Page 38 of Becoming Lady Dalton
“Miss Lowry?” Piers choked.
“Yes. Antonia has developed atendrefor you, Lord Dalton.”
Piers highly doubted this, as Miss Lowry only ever appeared interested in his company when he had news from Bow Street. He detected little affection in the American woman toward anyone—least of all, him.
“Why do you love her?” Lady Margaret asked a moment later, turning contemplative.
“Why?” Piers’ chest filled with butterflies batting paper-thin wings against his heart. “Who says I do?”
“I can see how that would appeal to a man like you, who has lost so much in your life.” She peered up at him owlishly.
Piers gave Margaret a sharp look. He did not want to discuss his past, especially not with her. Perhaps this was another thing that drew him to Viola. Like him, she preferred to look forward and not dwell on the pain of hard times.
“You speak out of turn,” he ground out.
Margaret’s chin dipped in an unspoken apology.
“My brother talks about it whenever your name comes up in conversation. How you lost your siblings and your parents all within a month.”
“Except one.”
“Yes, but she has been frail ever since, correct?” When he didn’t reply, Margaret turned away. “I am sorry. I shan’t speak further of sad topics. I understand now why you care for Mrs. Cartwright. I would be honored to help you win her. I only hope that one day, someone will love me the way you care for her.”
Piers almost laughed at the inverse of Viola’s own promise to help him marry. Had it been only a few weeks ago? He caught the girl’s hand. Startled, she pulled back. Piers let her go.
“Lady Margaret. Stand firm. Enjoy your time. Life is too short to go through it angry with people you love. When the time is right, you’ll find your husband. I promise.”
“If I want one,” Lady Margaret declared. “Now, if only I could make my brother understand that. Would you have a word with him?”
“If you like,” he responded without thinking about what he’d promised.
Across the room, Viola sketched a curtsey and headed for the exit. If he hurried, Piers could catch her.
20
“Drivearound the corner and wait out of sight,” he commanded. It was wrong to follow her. Logically, he knew this. Yet the misery behind Viola’s forced smile an hour ago compelled him to stay and watch for any sign of movement in the darkened archway.
His breath steamed in the chill air. His footman and driver were likely frozen to the bone. He ought to be a more courteous employer. A hollow space behind his heart filled with ache and expanded with each passing minute, until it threatened to swallow him whole.
He’d followed her from the musicale to the Landor townhouse, but she’d gone inside for only a moment before coming out again and walking briskly out to the street to hail a cab.
“Follow her,” he’d ordered his driver when she stepped inside the hansom. “Stay well back.”
He fell back against the morocco leather squabs as the carriage glided into motion. They went off at a brisk trot, the driver urging his tired nag faster with the application of a whip. His cattle, though, surely ready for their oats and a good brushing, had no trouble keeping pace. The streets turned coarse and crowded. Piers’ coach became more obviously out of place with every step. He didn’t belong here and neither did Viola.
He nearly missed the sight of her leap from the top step of the hansom. A flash of hood falling away from the pale oval of her face was all Piers glimpsed. He froze, though there was no way she could see him hiding in his glossy coach with its insignia concealed by darkness. His patience had lasted a fraction longer than her fear. Viola’s stately cloaked form moved briskly down the sidewalk and out of sight. When she moved on, Piers hurtled himself out of the vehicle.
“Go home,” he called after his driver. Footsteps tapped behind him.
“Sir,” called John, one of his footmen.
“I said, go home!” Piers cursed. His servant’s footfalls hesitated, then caught up easily.
“This isn’t the best of times to be in the Rookery, milord. Allow me to see you out safely.”
Piers spotted his quarry ducking into a yellow-lit door. “Since you’re here, John. Come inside and buy a drink. Stand guard downstairs. I’d advise you not to consume whatever you’re served. Keep watch.”
“What for?”
