had valiantly held their place despite the treatment they’d received this evening. There was a slight dampness between her breasts, under her arms, and at the small of her back. The tops of her thighs were sticky with the remnants of desire. She cataloged each of these sensations, filing them away for the very near future, when the depth of her experiences would be limited to finding the cleanest place to sleep and trying not to breathe foul air.
She knew well the reality of prison life. Samuel had survived it. His ornery, stubborn hide too hard to kill.
You won’t fare as well.
Matthew.
Viola squeezed her eyes shut.
“For the sake of my son, please. Let me find my grandmother and tell her,” she pleaded. But it was too late.
“What’s going on here?” Dalton growled. He didn’t grab her arm as Reed had done. Piers brought the full potency of his title down on Reed with the furrow of his brow.
Oh, to have such power.Not that she would know what to do with it if she had. Viola’s nature was hard-pressed and scrappy. Until a few months ago, she hadn’t had the luxury of anything else. Her all-too-brief glimpse of freedom from poverty and want was about to hit a profoundly embarrassing end.
Go away, she mouthed at Dalton. He glanced at her, read the message on her lips, and ignored it, stalking toward them with a storm brewing over his handsome face. Fury blossomed in her chest.
“I have been accused of theft,” Viola declared as he approached. Inwardly, she winced. This was neither the time nor the place, but she couldn’t help it. Piers wanted to be her hero. However much he thought he could save her from what she was, Viola knew the truth.
All she could ever give him was pain.
When Samuel died, she would never be a wife again. Viola had longed to own her whole self, and she wouldn’t give it up again for anyone or anything. Not a title. Not a man. Not even for love.
Dalton needed more. He needed a wife and an heir. He needed a viscountess.
“False, I am sure,” Dalton drawled in his most elegantly upper-class manner. As though this investigation were nothing but an inconvenience. As if Reed could be swatted away like a fly by a horse’s tail.
Viola was drunk on proximity to power.
