His jaw clenched. "There's no mistake, Lady Charlotte. You misplaced your glove the other night at the Leatherbys' ball."
"But the punch-"
"We both know you didn't spill anything. I know you lost it, because I recovered it."
Her chin shook. He couldn't have found it. He couldn't have known. "But you can't be!"
His head cocked. "I can't be what?"
"You can't be the man from that room. Your voice is too low. Too smoky."
"The man from what room?" He stalked closer, and she darted behind a bench to keep her distance.
Something happened when he touched her, an unexplainable feeling of warmth and comfort. He could not touch her right now.
She shuffled, scurrying away from him across the flagstone. If he meant to kill her in this garden, he would have a fight on his hands. Her slipper finally connected with the rake she'd stepped over earlier. Swooping down, she scooped up a muddy rake, juggling it clumsily in gloved hands. "You know what I'm talking about. But how? Did she send you to kill me too?"
His step paused as he considered her. "What are you doing?"
"Strike you. If I must."
His brow quirked. "Why on earth would you hit me?"
The nerve! She might have been naive to believe he wanted to help her, but she wouldn't let him near her now. "If you think I won't defend myself, you're sadly mistaken."
His jaw slackened. "Defend yourself … against me? Lady Charlotte, there are plenty of people who want to do you harm, but I'm not one of them. Unless you bash me over the head with that stick, then we might have words."
The rake lowered an inch, but her grip stayed sure. "Then why are we here? How did you know about the glove?"
"I know about the glove," he gritted out, "because I was supposed to be in the Leatherbys' sitting room."
He'd admitted it. She brought her weapon back up to strike.
"I was ordered to overhear their plans and arrest them, but I arrived too late."
"Arrest them?" Her thoughts spun. It didn't make sense.
"Yes."
Her brows furrowed. In front of her was a peer of the realm, a man with a brilliant mind for business, a distinguished pedigree, and the most handsome form she had ever seen. But even he had his limitations. Gentlemen of his social standing did not arrest ruffians. "I don't understand."
He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. "I'm a spy."
* * *
Lady Charlotte's cheeks paled as her body swayed. Derek hoped she wouldn't faint. It made him feel hulking and brutish when women fainted. Particularly due to something he'd disclosed.
"You're a … " She gulped, gesturing with a muddy glove.
"Spy."
She nodded slowly. "A spy."
"That's right."
She lowered her rake a fraction. "You were supposed to be in the room with them? You were sent to arrest them?"
"Yes."
To his relief, color surged back into her cheeks. "Then what happened?" She rested the gardening tool over her shoulder like a seasoned field hand, clueless of the dirt that now marred her gown.
He gritted his teeth. He hated explaining himself. And hated it even more when he'd botched it up. "I couldn't get away in time. Couldn't remove myself from company without causing speculation. It was more important to maintain my cover."
"More important than arresting murderers?"
He nodded once. "They might not have showed. My cover would've been blown. It's happened more times than I can count. If I had compromised myself, then plenty of other criminals would walk free."
Her rake fell to the ground, chunks of dirt plopping on impact. "I think I need to sit, if you don't mind." She flopped onto the bench without awaiting his answer. "What am I to do?" she whispered. His heart wrenched. She gazed unseeingly at her once-white gloves. "I don't even know who they are."
Knowledge was powerful, but also dangerous. But she was already in trouble. Thugs were coming after her. More information couldn't hurt her at this point. "The woman is called the Black Dahlia. She's the leader of a dangerous smuggling ring that sells secrets and anything else of value. She values neither human life nor our country. She'd murder her own mother to get what she wanted."
Charlotte's hands clenched. "What will happen to me?
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The truth about her situation was sinking in, and there was only one conclusion she would reach.
"They're going to kill me, aren't they?" Haunted eyes met his.
The urge to protect surged through him, forcing him to move, to go to her. "I won't allow that to happen. I can protect you." Her wrapped her hand in his.
"From them? Even though you don't know who they are? Their voices were familiar, but I can't identify them." She trembled against him. "They've killed others."
It wasn't a question. She heard things she never should have heard, and he wished he could take that from her. Take the burden, take the fear, the danger. "Yes. They have. But you will not be their victim. I'll protect you and find them. This will be over. You'll be free." He'd never made such a promise to another. In truth, he could never guarantee anyone's safety. No matter how hard he tried.
But this was different.
He wouldn't rest until Charlotte was safe.
No matter what, even if he had to forfeit his own life, Charlotte would not be harmed. Once he captured them, he'd be done. He'd be free. As free as she would be.
His sacrifice would mean something.
"How will you stop them? You said yourself, they're going to find me. You can't be by my side every second."
He grasped her hand, pulling her to stand beside him. As things stood, she was correct. He couldn't be by her side every moment. But he could change that. "Listen to me very carefully. We will go back into the ballroom separately, but I will always have my eyes on you. Once we're back inside, we will dance a set together, then promptly start another."
She gasped. "But everyone will think-"
"Exactly."
She edged away. "You forget. They'll think your intentions are serious. That you're close to proposing. Especially after you cut my dance with Lord Bartholomew short."
"And what better excuse would justify you and your family leaving tomorrow for a country party at my estate?"
Her brows furrowed as she stomped on moss-covered tiles. A notch formed on her forehead that he had an overwhelming urge to kiss away.
"Are you sure it will be safe there? For me and my family?"
Her worry for her family's safety warmed his heart. "It's more secure than here. Any outsiders will stick out, and I'll have guards there to watch you all at every moment. This will work."
She bit her lip. "And then what? What will happen when it's over? There could be a scandal."
He shook his head firmly. "There will be no scandal. We will track down who they are while you're at my estate. Once it's over, we'll return to London, and quietly leak that we didn't suit. We will appear friendly, amicable, and the talk will die down within a week."
His gut twinged at how cut and dried their relationship sounded, but he pushed the feeling away. He had a job to do.
"My mother will just love this."
He snorted. Just about any mama with an unmarried daughter would kick her heels at an opportunity like this. "And that is exactly why this will work. She'll want this so much she won't care about etiquette. She won't care about the hassle of packing for a fortnight in the country with little warning. Nothing else will matter except that a viscount has shown a strong interest in you and that you're interested as well."
A small smile curved her lips. "Oh? I'm to be interested?"
"Practically falling in my arms."
She stepped toward him. A hint of trust lit her eyes, warming his heart. "Well, I guess we should get started."
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, his muscles flexing under her touch. Her delicate, tapered fingers made him feel strong, sturdy.
Protective.
As they moved through the darkened hallways toward the center of the party, the scent of freshly churned earth faded as melted wax took over. He dusted her shoulders, ridding her gown of lingering dirt, and whispered, "Go ahead, now. I'll follow you."
She hesitated. "You'll be right behind me?"
His gut clenched. "The whole time."
She nodded once before slipping ahead. He watched her slim form glide down the hall. Each step she took, she girded armor only he was able to see. Her chin rose a notch, her posture straightened. The ton wasn't forgiving, and Charlotte was ready for battle.