Spencer’s heart pounded as he read the message. “Damn and blast.”

“I’m sorry, my lord?” His footman appeared puzzled at Spencer’s remark.

Was Dalia in danger? Surely he would’ve heard from the guards he’d posted in her neighborhood if something untoward had occurred. But the realization that Pruett had committed murder combined with her missive had fear curdling his stomach.

He read the curving letters once more.

New information has arisen. I require your assistance. The matter is urgent.

D.

PS. Please.

How like her to add the please as an afterthought. He couldn’t help but smile, charmed by the way her mind worked. He was surprised she’d thought to note it at all.

He wished she’d said more so he knew if she was truly well. Then again, his worry wouldn’t ease until he saw her for himself. His presence at home when her message had arrived was pure coincidence as he’d just stopped by to retrieve some papers then intended to return to the office.

While he’d planned to call upon her this afternoon, other issues had arisen due to Atkins’ death, which had delayed his visit. More men had been assigned in the East End to watch for Pruett, not that they had evidence to tie him to the crime as of yet. But they would if Spencer had anything to do with it. He was certain Pruett was behind the murder. First, they had to find the man.

He’d stop by Dalia’s now. The office could wait. Visiting her would give him the chance to advise her that although the situation with Pruett had been unstable before, now it was fraught with peril.

“Should I advise the servant there will be a reply?” the footman asked.

“I’ll deliver my own reply.”

The footman hurried out to pass on his response, seeming to understand Spencer’s rush.

He sent a message to the office that he’d been delayed then headed toward the Fairchild residence in his carriage.

How did she intend to speak alone with him to tell him of this urgent matter? No doubt she’d concocted some scheme to do so. Her resourcefulness never ceased to amaze him.

He had the driver stop at the end of Dalia’s street where one of the guards was posted. “Anything of interest?”

“No, my lord. All is well here.”

“Keep a close watch as there’s a good chance of activity in the next twenty-four hours.”

He continued to Dalia’s home, trying to mask his upset. The death of Atkins was a major blow. But the idea of finding justice for his associate kept Spencer moving. Was he the right man to make that happen? He’d never had more doubts than he had now, despite Aberland’s reassurances. How could they possibly find evidence to tie Pruett to Atkins’ death?

He waited in the foyer at the Fairchild’s mansion, forcing himself not to pace the length of it while a footman checked to see if the family was receiving. He didn’t have to wait long.

“This way, my lord.” The footman led the way to the drawing room and opened the door to announce him.

“Viscount Rutland. What a pleasant surprise,” Mrs. Fairchild said as she dropped into a curtsy along with her daughters.

Spencer had eyes only for Dalia. His relief at seeing her in good health and unharmed loosened the knot of worry deep inside him. Her blue eyes held his with an intensity that made it difficult to look away to exchange greetings with her mother and sister. What had happened to place that look on her face?

He dearly wanted to take Dalia by the hand, pull her into his arms and offer whatever comfort he could for her unknown source of distress. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her and ask her to marry him. If necessary, he’d find a way to convince her she couldn’t live without him.

Instead, he took a seat, making his way through all the normal pleasantries, well aware of each minute that ticked by. Now was not the time for him to declare his feelings, not when her expression held that look of concern.

“I heard the most terrible news,” Dalia said calmly as though she spoke of nothing more than the deplorable fog that had settled over the city during the night.

“Oh?” Spencer asked, wondering if she truly intended to mention whatever had occurred in front of her mother.

“A man was murdered late last night. Stabbed multiple times and hit on the head. Isn’t that awful?” She stared at Spencer despite her mother’s horrified gasp, as though hoping he would read her mind.

He read it quite clearly. Somehow, she knew of Atkins’ murder. But how? He nodded, hoping she’d realize he understood. “I heard that as well. Just terrible.”

“Dalia, why must you share that sort of news?” Mrs. Fairchild admonished. “The viscount doesn’t want to hear of such things.”

“I only mention it because the crime in the city seems to be escalating of late.” Her posture was ramrod straight, her cheeks flushed.

Again, she looked at Spencer, and he nodded, though unclear what she meant.

“Violet, do you know a girl named Molly?”

Spencer frowned. Wasn’t that the name of the young woman who’d sent Dalia a message to tell her Pruett had taken Kate? He only remembered because Dalia had sent the message on to him.

“No,” Violet said. “I don’t believe I do.”

