Page 27 of Becoming Lady Dalton
The old man sighed heavily then bent double and scanned the carpets. His daughters paid him no mind. Piers exhaled. But, being a gentleman, he dropped to the floor and looked. After several minutes of fruitless searching, they concluded it wasn’t there.
“What do I do?” Kilpatrick demanded gruffly.
“You can offer a reward through the Runners,” Piers suggested. There wasn’t another option.
“Bow Street?” the man scoffed. “I’ve read about them. Offering a bribe for the return of one’s own property, is that the best London can do? This city is a cesspool of thievery and crime. Even in Drury Lane, one cannot be assured of going home whole.”
Piers bowed stiffly. He’d attempted to help the man and had his country insulted for his efforts.
“I suppose the Americans have no problems with crime,” he replied blandly.
Kilpatrick’s chuckle rumbled up from his barrel chest as though giving warning before it issued out of his mouth.
“Shh, Papa, we can’t hear over you,” the plumpest of redheaded daughters chided. Piers couldn’t recall whether she was Annabelle or Carolina, but he vaguely recalled the tallest, slimmest sister was Beth.
“Let us leave the ladies to their entertainment,” Kilpatrick said, clapping Piers on the shoulder as Evendaw had done. Piers had had quite enough with the overly familiar manhandling this evening. He shook off the American’s grasp. “I like you, Dalton. Is that your last name?”
“It’s my title. Lord Dalton is the proper form of address.” He offered neither his given name nor his surname, for he did not care for Kilpatrick.
“I have three lovely daughters, any one of whom would lead you on a merry chase before consenting to be your wife.” Kilpatrick winked. “But once you win her, I guarantee a lifetime of happiness in the—”
“I thank you for your offer, Mr. Kilpatrick.” Appalled, Piers cut the man off with all the cold dignity he could muster. “I believe you were upset about your missing watch a few moments ago. Shall I assist you with contacting the authorities, or do you have that under control?”
“I’ll handle matters myself. Keep in mind my offer, Dalton. It would make you a rich man, if you were to take one of my girls off my hands.”
“A fat purse is precisely what I’ve always looked for in a woman,” Piers replied bleakly.
Though, there was more truth to it than he’d ever liked to admit. Of course, people considered the size of a dowry or the prestige and income of a title and estate when evaluating prospective marriage partners, but to propose that as the primary reason for an affiliation offended him deeply. It was done, but it was rarely the start of a happy union.
“Wise man,” chuckled Mr. Kilpatrick. “Though you’d be wiser to wish for a wife who warms your bed and look to your bank account yourself.” With that unexpected gem of wisdom, he departed in search of someone to make a report to.
Even with Emilia, there had been at least a friendship to build upon. Piers had sworn he would never love her, but he would cherish her until the day they were parted, and he had done just that. There had been warm affection between them out of bed, and lovemaking had been enjoyable. He’d made certain to please her each time he came to her bed—for as long as she’d allowed him to touch her.
You still lost her.
Loving or not loving someone couldn’t stop nature from taking its course, but it could light one’s life so brightly that every day without that spark was unbearably dimmed. Viola lit him that way. Not Lady Margaret. Not Miss Lowry. Definitely not the Kilpatrick sisters, who were mirror reflections of the three graces named Unkind, Uncouth, and Undignified. Piers shuddered at the prospect of spending more than a few minutes in their presence.
When she’d returned to London, Piers had at least hoped for a liaison that would turn to marriage in time. If not, at least this spark between them could burn bright and hot until it flamed out. Yet, at every turn she teased and tempted without ever giving him an ounce of hope that she’d accept him. A widow proven capable of bearing heirs was already a high mark in her favor. An added bonus was how Viola’s lighthearted flirting and lush kisses kept Piers stewing in a constant state of needy lust.
He could wait for her to give the word. Or he could walk away. But Piers would be damned before he’d let Evendaw push him into a loveless marriage with Lady Margaret—or let the admiral clap his mitts on the woman he…
Loved.
Icy recognition washed over him.
Yes, he needed an heir. But, God willing, there would be many years between the creation of an heir and the day his future son became the Seventh Viscount Dalton. The thought of spending them with Margaret sulking like a child at him over the breakfast table was unbearable. The prospect of spending those years, however many they might be allotted, appealed to him immensely.
Which meant he needed to get to the bottom of Viola’s reluctance to let him court her properly and find a way to tamp down public expectations for him and Lady Margaret, fast. Certainly, before Christmas, when the matrimonial-minded began plotting kisses beneath the mistletoe.
Viola madeher way back toward her grandmother’s box. Along the hallways she heard whispers.Thief. Missing jewels. Pickpocket in the audience.London was lousy with cutpurses, but generally they worked on the streets, not in well-heeled theaters. Unease roiled her midsection, which was absurd, since she had nothing to do with theft.
“It was right about here,” a woman’s voice echoed around a corner. Upon turning, Viola discovered the blond woman who’d lost her bracelet there earlier in the evening. Beside her, a red-faced Bow Street investigator in mud-spattered wool trousers jotted notes with a stubbed pencil.
“I see. Were there any witnesses?”
“This lady," she said, gesturing toward Viola, "and a gentleman came by at about the moment I discovered it missing. Before that, I passed two women. One tall with dark hair, the other short with light blond hair.”
“Is that so, Mrs. Cartwright?” The Runner turned to her with a grim expression.
