Page 27 of One Waltz with the Viscount

‘Mrs Angel is not happy. Her one rule is no gentleman visitors.’

‘I hardly barged into the lodging house.’

‘She thinks by darkening her doorstep you bring her house into disrepute.’

Henry saw that Miss Shepherd looked tired and drawn. He wondered if it was from a night tossing and turning, thinking about their kiss the evening before, or if it was from worry about her sister.

‘What do you want, Lord Routledge?’

‘I know where Mr Peterson is going to be this afternoon.’

Miss Shepherd stilled, every part of her frozen, as if she were a perfectly carved statue in a museum.

‘Do you think he will talk to me?’

‘There is only one way to find out.’

Miss Shepherd bit her lip, no doubt weighing up her desire to talk to Mr Peterson about her sister—and also perhaps about the identity of her father—against her better judgement not to spend time with him.

‘Where will he be?’

‘Mr Peterson is a gambler. He plays cards, but his vice of choice is betting on boxing matches, and I have it on good authority that he will be attending a boxing match south of the river later this afternoon.’

She chewed her lip more, her eyes downcast but darting around. He watched, mesmerised as her tongue darted out, and for a second all he could think about was kissing her again.

‘I could go alone,’ she said, but sounded unconvinced.

‘It would not be safe for a young lady to attend alone.’

‘Perhaps you know where Mr Peterson may be this evening, or tomorrow?’

‘No. I had to work hard just to find his location this afternoon. He may even be leaving London soon for his house in the country.’

Miss Shepherd groaned and then gave a little nod. ‘Very well. It is of the utmost importance I speak to Mr Peterson.

‘Do you have everything you need?’

She shook her head and disappeared inside for a few minutes.

It was another warm afternoon, but the sky was overcast and grey, and the sun had been struggling to break through all day. It meant the air felt humid and sticky, as if another storm were needed to cool things down.

Perhaps due to the heat they walked slowly. It was a fair distance through the streets of London to the river, and then they had to cross to the other side. Henry had visited Southwark on a few occasions, but he did not regularly frequent the less salubrious neighbourhoods. He had felt a prickle of anxiety about taking Miss Shepherd there, but he had meant what he said earlier when he’d explained it might be their only chance of seeing Mr Peterson. With the warm weather looking set to continue, many of those who had stayed in London these last few weeks were finally quitting the capital for their cooler country estates.

They walked in silence for a while but, as they did, Henry sensed some of the tension Miss Shepherd had been holding ebbing away. As they approached the river he spoke softly. ‘I am sorry about last night. My behaviour was unforgiveable.’

‘We do not need to talk about it.’

‘Will you let me say what I need to say, and then we can agree never to mention it again?’

She hesitated for a moment, glancing up at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes, and then nodded.

‘I am sorry I kissed you. I know what a horrible position it puts you in, and also the possibility of a scandal would hurt you immeasurably. I would like to tell you I am not normally that reckless, which is the truth, but losing control is unforgiveable.’ He took a deep breath, needing to acknowledge more. He did not want her thinking she didn’t deserve his full consideration. ‘I compromised you, Miss Shepherd, and I am well aware I should be making arrangements for our union, of taking your hand and proposing.’

She looked at him sharply and he hurried on.

‘I like you and I respect you, but I cannot marry you.’

‘I have not asked you to,’ she said, an edge of anger in her voice.