London, England, May 1871

Dalia Fairchild kept her focus on the sauntering woman ahead of her—anything to ignore the fear curling tight in her belly. Strolling through the East End was far more unnerving than she’d expected, even with Jack, the new footman, directly behind her.

When Ruth, her maid for the past five years, had mentioned she was coming to this area on her half-day, Dalia had been appalled. Why would Ruth choose to spend her precious few hours away from work here?

Upon further questioning, Ruth finally admitted she was accompanying her cousin on a lark to the Argyll Rooms, an entertainment venue. Dalia knew better. She’d recognized the signs of discontent in Ruth over the past few months. Perhaps because those same signs were visible in her reflection of late. Something was afoot, and Dalia had been determined to find out the truth before Ruth ended up in trouble.

Ruth’s cousin, Betty, was several years older and far too adventurous for her own good based on the antics Ruth had shared over the years. The woman acted on impulse—another trait to which Dalia could relate.

Following Ruth and Betty this afternoon was a fine example of Dalia’s impulsiveness. It had seemed a good idea earlier. Not so much now. She felt completely out of her element here despite Jack following along.

As the middle child in a family of five daughters, Dalia was protective of her younger sisters and that feeling extended to Ruth. The woman knew little of the world, not that Dalia knew much more, but she had a suspicious streak Ruth lacked. Dalia supposed that was one thing for which she could thank her sisters.

Passersby jostled her, a surprise in itself as people on Regent Street didn’t do such things. She clutched her reticule with both hands, holding it before her as she followed a short distance behind the two women. Would it be better to lift her chin and feign confidence on these mean streets? Or did she keep her eyes down and try to draw as little notice as possible?

The weight of someone’s stare caught her notice, and she glanced over to find a rough-looking man in a brown suit who leaned against a building, watching her with interest. He smiled, making her worry flare higher. Wasn’t Ruth frightened by what she saw, or had she even noticed the potential threats all around?

The man pushed away from the building and strode boldly forward to walk at Dalia’s side. “What’s a pretty thing like ye doin’ here all alone?”

Dalia’s nose twitched as the scent of sour sweat and onions wafted toward her. “I’m not alone.” That was exactly what she intended to tell her mother if she were caught on this outing. When the man glanced around and raised a brow, she added, “My footman is just behind me.”

“A footman, is he?” He studied Jack’s plain clothing, gave him a nod, then winked at her with a knowing smile. “Sure, he is. What’s yer name?”

Shock seeped through her. She’d never expected to be accosted in broad daylight. Perhaps accosted was a harsh word, but that was how she felt. What could she say to the man to convince him to leave her alone?

Apparently, her silence angered him. He stepped directly into her path, forcing her to stop. “I’m tryin’ to be friendly here.”

Annoyance tamped down her fear. Was this so different from the subtler antics played out in a ballroom?

“Miss?” Jack asked.

She ignored the nervous footman’s offer of assistance to lift her chin and gave the stranger a cold glare that had frozen more than one unwanted suitor. “I am not in need of friends at the moment. Step aside and allow me to pass.”

The man backed away with a scowl, and Dalia continued on her way, relief easing the tight band around her chest. She should’ve brought a more experienced footman with her, but Jack was new and therefore still biddable, a quality she appreciated.

Even more important was his silence as the fewer people who knew of this venture into the East End, the better. The chance of him telling her mother or father was nearly nonexistent.

She studied the people ahead, hoping she hadn’t lost Ruth and Betty. Quickening her step, she caught sight of the maid once again. Ruth would be appalled if she knew Dalia followed her. She’d never want to place Dalia in danger or get her in trouble.

But the maid left her no choice. The woman wouldn’t listen to reason about her cousin and the danger she represented.

Dalia knew the truth—Betty was a fallen woman. A prostitute.

Ruth seemed determined to believe her cousin had many beaus and lived a glamorous life. But Dalia had drawn her own conclusions after listening to her eldest sister, Lettie, and reading The Seven Curses of London, a book detailing the worst problems plaguing the city. Fallen women of all sorts were described in the fourth section of the book. Dalia was certain Betty wanted Ruth to join her in that life.

