A Dangerous Pursuit (Regency Spies & Secrets Book 1), Laura Beers [romantic books to read TXT] 📗

Baldwin frowned. Why in the blazes is she avoiding my gaze, he wondered. He cleared his throat. “My brother mentioned that you might have some questions for me.”

Her eyes snapped towards his. “I do.”

“By all means, ask away,” he replied, finding himself pleased that she was now looking at him.

“Do you truly mean that?”

“I do.”

Miss Dowding pressed her lips together before asking, “Why are you associating with disreputable people in the rookeries?”

“There is a very simple explanation, but I didn’t want to tell you until now.”

“Which is?”

Baldwin leaned closer to her and said, “I was scouting locations for the workhouses in the rookeries, and I happened upon men who informed me about the missing girls. I befriended them only in the hopes of discovering the girls’ location.”

Miss Dowding eyed him critically. “I thought you weren’t in support of Lord Desmond’s bill.”

“I’m not, but I am in support of building workhouses for the poor,” he explained. “Insomuch that I plan to fund a portion of the project myself.”

“Are you in earnest?”

Baldwin nodded, knowing that Miss Dowding was easily falling for his lies. A part of him almost felt bad for lying to her. Almost. “I am.”

Her eyes softened as she watched him. “I believe I misjudged you, Lord Hawthorne,” she hesitated before adding, “again.”

Smiling, he said, “I believe we are both guilty of that.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“We couldn’t take a chance that it would be leaked to the newspapers,” he shared. “After all, a marquess doesn’t typically stroll around the rookeries with his brother and friend.”

A small smile caused Miss Dowding’s perfectly formed lips to curve delightfully. He found his eyes lingering on them as she said, “I find what you are doing admirable.”

“You mustn’t tell anyone,” Baldwin insisted. “We still haven’t found a way to fund the rest of the workhouses.”

“I would like to match whatever donation it is that you are contributing.”

“You would?”

Miss Dowding tilted her head and commented, “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” he replied. “I hadn’t even considered you would be willing to donate to the workhouses.”

“And why wouldn’t I?” she questioned. “I find building workhouses in the rookeries to be an exemplary thing, and I have more money than I can spend in two lifetimes.”

Baldwin had to admit that his opinion of Miss Dowding rose significantly. He hadn’t met a more charitable person before, nor did he think he ever would again.

“You are a formidable woman,” he said softly.

“That is kind of you to say, my lord, but I am only doing what my conscience dictates.”

The music stopped, and Baldwin found that he was not finished conversing with Miss Dowding. He took her left hand and placed it in the crook of his arm.

“Would you care to go walking in the gardens?” he asked.

“That sounds lovely.”

As he led her towards the French doors, he noticed that Mrs. Foster followed discreetly behind them. They started down a footpath leading to the center of the gardens, where a pool glistened in the moonlight.

“Would you care to sit?” he asked, stopping near one of the iron benches encircling the water.

“I would,” she replied, and gracefully lowered herself onto the bench.

Claiming the seat next to her, Baldwin shifted to face her and found himself rendered speechless at the way the moonlight lit up her enchanting face, forcing him to recognize that he had never met a more beautiful woman than Miss Dowding.

He had a sudden desire to learn everything he could about her. Before he could stop himself, he said, “Tell me about your childhood.”

“I had a happy childhood,” she shared. “My mother made sure of that. Before I was sent to boarding school, we spent our days riding on our estate and visiting people in the village. We were always bringing a basket of food to someone in need.”

“Your mother sounds like a wonderful person.”

Miss Dowding grew silent. “She was,” she finally said. “I was lucky to have her for as long as I did.”

“Why do you say that?”

“We were in London when my mother grew sick, and the doctor recommended that we adjourn to the country for the fresh air,” Miss Dowding explained. “But, for the next four months, I watched my mother wither away.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was, but it was harder on my mother.”

Baldwin looked at her curiously. “Why do you say that?”

“She hated being trapped in bed with her weak heart, and she hated that I had to care for her,” Miss Dowding shared. “She felt that she was a burden to me.”

“Was she?”

Miss Dowding huffed. “Heavens, no. Every moment I spent with my mother was a gift. But she couldn’t see that, and she grew more and more despondent.”

“That must have been hard to watch.”

Tears came to her eyes, but Miss Dowding blinked them back. “I tried to stop her…” Her words trailed off as her face paled.

“What did you try to stop?”

“Nothing,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Forget that I said anything.”

Baldwin leaned closer to her and said, “You can trust me, Miss Dowding.”

Miss Dowding dropped her gaze to her lap. “I do not wish to burden you with my shame,” she murmured.

Reaching over, he picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. As her hand hovered near his mouth, he said, “Nothing that you say will ever frighten me away from being your friend.”

“This might,” she said, her eyes filled with sadness. “I haven’t been able to speak of it with anyone else.”

“Not even Mrs. Foster?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then you must relieve yourself of your burden,” he said. “Let me help you.”

Uncertainty crossed her delicate features as she asserted, “You must promise not to tell another soul.”

“You have my word.” Baldwin lowered her hand, but he didn’t release it.

Miss Dowding glanced down at their entwined hands. “My mother was tired of being sick, and she told me that she intended to overdose on laudanum that evening.” She swallowed slowly. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she was adamant that it