“I suppose it’s not that common of a name unless one lives in the East End.” She clenched her hands in her lap.

She was definitely speaking of that particular Molly. But why?

“How would you know such a thing?” Violet asked.

Mrs. Fairchild sighed as she glared at her daughters, clearly displeased with their conversation. She sent an apologetic look at Spencer.

“One hears these things,” Dalia said.

From the puzzled look on Violet’s face, she seemed to think her sister addled.

Spencer was impressed. Though he wasn’t clear on the entire message, if she continued in this vein, he might have a good idea of what urgent information had arisen. “What else does one hear?” he asked.

Mrs. Fairchild frowned at him. Apparently she didn’t care to have Dalia’s odd conversation encouraged.

“Such a person might have quite the story to tell.” Dalia nodded as if agreeing with herself.

Spencer would’ve been highly amused by this entire visit if it weren’t for the topic. Did Molly know something about Atkins’ death?

“After living in the East End, you mean?” Violet asked.

“And working there. Can you imagine what she might have seen?” Dalia held Spencer’s gaze for a long moment.

It was all he could do to remain in his seat. Molly had witnessed Atkins’ murder. His heart thundered at the thought. If Dalia knew where he could find Molly, she could provide the evidence they needed to arrest Pruett.

He drew a slow breath, trying to match Dalia’s cleverness and think of a way to ask where Molly was or how Dalia had come to know what the girl had seen. “It would be difficult to live in the East End and feel safe.”

Dalia nodded enthusiastically as though he were on the right track. “I certainly wouldn’t feel safe there.”

“Perhaps it would be best if one left that neighborhood and found a better place to live. I wonder where that might be?” He directed his question to Mrs. Fairchild as though expecting her to provide an answer. Anything to keep her from ordering her daughter to change the topic.

She blinked at him, obviously uncertain how to respond. No doubt she didn’t want to offend him by suggesting they speak of something else, nor did she have an answer. “I feel our street is quite safe,” she responded at last.

The smile that lit Dalia’s face nearly made Spencer grin. “It is indeed. Even our alley is safe.” She raised a brow at him. “One couldn’t ask for more than that.”

Did she mean that Molly was in the alley? That he should retrieve her when he left?

Violet looked at each of them, including her mother, as though they’d all lost their minds.

“Though one never knows what is hiding behind a bush,” Dalia said as she glanced out the window.

He could only surmise Molly was hidden behind a bush in the alley behind the Fairchild’s home. He waited a few minutes longer only to realize Dalia’s glares at him were becoming increasingly impatient. Obviously, it was past time for him to take his leave. He stood abruptly. “I’m afraid I must be going.”

Dalia gave a slight nod of approval as she stood as well. “So kind of you to call on us.”

Mrs. Fairchild rose. “You’re leaving already?” She frowned once more at Dalia. “I must apologize for my daughter’s conversation. Or lack thereof. I fear she’s a bit...under the weather.”

“I found the conversation quite enlightening.” He smiled at the woman, pleased to defend Dalia to her. “It so often is with Dalia.”

A delicate rose flushed Dalia’s cheeks. “Perhaps we’ll see you at the Finnian’s ball this evening,” she said, a hopeful note in her tone.

“Perhaps.” It depended on what Molly had to say. He hurried out the door.

A quick word to the driver had him departing from the Fairchilds’ residence only to circle back to the alley. He stepped out of the carriage, searching for the girl, hoping no one watched.

A study of the bushes didn’t reveal anything. “Molly? Are you here? Miss Fairchild sent me to take you to safety. I assisted Kate as well.”

Still nothing. Had he completely misunderstood the conversation with Dalia? He’d been so certain—

A rustle behind a large conifer beside the Fairchild’s rear garden entrance caught his eye. Molly stepped into view, her eyes wide, fear etched on her face. Her entire body trembled. “My lord?”

“I’m Viscount Rutland. I believe Miss Fairchild told you to expect me.” Her skittishness suggested it would only take one wrong move on his part to cause her to flee.

“Yes, my lord.” She clenched her hands tightly before her.

“I understand you need somewhere safe to go. I’m happy to provide you with the same help I gave Kate.”

She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, biting her lower lip. But she took a small step forward then another. “I’d like that.”

He gestured toward the carriage. “Will you come with me? I’d very much like to hear what you saw last night.”

She halted at his reference to the murder, her face pale, her fear palpable as she blinked back tears.