After numerous conversations, Ruth had finally confessed that Betty was taking her to the Argyll Rooms in Great Windmill Street. The establishment offered refreshments and dancing as well as the opportunity to meet some “stylish gents who knew how to treat a girl right.”

Dalia scoffed at the notion. The author of the Seven Curses book stated that while the place offered musical entertainment and dancing along with refreshments, it also served as a place for men to hire women of a certain vocation. Apparently, the authorities didn’t make a fuss about the establishment as they felt it was better than having the prostitutes roam the streets. She shook her head. As if that made any sense.

The attitude of the law regarding fallen women was out of her influence. She only hoped to convince Ruth what a life of prostitution would be like based upon Dalia’s limited knowledge. But in order to do so, she needed to see what Ruth saw so she could reveal the truth.

Great Windmill Street was just ahead. Dalia hurried along with Jack in tow, hoping to stay close behind the two women. Columns lined the front of the two-story stone building on the lower floor secured with decorative wrought-iron gates. Tall windows rounded at the top added to its prestige. Overall, it looked like a fine establishment—how deceiving.

Ruth stared up at the building, an excited smile on her face. That was exactly the sort of reaction Dalia wanted to note so she might counter it when she and Ruth returned home.

While Dalia realized life as a maid was not easy, earning a wage as a prostitute would be impossible, regardless of what Betty said. Unfortunately, thus far, she hadn’t been able to convince Ruth that a such a life would be unbearable.

Dalia gave Jack the money for their tickets then waited impatiently to gain admittance. They soon managed to follow Betty and Ruth inside without being seen. The pair continued up the stairs to the upper gallery, but Dalia paused to peruse the setting.

A quartet played music on the lower level where several couples danced. She swallowed hard against her nerves as she glanced about, surprised to see all manner of people there, including well-dressed dandies, working men, and everyone in between. To her relief, several other young ladies were in attendance. Perhaps she wouldn’t be as out of place here as she’d feared.

Yet as she watched more closely, she recognized the desperate looks and false smiles the women gave the men who strolled by. Those were the same expressions a few wallflowers wore at balls. No doubt the women sought assignations of one form or another.

Some of the men watched the women hungrily while others viewed them with amusement. The latter appeared to be in attendance for entertainment purposes. She couldn’t blame them as the crowd enthralled her as well.

Yet almost immediately she realized she was one of those being judged. Uncomfortable with the looks sent her way, she mounted the stairs to follow Ruth, glancing behind her to make certain Jack followed. Surely if she remained only a few minutes, she’d learn enough to convince Ruth of the treachery of this path with no one the wiser of how she’d spent her afternoon.

“Why don’t you wait here,” she advised Jack once they reached the upper level. “I’ll take a turn around this gallery, and then we’ll return home.”

Jack nodded then shifted to stand against the wall.

Dalia slowly made her way through the crowd, searching for Ruth and Betty.

“Miss Fairchild? Is that you?”

Dalia’s stomach dropped at the familiar male voice. Viscount Rutland? At the Argyll Rooms? Surely not.

She slowly turned to find him standing before her, a hint of disapproval etched on his face. It seemed to be a perpetual expression for the man, at least when he looked at her.

Of all people...

In all places...

Why did it have to be Spencer?

“Rutland. How...surprising to see you here.”

Something about his stern countenance brought out the worst in her. Even now, she bristled at his regard, never mind that she knew all too well she shouldn’t be anywhere near this place.

With dark hair clipped short, black brows with only a hint of an arch over compelling hazel eyes in a lean, clean-shaven face framed by long, black lashes, the man was too handsome for his own good. He had an aloofness about him that made conversation awkward. Or perhaps that was caused by the air of superiority that hovered over him.

He rarely smiled. Granted, it was a good thing he didn’t walk around doing so all the time or she’d be no different than the simpering debutantes that fell at his feet at the balls and parties he occasionally attended.

Their mothers’ friendship linked them. Otherwise, she would’ve preferred to avoid speaking to him as he always made her feel her worst.

