"We couldn't do without you," she purred again. He almost wished the woman would cough already and quit using that ridiculous tone. "Perhaps I could give you a tour later. A private one," she added.
A tight smile stretched his lips. "I would enjoy that," he said, having no intention of doing so, but refusing to embarrass her.
"As would I."
Derek barely suppressed a shudder as he headed into the ballroom. He was ready to get away from this life, and there was only one thing holding him back.
Charlotte.
His task wasn't merely to gather information now, but to protect her life. He needed to find her. Now.
He nodded to an acquaintance, but didn't accept the offer for further conversation. He scanned the room's perimeter, systematically working his way through the crowd in search of flaxen locks.
When his gaze landed on Charlotte twirling around the floor, laughter floating from her lips, his blood heated. Soft candlelight flattered most people, but it caressed her skin in a way that made it look like cream or the softest, most delicate silk he had ever seen. Her cerulean eyes twinkled from this distance, and a bolt of lust shot through him so viciously it robbed him of breath.
As he stormed across the room, dodging swirling couples, he told himself it was because he urgently needed to speak with her, because her life was in danger and he needed to protect her. It was his duty, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that one of the most notorious rakes in society had his hand on her waist.
His fist clenched.
"May I cut in?" Derek asked with an edge but didn't bother to wait for a reply. He bundled a spluttering Charlotte in his arms and wove into the crowd of dancers, leaving Lord Bartholomew glowering after them.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she hissed, glancing around the room. "Everyone's watching."
Time was precious, but he felt his lips curling. "Why?"
Her mouth dropped open. "You can't be that obtuse."
"Enlighten me." He twirled her, bringing her closer into the shelter of his body on her return. Only his training kept him from groaning. She fit against him perfectly.
"You stole me from Lord Bartholomew. Everyone thinks there's something going on between us now. That you have an interest in me."
"Perhaps I do."
Her eyes leveled his. "That's absurd. You've known me for years, and there's been nothing between us."
She was right. He had known her for years, but he'd never truly seen her. He hadn't let himself. "Things change."
"Not everything." She glanced across the floor as the chatter increased in the room. "Don't you see you're causing problems for me?"
"How so?"
"I have suitors. They might decide to give up if they think you're interested."
He scoffed. "Why would they? Any self-respecting man would welcome the competition. It sweetens the victory."
"They'll only pursue if they have a chance."
"Do they not?" He tensed for her answer.
She laughed. Full, heartfelt joy. It was a breath of fresh air in the stale room, a light more brilliant than thousands of candles. It came from somewhere deep inside, somewhere so pure, so innocent, that he was entranced. How could anyone remain so untouched in the world? "What is it?"
She chuckled again. "You're Viscount Lawrence. I've heard talk that you're the catch of the season. Any woman would be lucky to snag you."
He absorbed her joy, hungering for more. "That can't be true."
She nodded. "It is true. I heard it just the other night. A large group was discussing it, and your name was unanimous."
"Unanimous, huh? You agree?"
"I'm the one who suggested you."
He edged the room and pulled her behind a potted plant so quickly she squeaked. "What are you doing? Everyone was watching us. They'll know we're here."
He gripped her shoulders, and heat poured through him. The need to pull her closer overwhelmed, but he suppressed both. He had a job to do. And time was running out. "Listen very carefully to me. After this dance I want you to walk to the lady's retiring room. Powder your nose, adjust your hair. Linger only long enough to pacify other ladies present. I want you to head down the hall away from the ballroom and meet me on your second left."
Her eyes widened as she shuffled back a step. His grip held her in place. "I don't think that's wise."
"Your life is in danger. I can help you."
Her eyes widened. Recognition flared, removing all doubt as she understood precisely the circumstances he referred to. "How do I know I can trust you?" she whispered, her gaze darting around the room.
"Because you know me. Because you know I'm someone you can count on."
Haunted eyes met his. "Not everyone I know is trustworthy."
"Bradford trusts me."
"He does."
"And you trust him, don't you?"
She bit her lip, then nodded. After weighing his words for a moment, she eased into the crowd without looking back, weaving, greeting, smiling as if she hadn't a care in the world. She must be terrified, but by the looks of her, no one would ever suspect.
Charlotte Langston was smart. It took strong character to maintain composure. Then again, years in the ton trained women in such a way. Behave too eager, a lady will lose a suitor. Act demure, they're dull. Appear vibrant, and they're scandal worthy. Young ladies walked a fine line in society. It bred qualities he loathed in most women. Pettiness, intrigue, infidelity. But others, such as Charlotte, honed qualities he admired.
He cursed.
He needed to stop thinking of her as a woman. His objective was to gain information on the Black Dahlia and keep his witness alive.
There wasn't a moment to lose.
Chapter 6
Charlotte had ignored propriety at the Leatherbys' ball and overheard the dangerous discussion of murder.
Now, here she was, making the same decision to head away from the safety of the crowd. Except this time, she wouldn't be alone. She shivered.
Your life is in danger.
She was afraid to be alone. Afraid to go out in the daylight, let alone at night. She didn't want to live this way for the rest of her life, hiding a secret she didn't want to keep. She wanted to be free.
Freedom. She snorted. It always boiled down to that.
Tiptoeing down the hallway, she moved away from the main areas of the house, her shoulders bunched with unease. What was she thinking going to a secluded part of the house with a man she truly didn't know that well? Seeing him at functions over the years did not mean she knew him or could trust him, regardless of her brother-in-law's confidence.
Sugar lumps! She stumbled to a stop. She shouldn't be doing this. There was no way Viscount Lawrence could know if she was in danger or not. There was no way he could know what she overheard-unless he was in on it.
With a whimper, she spun back toward the ballroom.
A hand shot from the shadows, yanking her into a dark corner.
Fingers clamped over her lips, muffling her screams as a forearm snaked around her abdomen, bringing her firmly against a hard, dangerous physique.
"Don't scream," the masculine whisper against her ear warned.
Viscount Lawrence. She sagged in relief.
"You aren't going to scream if I let you go, are you?"
She shook her heard, willing her racing pulse to ease. If he were the villain she'd overheard plotting, he wouldn't very well offer to release her, would he? "I didn't know it was you." She didn't apologize.
He nodded, releasing her, and she feared he understood too much.
"Be glad it was. Because next time … "
She straightened her spine, refusing to be cowed by his implied threat. "Why am I here?"
His finger went to his lips as he looked around the corner. He gripped her hand, not bothering to gain her permission before doing so, then ushered her through a maze of rooms and hallways that somehow led to a side door.
Where on earth were they going? She should be frightened to be alone with him, but, in some strange way, being in his presence made her feel safe.
They were on the opposite end of the house in a small garden, lit only by moonlight and remnants of candlelight through windowpanes. Music floated on the air from the ballroom.
"What are we doing here?" she whispered, unable to keep silent a moment longer.
"We need to talk."
"We couldn't converse inside?"
He leaned against a pillar, his eyes hard on her. "No."
She took a step back at the edge in his gaze, unease pumping through her once again. He looked dangerous now. What had she been thinking? "Look, my lord, I don't know what to tell you. There must be some mistake."