"Charlotte!" Charlotte's mother, Lady Langston, cried, running to her once she exited the enclosed space. "Philip! Philip, she's here!"
Charlotte stifled a cry as her mother embraced her.
"Are you all right? We couldn't find you inside." Her mother worried over her as she searched her daughter's form.
"Yes. Viscount Lawrence was good enough to escort me to safety."
Charlotte's mother blinked, only just noticing him. "My lord. I cannot thank you enough."
"No. No. It was my honor." Derek nodded to Viscount Langston as he approached. "And if you'll allow me, I'll see you home."
"That is very kind." The viscountess nodded to her husband. "I don't want to stay a moment longer."
"I'll notify the carriage, but it might take a while in this madness."
"My carriage awaits. It can take us directly."
Viscount Langston agreed. "Yes, indeed. Thank you."
Derek led them through the chaos of guests and loaded the harried family into the coach and instructed George to the Langston residence.
Hopefully there'd been enough time for his men to scour the premises. Derek had no intention of leaving until he knew Charlotte was secure.
So help him, he wouldn't rest until she was safe.
Chapter 8
Charlotte peeked through her lace curtain for a tenth time. Derek had promised men watched the house, but she saw no one.
Her gut twisted. What if something had happened to them? What if someone had killed them and was already in her home, making his way to her? To finish the job the man at the ball had failed to do.
She fingered the pinprick from his knife on her throat. She almost died. She would have died tonight if not for Derek.
Had she truly wanted adventure? The dull life she'd despised seemed desirable now.
She'd been safe. How she'd give anything to return to that safety now.
She pushed away from the window. She had to stop this. His men were out there. If they'd been hurt, she would have heard something-a scream, a breaking window, a dog barking. Anything.
She needed rest.
She flopped into bed, yanked the covers up, and stilled when she heard a creaking board down the hall. Her muscles tensed. No one should be up at this hour. The last servant had retired an hour ago, and her parents long before that.
She held her breath.
Another squeak.
Her eyes widened as she slipped from her bed, twirling around, desperately searching for a weapon. Neither servants nor her parents would skulk in the hallway.
Should she scream? Wake someone in the household?
She gripped her hand around a brass candlestick, the cold metal chilling her as much as her fear. Screaming would only endanger others.
Her heart hammered as she held the weapon aloft. Trembling. Waiting.
Her knob turned slowly. The door cracked open on well-oiled hinges.
Derek's eyes connected with hers before she could clobber him.
Breath whooshed from her lungs as her arm sagged, dropping the candlestick with a soft thump to the thick rug. "What are you doing here? I thought you were about to murder me in my bed." Her adrenaline tanked, leaving her drained.
He came in the rest of the way, checking the hall before securing the door. "Why wasn't this locked?"
She glanced at the knob as if it were a foreign object. "I never lock it."
"Tonight, you'll keep it locked."
"All right. But you still haven't answered my question." Aware of the pitch of their voices, she whispered, "What are you doing here?"
He scanned her in her nightdress, seeming to finally notice her state of undress. His attention darted away. It didn't matter though. Her body tingled everywhere his gaze caressed.
"I came to check on you to make sure you were all right."
He didn't look in her direction. In fact, his eyes seemed to be going everywhere except on her. She should appreciate his gentlemanly behavior, but oddly, found it frustrating. "I'm well. Did something happen?"
Derek walked to the window, parted the drapes a sliver, and looked out at the street below. "Someone almost got through."
"Oh." Her stomach rolled. "But your men caught him?"
Several long seconds past, and she nearly repeated herself. She couldn't bear waiting, knowing he'd only delay answering if he feared her reaction.
Finally, he corrected the curtains and turned to her, his eyes grim. "Charlotte, two dozen men guard your house. They're highly trained, capable soldiers. They'll do their best, but in case anyone gets through, you can't be alone."
"I see." Charlotte swallowed repeatedly, afraid she might be sick. She saw quite clearly. He didn't expect just one intruder.
He crossed the fireplace, his form backlit by glowing embers. "I'll stay here tonight."
Her eyes widened. "In … here?"
He nodded once.
"But what will happen? My maid will refresh the fire at sunrise." Charlotte frowned. "How did you get inside the house without anyone seeing you? Did you pick the lock?"
He folded his arms and leaned against the mantle. "I'm a spy. Remember?"
"Do you do this all the time?"
"More often than not."
Charlotte absorbed his answer. What kind of life had he led where breaking into houses was a common occurrence? Where fighting off thugs in the streets and arresting murderers was everyday business? And how had no one guessed? After all of these years, after all the times she'd seen him, watched him, she hadn't known about his secret life. She certainly hadn't heard any gossip of the sort.
But then Charlotte remembered snippets from the past. Notes delivered to him during musicals, his servants informing him that his businesses needed immediate attention. His ventures were successful. It was obvious from the wealth he'd accumulated that those ventures weren't what pulled him away at all hours of the day.
His job for the crown did. At least she hoped he spied for the crown. "For whom, exactly, do you spy?"
A hint of a smile tipped the corner of his mouth. "The queen. I'm employed by the War Office."
"How long have you been a spy?"
"Ten years."
Charlotte choked. Ten years! "How did you get involved?"
He smiled ruefully. "It was more like I got pulled into it. During my last year at Eton, one of my professors approached me with a small task. He needed me to decode a letter from a book found in the university's library. Doing it himself would draw too much attention. So being young and intrigued, or stupid as the case may be, I agreed. A month later there was another letter. Then another. Soon enough, I was fully entrenched with other tasks as well as my decoding work."
"You were so young." Her mind still couldn't wrap around how long he'd been involved in such danger.
"Others were younger." He settled into one of the chairs by the fire. "Try to rest. I'll be here all night. You're safe."
"But the maid … " she trailed off as the weight of exhaustion collapsed on her. It wasn't rational, but now that he was here, she felt protected. She could sleep. Her body sagged with relief.
Still dressed in formal attire, he yanked at his cravat. "She'll never know I was here."
Sinking into the mattress, she pulled the covers high, welcoming the blissful blankness that had eluded her. "Thank you."
She drew a deep breath and sighed.
The rustle of fine fabric comforted her. Something so simple, and yet so foreign to her. Nothing could compete with the protection she felt from his mere presence.
Unfortunately, a lady could become accustomed to his continued presence.
To him.
* * *
Charlotte didn't wake again until Rosie stirred the fire. She yawned, feeling more rested than she had in a week, and stretched. Until she remembered last night, and who'd stayed with her throughout the dark hours. She jolted up in bed.
"I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't mean to startle you," the willowy maid said.
Charlotte's gaze darted around the room, but saw no trace of Derek. She frowned. Had she imagined him? "It's all right, Rosie. Just a rough night, I guess."
"I would say so. You must be exhausted. Everyone's talking about it."
How could they have known about the attacks? Had a servant been awake and seen something? "They have?"
"Absolutely. A house fire is a scary situation."
"Of course." Charlotte wanted to kick herself. She smoothed a wrinkle from the powder blue counterpane. "How bad was it?"
"The damage was minor. And there were no injuries except a twisted ankle, thankfully."
"That is good news." It could have been much worse than that. House fires quickly escalate out of control. Plus, with a crowd that size, anything was possible.
"Good morning, dear." Her mother breezed into the room in a sapphire wrapper that perfectly matched her eyes and bent over the bed to hug Charlotte. "I'm glad to see you look slightly recovered this morning. Heavens, what a night."