He couldn’t blame her, but he needed her help. “You see, the man you saw murdered was a friend of mine.”

Molly’s eyes flooded with tears. “I’m sorry to hear that, my lord.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t know what to do. How to stop Charlie. He’s a bad man. A very bad man.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done without placing yourself in danger.” Heaven forbid Pruett realize that not only had someone witnessed his act, but she was sharing what she’d seen with the authorities. “If you could tell me what you saw, it would mean a great deal. We could put Pruett in prison for the rest of his life.”

She drew a shuddery breath, nodded, then walked beside him toward the carriage. He couldn’t help but sigh with relief. This was exactly the break in the case they needed. He studied the surrounding area. Surely if anyone had followed Molly to Dalia’s home, the guards would’ve taken note.

Before he stepped into the carriage, he glanced up at the Fairchild’s residence. Did Dalia have any idea of the gift she’d just handed him? He hoped that very soon he’d have the chance to tell her, along with how much she meant to him.

Charlie entered McCarthy’s office building, attempting to hide his worry. Ever since he’d killed that man the previous night, things had gone to hell.

He’d allowed his temper to get the better of him. But every time he turned around, people were sticking their noses in his business and ruining his plans. The Fairchild woman, the lord who was often with her, both of whom had gotten Kate and several of the other girls riled up. He’d had enough of it. He was wasting his time dealing with them when he could be expanding the business.

As he’d snuck up to the bloke, he’d gotten angrier, thinking about how he stood between Charlie and his rising position in McCarthy’s organization. The people who continually interfered were making him look bad as if he couldn’t handle his job.

Before he’d thought twice, he knocked a rock alongside the man’s head and dragged him into the mouth of an alley. He’d attempted to question him, but the blasted man refused to answer. What choice did he have but to stab him each time he held his silence? He’d been surprised by how much of a fight the man had given, and Charlie had the bruises to prove it. That had only enraged him further.

None of that would’ve been so bad except for that blasted Molly. Her gasp had given her away. She’d stared at him from the mouth of the alley as though he were some sort of monster. Then she’d turned and fled so quickly into the thick fog that he couldn’t find her. More pressing than locating her had been dumping the body. She’d show up sooner or later.

Later still hadn’t come. Molly was nowhere to be found, despite the people he had searching for her. The only place he could think she might’ve gone was to that blasted Fairchild woman, who’d helped Kate disappear as well.

It wouldn’t pay to share any of those details with McCarthy. He didn’t know how long he could hide the truth though. Word on the street was that there was a price on his head, and people were searching for him. He’d had more than one man tell him so. Obviously, the man Charlie had killed had been more important than he’d anticipated.

Just his luck.

Fortunately, he knew Molly didn’t have the bollocks to tell anyone what she’d seen.

Ignoring the kernel of doubt that gnawed at him at the thought, he greeted several other men he knew as he made his way to the back of the building where McCarthy reigned his kingdom.

Without waiting for an invitation, he entered his boss’s office and took the chair before McCarthy’s desk, acting as nonchalant as possible.

McCarthy looked up from the paper he’d been studying only to toss it aside when he saw Charlie, a terrible light burning in his eyes. “What the hell have you done?”

Charlie’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“Let your temper get the better of you, didn’t you?”

He decided against saying anything until he knew what McCarthy had heard.

McCarthy leaned forward, his face going red, a sure sign of his anger. “The man you murdered worked for the Intelligence Office.”

Hadn’t that been exactly what he’d suspected? “All the more reason to send a clear message to them to mind their own business. They need to know we’re not to be messed with.”

McCarthy only glared at him until Charlie couldn’t bear to sit still any longer.

“What was he doing nosin’ around our girls anyway?” Charlie demanded. “Shouldn’t he have been in France or somethin’?”

“Let’s just say that if we now have the attention of the prime minister, it will be your fault.” McCarthy sat back in his chair, running a finger over his upper lip as he continued to stare at him.

Charlie felt his eyes bulge at the mention of the prime minister. While he’d heard a rumor that Gladstone tried to encourage prostitutes to reform, he’d thought that merely a way for him to hide an appetite for them.

“You better get this mess cleaned up,” McCarthy demanded. “If that man’s murder can be tied to you, your days are numbered. Do I make myself clear?”

The image of Molly burned into his mind even as he nodded and lurched to his feet, a cold sweat chilling his back. He had to find that blasted girl and quickly.