Page 39 of Becoming Lady Dalton
“If I knew the answer, John, I’d tell you.”
Piers seized the iron handle of the door and pulled. Heat singed his cheeks as if he’d opened the gates to hell. The overpowering smell of stale beer, layers of piss, and smoke gagged him. Stalwart, loyal John cast an uneasy gaze down at his livery. A few bawdy women served tankards of beer or dispensed with offering beer altogether and offered themselves instead. The room was filled with men from ports near and far. Dark-skinned mixed with white, if only in uneven clumps.
“Keep an eye out,” Piers ordered.
“Yer lookin’ for the widow?” one toothless man demanded.
“Yes.”
“Upstairs.”
“Thank you, sir—” Piers stumbled over the man’s boot. Catching his balance, he doffed his cap and fished a coin from his pocket. Humiliation matching the pain in his shin made his jaw clench, but Piers had no time to indulge in spite. “A token of my gratitude. Let me pass.”
The man grinned. “It’ll cost ye more’n tuppence. He ain’t liable to let anyone upstairs until the room bill’s paid. That’s where your lady’s run to.”
“Stop speaking in riddles. Where is she?”
Viola could be in trouble. These rough men wouldn’t hesitate to harm a woman dressed well. They might rob her, or worse, and leave her for dead. Fear gripped his body with cold, tight fingers.
“Payin’ off the owner. Either with coin or on her back.”
With a gummy grin, the old sot slapped another coin out of Piers’ hand and turned his back. He cast a despairing glance at John, who had settled stiffly into place beside the bar. Then, Piers zigzagged his way through the throng. At least the air was cool and a bit fresher, though, the dim light concealed a treacherous stairway. His boot slipped on the wood. Piers grappled for the handrail and found none. Trailing one hand against the damp stone wall, he made his way to the top, moving slowly though his heart thundered with the need to find Viola. What was she doing here?
“I won’t have you staying in this filthy pit.” A woman’s voice, muffled through a wood door that didn’t quite fit the jamb, turned Piers’ body rubbery with relief. It was her.
“Where else would I go, woman?” a man snarled before he was consumed by a hacking cough. Piers stiffened with shock.She’s paying the owner, either with coin or on her back. Piers had taken the muzzy coot’s insult as a calculated dig, not as truth. He’d been wrong.
“You’d have had enough to pay the lodging if you hadn’t spent the rest on tinctures laced with laudanum.” Viola’s anger vibrated through the thin walls.
“It’s all that comforts me now.”
Their voices faded into an indistinguishable murmur.
Viola. Meeting with a man. In secret. Piers turned this new, unwanted knowledge around in his mind, examining it from every jagged angle. There were endless possible explanations. Yet, only one corkscrewed into his brain as the likeliest.
Mrs. Cartwright wasn’t what she seemed.
No one heard the sound of his heart cracking in two, but the entire common room looked up at the sound of him falling on the last slippery stair. Piers caught his balance before he toppled over, banging his head against the jamb. Pain bloomed over his temple. A trickle of blood stained his jacket. No matter. Fabric could be replaced. Wounds healed.
Betrayed hearts, however…
He hadn’t meant to fall in love with Viola Cartwright. But somewhere along the line, it had happened. She wasn’t simply a beautiful widow. She was tender and amusing and being in her presence eased the vise of sorrow and fear that constricted his chest whenever he thought of family, or love.
Do you truly need an heir?
Piers left the slum supported by his footman, dizzy with pain. By the time he made it home, the injury had become a throbbing ache in his temple. By the next morning, he’d convinced himself it was all a dream until he brushed the tender spot and winced.
It was true. The awful boarding house with its decrepit alehouse had been no dream. Viola had met a man there. Piers rolled over to block out the world, then threw the pillow off the bed and got up. There must be a reason for Viola to have been there. He’d sensed she was in trouble. Now he knew it was true. There was little he could do to assist her while Viola refused to confide in him, but Piers could offer steadfast support—at least until he found out who the man she’d met was.
Which meant, he could no longer afford a certain distraction in the form of Lady Margaret. Best to put that issue to rest. Once his headache had subsided, Piers went to find Evendaw in his club to deliver the bad news. The thought of Evendaw’s wrath should he find out the truth from elderly gossips like Lady Gracie was enough to keep him in bed until doomsday.
With the sound of billiards clacking in the background, Piers sketched a bow and sought permission to speak.
“Yes, what is it, Dalton?”
“I cannot in good faith continue to court your sister, Evendaw.”
His ostensible friend peered at him over the rim of his brandy glass. Piers noted the disapproval and girded for a verbal dressing-down. But instead, Evendaw threw his drink down his throat and settled back heavily in his chair.
