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knew about the glove. He hadn’t mishandled the information. His lips thinned.
    The War Office must have a leak. A traitor explained it all, and it wasn’t the first time. Greed was a powerful motivator.
    Someone on the inside spied for the Black Dahlia.
    Benny jerked his coat down. “Now see ’ere! You can’t push me around this way.”
    Derek dropped a hefty bag of coins into the man’s hands.
    Benny’s grin returned at the heavy clunk of metal. “It’s been a pleasure, m’lord.”
    “Inform me immediately when something is uncovered.”
    Benny tossed the bag in the air, catching it in a grimy fist. “You’re the boss.”
    Derek didn’t respond. He didn’t say a word to his driver on the way to the Morrisons’ ball, the footman who opened the carriage door, or the guests who waited in line to greet the host and hostess.
    Lady Morrison was the third wife of the Earl of Clarence, and by the looks of her low décolletage, she hunted for a lover.
    “Viscount Lawrence, what a pleasure to see you this evening,” she purred.
    He bowed over her hand politely. “The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for inviting me.”
    She flirted with him through her lashes, and Derek barely held back his temper when she brushed her bosom against him. He was sick of the games, sick of the deceit.
    Lord, if society knew how he truly felt, about his faintly veiled boredom, his masked repugnance for indulgent rakes who wasted both fortunes and time, and his loathing for those of his own station who used their position to crush others for their own gain, he wouldn’t be received anywhere.
    “We couldn’t do without you,” she purred again. He almost wished the woman would cough already and quit using that ridiculous tone. “Perhaps I could give you a tour later. A private one,” she added.
    A tight smile stretched his lips. “I would enjoy that,” he said, having no intention of doing so, but refusing to embarrass her.
    “As would I.”
    Derek barely suppressed a shudder as he headed into the ballroom. He was ready to get away from this life, and there was only one thing holding him back.
    Charlotte.
    His task wasn’t merely to gather information now, but to protect her life. He needed to find her. Now.
    He nodded to an acquaintance, but didn’t accept the offer for further conversation. He scanned the room’s perimeter, systematically working his way through the crowd in search of flaxen locks.
    When his gaze landed on Charlotte twirling around the floor, laughter floating from her lips, his blood heated. Soft candlelight flattered most people, but it caressed her skin in a way that made it look like cream or the softest, most delicate silk he had ever seen. Her cerulean eyes twinkled from this distance, and a bolt of lust shot through him so viciously it robbed him of breath.
    As he stormed across the room, dodging swirling couples, he told himself it was because he urgently needed to speak with her, because her life was in danger and he needed to protect her. It was his duty, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that one of the most notorious rakes in society had his hand on her waist.
    His fist clenched.
    “May I cut in?” Derek asked with an edge but didn’t bother to wait for a reply. He bundled a spluttering Charlotte in his arms and wove into the crowd of dancers, leaving Lord Bartholomew glowering after them.
    “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, glancing around the room. “Everyone’s watching.”
    Time was precious, but he felt his lips curling. “Why?”
    Her mouth dropped open. “You can’t be that obtuse.”
    “Enlighten me.” He twirled her, bringing her closer into the shelter of his body on her return. Only his training kept him from groaning. She fit against him perfectly.
    “You stole me from Lord Bartholomew. Everyone thinks there’s something going on between us now. That you have an interest in me.”
    “Perhaps I do.”
    Her eyes leveled his.