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He offered his arm. She hesitated, then took it as they crossed the road. “Is something troubling you?” he asked.
“Did the duke mention an invitation to dinner at Lady Melforth’s?”
“No.” He didn’t meet her gaze. “What dinner party?”
She made herself keep walking in spite of the evasion. It was a reminder that he was not perfectly open with her. “Lady Melforth has invited a few friends to celebrate the book’s near release and our betrothal.” She expected him to groan, but his thoughts seemed elsewhere.
They reached the high street and began to stroll south toward Mayfair before he spoke again. “A large or small party?”
“Small, but nevertheless, we must keep up our…pretense.” What bothered her about the party was that it felt like an end rather than a celebration.
“Are you worried you might slip up?” he asked.
She stopped and turned on him. “Me? Why would I slip up?”
He was looking at her lips. She clamped her mouth shut.
“You might not know about the duke’s once notorious mother or his famous brothers. Or what happened to him as a boy.”
“What did happen to him as a boy? You never mentioned that before.”
He shrugged. “Ancient history. Who is on the guest list?”
“Besides the duke and duchess? My aunt Louisa and my uncle Sir Oswald Atwood, the Strydes, and Dr. Newberry.”
He whistled. “We will be in dangerous waters!”
“Especially with the Strydes. There’s something I must tell you about them. They are quite likely furious with me.” She knew he would appreciate the story.
“More than usual? Why?”
“They were arrested.”
His brows went up. “Whatever for?”
“They went to Babylon Street.”
“To have their pockets picked?”
“To aid the police in a raid on a publisher.” Viv grinned at him. “Mr. Stryde had a guide to the Bowers of Venus in his pocket, and Mrs. Stryde whacked a constable with her umbrella to save her husband.”
He gave a short, sharp bark of laughter, his eyes alight with unholy merriment. “And you have been enjoying the sweet satisfaction of their embarrassment. But now, you fear their revenge. Have they been released?”
“Yes, Dr. Newberry told me the Anti-Vice Society protects its own.”
“Ah,” he said, sobering at once.
“What’s ah supposed to mean?”
“Newberry looks out for you, does he?”
“I suppose he does. Anyway, Newberry doesn’t matter. What matters is that we need a plan for this dinner.”
“You mean our Waterloo strategy. It’s worked before.”
Viv thought he was entirely too confident. She did not know how they might be exposed, she just felt the danger. She could imagine the conversation coming to a halt and all eyes turning on them, seeing through their pretense, Lady Melforth’s trust in Viv drying up like puddles on the paving stones. “You like risk. You think we can just sprinkle Waterloo into the conversation like salt at every uncomfortable turn.”
He straightened his tie and cleared his throat. “As easy as a waterman navigating the Thames under the Waterloo Bridge.”
