Page 12 of Becoming Lady Dalton
Viola emerged from the makeshift interrogation room, interrupting the unkind direction of Piers’ thoughts. Her shoulders had slumped forward, though her neck was stiffly straight. Mrs. Cartwright’s posture radiated tension.
“Will you call for me tomorrow, Lord Dalton?” asked Lady Margaret.
“I-what?” It was no use. He’d lost interest in the pathetically shy child who should never have been allowed out of the school room.
“I receive visitors at two. Please come. It would make my brother so happy.”
“Right. But would it make you happy, my lady?” Dalton asked pointedly. Lady Margaret stared at him, stunned into silence. Oh, what a disaster. “If you will excuse me.”
Before the admiral could reach her, Piers strode across the crowded floor and captured Viola’s arm.
“I shall see you home,” he declared.
“There’s no need,” Viola replied, though she let him steer her toward the exit. “I’ve a footman attending.”
“He may ride with my men.” Piers knew full well that Viola had little in the way of resources, though he supposed there were more funds available after her sister’s unexpectedly advantageous marriage to Lord Briarcliff. Her grandmother rented her carriage and cattle, as maintaining transportation in the city was prohibitive. He’d assisted Viola once before and, given the set of her jaw and pale face, he’d be damned if he wouldn’t do so now.
She didn’t fight him. Piers took Viola’s elbow and led her into the night. The cursory interview with the Runners had left her withdrawn, as if stunned into silence.
“It’s not appropriate,” Viola said as an afterthought. “People will talk.”
“Viola, people in this city are in love with the sound of their own voices. Tonight, they’re distracted by the theft. No one will notice if I spare you half an hour of waiting for your carriage.”
It was a testament to how badly the lady wanted to be gone that she acquiesced without further argument. She summoned her footman and requested her wrap, a thick silk-lined wool cloak trimmed with fur. It framed her soft features in the moonlight. Unease settled into the pit of Piers’ stomach.
“Were the Runners harsh with you?” he asked. Piers had found their questions rather cursory, but they were the investigators, and he had no intention of interfering in their work. No matter how many rumors of corruption dogged the Runners, they were the best possibility of finding the thief.
“No, not at all. Unexpectedly gentle, in fact.” Viola gave herself a delicate shake. The fur trim twitched elegantly and settled around her body. Her face glowed in the moonlight. Piers ached to touch the round curve of her cheek. “I have unhappy memories of dealing with magistrates and the law. My husband … suffice it to say this isn’t my first brush with an investigation.”
“Reed’s gone now, Viola. You’re safe.”
At the last word, she sat up a bit straighter, looking more like her usual vivacious self. Curiosity burned in Piers’ chest, though, wondering what her husband had done to cow this self-assured woman.
“Of course. I am a widow now, however, and I had the sense that the Runners believed me the culprit. It never occurred to me that widowhood might leave me open to false charges.”
Piers laughed. As if forthright, honest Viola had a thieving bone in her body.
“I had the same sense for a few minutes. As though the thief were still in the room and they could intimidate the offender into a confession if they glared hard enough. It’s a special trick they have.”
Viola’s ladylike snort of amusement convinced him her alarm had finally passed.
“I certainly hope they have better investigative methods than intimidating a confession out of an unsuspecting person,” she mused pointedly.
“We are at their mercy if they don’t,” Piers chuckled. Silence fell between them, broken only by the muffled clip-clop of their cattle’s hooves on flagstone.
“Viola,” he began, wondering how it had been so simple to reveal his heart on a dance floor and why the words stuck in his throat now.
“Mrs. Cartwright,” she corrected. “I know our meeting was unusual a few months ago, but I must ask you to observe the formalities now, Lord Dalton. My sister sent me to London to oversee their new townhouse renovations and to maintain a positive family presence, not to create new fodder for the rumor mills. I cannot accomplish either if I spend my time flirting and dancing with you.”
“I would be lyingif I pretended to be unhappy about a new crisis to distract theton. Who would have imagined a pickpocket at a ball?” The lilt of Viola’s voice as she attempted to turn the subject to a lighter topic cut Piers like a thousand rapiers. He wanted to stay on this intimate level and discuss the hard memories they shared, not pivot to levity and avoid them.
“What would change your mind about me?” he demanded.
“Piers,” she sighed. “It’s not you I object to.”
“Then what holds you back?”
Viola parted her lips as if to speak, but her footman’s steps crunched on the ground outside the carriage. She glanced away. When the door opened, her mask of determined cheerfulness was back in place. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Lord Dalton, and for the conveyance home after this evening’s dramatic ending.”
