He only grinned and settled back into his chair.
“Polly invited me to the theater with her family,” she said. “May I go?”
The smile froze on his face. “Oh?” He reached for his cup, thinking rapidly. “That was very kind of her.”
“Isn’t it?” Eagerly she leaned toward him, her face alight with hope. “Please say yes, Nicky, please.”
He looked at her, trying to hide his instinctive response, which was profane and negative. It was such a simple thing, going to the theater. Polly Neale, who lived on the other side of the courtyard, was a good friend to have invited her. Charlotte almost trembled with excitement at the prospect, which made him feel cruel and heartless. Not only had he never taken her to the theater, he didn’t want to let her go now.
He let out a sigh, unconsciously shifting his sore shoulder back and forth. Fatigue was catching up to him; he was a creature of the night and it was time for him to go to bed. Instead he had to tell Charlotte no again, which would make it difficult to sleep.
Perhaps he should allow it. What could go wrong? “What is the program?” he asked, stalling for time to think.
“Oh! I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“Why would you want to see something dreadful?”
Her mouth firmed impatiently. “To see something, anything at all, would be lovely! You’re going to say no, aren’t you?”
“I should.” He rubbed his eyes.
Charlotte banged her hands on the table. “Nick! I am not a child anymore. I can’t stay locked in this house forever!”
He knew. It was the nagging fear at the back of his mind every day. She was almost fifteen now, and his sister was no longer a child but a lovely girl. Someday all too soon she’d be a beautiful woman, and Nick felt like a doomed man, trying to raise and protect her. God knew he’d seen how vile and evil the world could be, especially to attractive young women of murky history like Charlotte.
Without warning the image of Miss Greene flashed across his mind. If he accepted her offer—mad and far-fetched as it was—he could give his sister the kind of life she wanted and deserved. Before you fling aside a viscounty, remember how it can enfold and protect those near you . . .
Bloody hell. He squeezed his eyes shut. He should leave now and get some sleep before he let Charlotte’s pleading and Miss Greene’s madness lull him into doing something stupid, dangerous, or both.
“Let me speak to Mr. Neale,” he said, naming Polly’s father.
Charlotte glared at him suspiciously, but her fists uncurled. “Will you do it today? The invitation is for tomorrow evening.”
“Yes, I’ll do it today.”
“Thank you.” She beamed at him again, which made Nick feel all the worse. She should not be this excited over a simple trip to the theater.
When he left, he crossed the courtyard and rapped at the Neales’ door. The maid showed him into the small front parlor, and a moment later Charles Neale came in, still brushing crumbs from his waistcoat. “Good morning, sir!”
“Neale.” Nick nodded in greeting. “I understand you’ve planned a theater outing.”
The man smiled ruefully, obviously knowing exactly what he meant. “Polly wants to, aye. I’ve told her not to say anything, but she’s impulsive—when they get together, those girls do chatter something fierce.”
“I know.” Nick sighed. He was glad Charlotte had a friend her age, who wanted to invite her shopping and to the theater and probably all sorts of other places. “I’ll allow it. Forbes will send James to attend you.”
Neale bowed in understanding. “Polly will be so pleased, sir. Thank you, indeed.”
Nick nodded once more and left. He saw Charlotte anxiously watching him from her window, so he pasted a wide smile on his face and made a courtly bow in her direction. Her face lit up with joy, and he swore he could hear her little shriek of pleasure.
But the smile faded as he let himself out through the gate. What the devil was he to do now? When he’d brought Charlotte here as a child, it hadn’t been hard to keep watch over her. Now she was old enough to go around town without him, and he didn’t know how to respond.
Unwillingly he thought once again of Miss Greene. He imagined her blue eyes lighting up with pleasure—and relief?—if he accepted her offer. He imagined himself addressed as my lord and admitted to sit in Parliament. That almost made him laugh out loud.
But then he thought of Charlotte, dressed as a viscount’s sister, beaming with joy and excitement at being able to attend parties and balls. He pictured her learning all the ladylike manners and skills she so admired. Miss Greene was a governess; she could teach his sister everything she needed to know. Charlotte would adore that. She was as bright and curious as a kitten, but she was growing up very fast . . .
Of course, that made him think of all the terrible things that might happen to her out in London. The way men—like the so-called gentlemen who frequented his club—would look at her. What they would think of her. What some of them might try to do to her. Just thinking about it made his chest tighten and his hands flex. After all Charlotte had been through, he’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her.
Perhaps he should take the title, just to avoid being hanged for any future murders he might commit.
Nick exhaled, knowing what he had to do. Letting Charlotte attend the theater with the Neales was only the first step toward admitting he could not guard her every hour of every day for much longer. She deserved better than to be hidden away, safe from harm but also denied a normal, ordinary life.
He reached his own home after a brisk walk. The maid sweeping the front steps moved aside for him, bobbing a curtsy and murmuring, “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning,” he answered absently.
He could be a lord.
“Good morning, Mr. Dashwood,” his butler greeted him, appearing to take his hat and coat. “Mr. Forbes has sent over the receipts.”
He could have a large estate at his command.
“Thank you, Pearce.” He took the leather folio that held the accounting from last night at the Vega Club and headed to his study. After his unsettling morning with Charlotte, it would be a relief to escape into the tedium of reconciling ledgers.
And yet. He slumped in the leather chair and rubbed his eyes. It would be nothing to your status as Viscount Sydenham, whispered Emilia Greene’s voice in his head. Rubbish—even though she must know, as the granddaughter of an earl. She was from that society. She surely belonged there; she’d be a beauty in silk and jewels . . .
No. He righted his thoughts. He should be thinking of her words, not of her, and how her proposed plan would affect Charlotte, not her. She was . . . He dropped his head into both hands and groaned. She had intrigued him, and not only with her shocking proposition.
Resigned, he took out a sheet of paper and dashed off a single line. He smiled humorlessly as he sanded and folded it and wrote her direction. The note she’d given him with the information was back at Vega’s, tucked into the file of information Forbes had gathered. It was a sign of how doomed he was that he remembered it anyway.
Nick locked away the accounting and rang for Pearce. He was too tired to add up the numbers now; it was better that he get some sleep. When the butler came, Nick gave him the sealed note. “Have this delivered at once.”