The idea of him frequenting a place like this shocked her. An image of him dallying in passion of any sort had her mouth going dry and her breath catching in her throat.

She couldn’t help but ask, “What are you doing here?”

Spencer Campbell, Viscount Rutland, stared, perplexed at the sight of the lady before him. He had mistakenly assumed he wouldn’t know anyone in attendance at the Argyll Rooms. In fact, he’d planned on it. Seeing an acquaintance changed his entire mission.

Seeing Dalia here changed even more.

For the briefest moment, he’d considered exiting before she saw him. But she appeared to be alone. That realization had stunned him into addressing her. He’d hoped her brazen behavior had come to an end now that she was nineteen years of age. Obviously, he’d been wrong.

The astonishment in her tone might’ve amused him in other circumstances. She obviously believed the tables were turned, and she’d found him in an inappropriate position. She could never know he was there on Intelligence Office business.

“I would ask the same of you,” he said.

Her pale blonde hair covered by a modest doll hat with a cockade of brown and teal feathers had drawn the notice of every man in the room. Added to that were her blue eyes and creamy complexion with cheeks that always held a hint of color, as though she’d been rushing somewhere.

As usual, he had to brace himself to speak with her. Her beauty affected him in a way that never failed to surprise him, leaving him tongue-tied and feeling inept, not so different from his ten-year-old self.

He studied her, quickly concluding she wasn’t any happier to see him than he was to see her. Yet as a gentleman, he had no choice but to see to her safety. That meant escorting her home as quickly as possible.

But first, he wanted to know why she was here. Of course, nothing was simple with Dalia Fairchild. She never responded as expected—a trait that both fascinated and infuriated him.

Those bright blue eyes narrowed as her gaze dropped to his attire. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Too late, he remembered he wore an old suit tattered around the edges so as not to draw attention. While it had worked well in previous situations, Dalia knew he didn’t normally dress like this.

“No need to wear my best attire to a place like this,” he responded, hoping his tone sounded casual. The idea of her thinking he frequented similar establishments had him clenching his jaw. Not that it mattered what she thought.

But would she mention this to anyone else?

Secrecy was of the utmost importance in his work. Though he continued to adjust to his position in the field after spending several years working behind a desk, he’d always known the importance of confidentiality in the intelligence business.

His organizational and analysis skills had been helpful to Prime Minister Gladstone’s efforts to gather information regarding Prussia’s growing power along with other areas of concern. But a restlessness had filled him in recent months. Analyzing data no longer felt like enough.

His efforts in the Intelligence Office hadn’t eased the void in his life left by his brother’s death just over a year ago. He could never fill his brother’s shoes, nor did he care to try. His father still looked at him with a general air of disappointment. Spencer was now the heir to the earldom, but he didn’t feel prepared for the position.

Nor did he want it.

He’d forged a life without all the weight and responsibility of the title of earl only to have it thrust upon him. His father’s demand that he leave his work behind only made Spencer more determined to continue. Hence his recent restlessness and subsequent field work, which returned his attention to the problem of the woman before him.

He sighed at the curiosity in her gaze. She was definitely a problem. Surely the best way to turn Dalia—rather Miss Fairchild’s—attention from himself was to shine it on her. At least it worked well with other young ladies her age.

“Why are you here?” he asked again. “This is not a safe place for young ladies. Who accompanied you?” He glanced about but already knew he wouldn’t see any of her family members.

“Ah, my footman as well as my maid are here with me.” She sounded uncertain of her claim.

He followed her gaze to where a tall man stood waiting at the top of the stairs. The man dipped his head at Spencer’s questioning gaze. “And your maid?” Spencer asked though he didn’t understand what purpose the footman served when he wasn’t nearer to Dalia.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Ruth is over there with her cousin.” The disarming smile she sent him scrambled his thoughts, and he didn’t attempt to locate her maid.

Dalia Fairchild was a rebel, the very type of person who set him on edge in the worst way. She went out of her way to push the bounds of propriety.

Rules were meant to be followed for a reason. He’d discovered that at a young age. Not following them was what had gotten his brother killed.

