"A duke wanting a girl first? Unorthodox, wouldn't you say?"
She bit her lip. "For most, maybe. But he is one of the few men I know who would love a daughter as much as a son. If only for that reason, I hope they have plenty of girls."
Derek chuckled. Bradford was taken with his wife. No doubt the man would love any child they made together. Besides, why wouldn't a man love a daughter as much as a son? If he had a daughter …
He whistled under his breath. Dangerous thoughts. If he so desired, there would be plenty of time for that as soon as this case was closed.
"I hope that for them as well. Shall we toast them?" He signaled a footman over. "Please bring us two lemonades." It was the drink of choice for a debutante, and although he did not favor the sickly sweet beverage, he would drink it quickly and move on.
"Forgive me, my lord, but lemonade is not being served tonight. Lady Leatherby is serving punch and champagne. Would either of those be acceptable to you?"
Lady Charlotte's eyes widened before they returned to normal.
"Punch, then," Derek said. "Would you mind bringing them out on the terrace?"
The servant bowed before leaving.
Charlotte glanced sideways for an escape, but Derek did not allow her the chance. The minx had lied to him! And worse, he hadn't known. Lemonade on her gloves, indeed. "Care for a breath of fresh air?" He took her arm and led her through the crush of guests.
Her hand trembled, but he didn't release her. His mind pieced facts together, reevaluating everything she'd said that evening.
If it had not been for that blasted footman, he would have moved on and perhaps lost this opportunity. Astonishing, really. This had to be the only ball where lemonade was not served.
He could only imagine what Charlotte was thinking.
It couldn't matter to him that she was his best friend's sister-in-law. He had a job to do.
They stepped out into the cloudless night. The air was crisp, but the heat from the ballroom kept the flagstone terrace warm enough to linger. He released her, remaining silent. Watching. Observing. Waiting.
Had his fascination with her prevented him from noticing other details? Nerves, agitation, darting eyes. Classic signs. All indications she had something to hide. He was a damned fool.
She didn't speak as he expected her too. Most ladies would have broken down by this point, confessed their lie, perhaps unburdened themselves with what they had seen or done. But not Charlotte. Although she appeared nervous, her chin notched up, her shoulders squared.
She's a fighter. Admiration warred with frustration.
He'd dealt with more filth in the ton than he cared to think about. As a culture, they praised modesty and control, but underneath they were just like other humans with vices, demons, and cravings. Everyone had their secrets. In the end, most people were cowards. Loyalty fell by the wayside, partners turned on one another, and people ultimately only cared for themselves. Unfortunately, very few people garnered his respect.
He eyed her determined stance a moment before leaning against the rail, his eyes piercing hers. "It's a shame they aren't serving lemonade tonight."
Chapter 4
Charlotte gulped, the moisture in the air mixing with a salty tang in her mouth as Derek's gaze scorched her. He knew she lied about spilling lemonade on her gloves, but he didn't know more than that. Sweat pricked her neck, and she took several shallow breaths, hoping to calm herself without him noticing. "It is a shame." She shrugged, hoping it looked casual enough. "I must have been so dehydrated earlier I didn't realize I drank punch instead of lemonade."
"Yes. That can happen at balls. I'm surprised you did not remember the color though. A punch stain is much more noticeable than lemonade."
"Exactly," she rushed. "There was no way to conceal it on my gloves. Lady Leatherby is an angel."
"She is, indeed." He smiled at the footman, and he and Charlotte each took a glass off his tray. "To Lady Leatherby, and of course, the Duke and Duchess of Wathersby."
She murmured her agreement and clinked glasses, relieved he'd switched topics. Gulping down punch with unladylike haste, she didn't care what he thought of her in that moment. She needed to get away from him, from his searching comments and contemplative stares.
She choked, spluttering punch into the cup. "Forgive me, my lord, but I believe I have promised the next dance to another." She shifted under his gaze.
He passed the glass between both hands a moment before setting it on the balustrade. "Lady Charlotte, I apologize, but there is no other way I can ask this. Is it possible you misplaced your glove instead of spilling punch on it? I would understand if there were reasons for keeping the truth to yourself."
Lead pooled in her stomach, rooting her in place. "Of course not. Why would I need to tell a falsehood if I had lost my glove? There is nothing wrong with that."
A breeze tousled her hair. The perspiration on her skin froze. She couldn't tell him the truth. Even if he hadn't been in that sitting room, if she told him, if she told anyone what she'd heard, it was possible that they'd confide in someone else, and from there she would be found out. If she kept it to herself, she would be safe.
His jaw clenched before he looked out to the garden. "Forgive me. I did not mean to upset you." He bowed in apology. "Allow me to escort you inside."
Why was he backing off so easily? "Thank you." She hesitated giving him her hand, but there was no way to refuse without being rude. Doing so would only further his curiosity.
For the next few hours she would dance, laugh, eat, and be merry. She would be the affable debutante everyone knew her to be. And when she arrived home and locked herself in her chambers, she would fall apart. But only then.
With a final bow, Viscount Lawrence left her near the refreshment table and walked away without looking back.
He would never know what she'd witnessed. Neither would anyone else.
* * *
Derek studied Lady Charlotte from a column along the edge of the ball. She appeared as every young lady should. No one would find anything wrong with the way she held herself, danced, flirted. But Derek saw what others didn't. Candlelight from heavily laden chandeliers softened her features. Below the sweetly curved lips was strain. Behind twinkling eyes, worry. She glanced over her shoulder for the third time during her dance with Lord Harold, assessing the floor like a hunted creature.
Oh, yes. She had been in that sitting room. She'd heard something that scared her. And she should be scared. He knew what these people were capable of. He had seen too many lifeless bodies, too many lives destroyed because of their deeds.
His fists clenched. He had witnessed the misery a handful of people could spread to dozens. Husbandless wives, fatherless children. Statistics, mere numbers to the War Office. But not to him. He had seen too much for detachment. He had seen those lives torn apart. The horror of knowing you would never see a loved one again.
He was done with that, with this life. And Lady Charlotte was the key. He was sick of knowing what others hid behind a thin veneer. Once he locked away those responsible, he would be free.
But he'd made a mistake tonight. Coming to her so directly, blatantly asking about her glove spooked her. He'd calculated the risks, acted, but it had not yielded the results he'd expected. He needed her trust, but fear held her back. He had to push past that. Only then would he get what he needed.
Assured she was partnered for the next set, he slipped into the library, confiscating a crisp sheet of vellum and a quill before scribbling a note. No arrests. We have a witness. He sealed the note with his ring, knowing his news would disappoint, but at least there was a glimmer of hope.
His servant and friend, Henry, found him outside the library, pocketing the letter without a word. Derek had learned long ago to have a trusted man with him at all times. With the corrupt vein that ran through the ton, he sent messages at all hours of the night from any number of places. Most were time sensitive. Tonight was no exception. "Meet me once you're done. George will tell you where." His driver could be counted on.
With only a few minutes wasted, he returned to the ballroom and waited. Ah. And there it was. Lady Charlotte made her way to her mother, fanning her face. After all the dancing she'd done that night, everyone would believe she was fatigued.
Her mother nodded quickly, searching the crowd for her husband. Within a few minutes, they gathered up their party and said good-bye to their host.