Spencer’s physical response to Dalia was both puzzling and annoying, an odd reaction he needed to overcome. Never mind that he’d failed to do so in the lengthy time they’d known each other, and it had only worsened as they’d grown older.

One of the many flaws in his character. His father so enjoyed pointing them out.

But now was not the time to dwell on such things.

“I’d be pleased to escort you home.” He took her elbow as he spoke, well aware that his opportunity to gather information on a certain suspect had passed. He couldn’t do what he needed to with Miss Fairchild there.

“That is kind of you but unnecessary. Ruth and I wanted to have a brief look around then we’ll be returning home of our own accord.”

He gave her a grim smile. “I insist.”

“No, thank you.” She pulled her elbow from his grasp with the barest jerk. “We have only just arrived, and I have not yet had a chance to take in the atmosphere or enjoy the music.”

Spencer felt his pulse pounding in his temples. He reminded himself that he hadn’t expected her to cooperate with his suggestion. She didn’t do so when it came to inconsequential things, such as in which chair she might like to sit. Why would she do so when his request would keep her safe?

With a careful glance around to make certain they weren’t drawing too much attention, he leaned close. A hint of some sweet floral fragrance teased his senses. Unthinking, he sniffed in an attempt to name it.

She drew back with a gasp. “What are you about, my lord?”

Damn his response to her. His thoughts and common sense fled when she was near. What could he do but pretend she didn’t cause this ridiculous reaction? “I am merely attempting to tell you that we must go. Now. You cannot be here.”

Those blue eyes of hers stared at him. He’d never realized they held gold flecks before. Her lips were the perfect shape. Neither too wide nor too narrow and a compelling shade of rose. It took him a moment to realize those lips were moving. He blinked, hoping to clear the fog that had seeped into his normally sharp mind.

“You shouldn’t be here either,” she whispered heatedly. “What would your father say?”

Were they going to resort to the arguments that had filled their time together when they were children? “Nothing compared to yours, I’m sure.” He raised a brow, waiting for her to disagree.

To his surprise, the truth of his statement seemed to sink in. Her lovely lips opened and closed before twisting into a scowl, and she held her silence.

“I cannot fathom that you are truly here on a lark to enjoy the atmosphere.” While she often acted recklessly, this venture was beyond her normal behavior.

She dropped her gaze and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’d rather not explain at this juncture, but please know that my presence here is for a purpose, as you guessed.”

That only made him more curious. What possible “purpose” would bring her to such a place?

Her gaze lifted to his, causing him to appreciate the long sweep of her lashes. “We won’t be here overlong, but it truly is important to me.”

He paused, weighing her words. While he couldn’t imagine why she felt the need to look around, he felt hard-pressed to deny her wish.

“Excuse me, miss.” A large man with a jacket a size too small approached them. “Would you care to dance?”

Spencer’s pulse began to pound once again. He reached for Miss Fairchild’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “The lady is with me.”

He expected the man to go on about his way, but as with everything today, his expectations meant nothing.

“I’d hear the lady speak for herself.” The big man’s gaze narrowed as he glared at Spencer.

This was the part of field work he was as of yet unaccustomed to. Physical altercations outside the boxing ring at university were few and far between. Surely, he had the communication skills necessary to avoid a fight.

“I’m with him.” Dalia grasped his elbow tightly before he could respond.

The feel of her hand along his side gave him the strangest pang. He wasn’t certain what to make of it.

The man gave her a long look as though to make certain she knew her mind then nodded. “Very well then.”

He moved away, much to Spencer’s relief.

“We are leaving now,” Spencer gritted out. Dalia opened her mouth as though to argue but seemed to think better of it after glancing at his expression.

“May we walk along the upper gallery on our way out? I would like to speak with Ruth before we leave.”

Surprised at her agreement, he nodded. Perhaps he owed his thanks to the man who’d asked her to dance. That might’ve been the tipping point to convince Dalia of the danger she risked.

“Very well.” He tightened his arm to keep her close as he eyed the people nearby. No one else showed signs of approaching them, so he guided her forward.

The sooner he escorted her home, the better. What a strange course of events this day had brought. Work away from his desk was proving to be nothing like he’d expected.