“Jonathan and I will begin inquiries,” he said. “Quietly. Mrs. Tallow believed the mother was hiding from someone influential. If that is true, then haste matters.”
Victoria fell silent for a moment, staring into the fire. Then she said, “I want to go with you.”
Richard turned sharply. “No.”
Her head snapped toward him. “No?”
“It is not a place for you,” he said at once, the words clipped. “You are a duchess. Soho is dangerous, unsuitable, and beneath the protection you ought to have.”
“And not for you?” she asked coolly. “Do you imagine there will be no whispers if you are seen there alone? A duke wandering Soho? They will assume brothels. A mistress. Or worse.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“With me,” she went on, rising from her chair, “it will look like a married couple on an errand. Perhaps an eccentric one, but respectable. And if we find the seamstress, most ideally, or Melody’s mother, she is far more likely to trust another woman than a duke who embodies everything she fears.”
Richard’s jaw tightened. “You assume she fears me.”
“I assume she fears men with power,” Victoria said quietly. “Which includes you, whether you like it or not.”
She stepped closer, the space between them narrowing. Richard became acutely aware of her size beside him. Victoria was petite, yes, but not fragile. Slightly curvy beneath her gown, composed and steady, her presence drew his focus against his will. He could see the pulse at her throat, the firelight reflecting in her eyes.
“She left the child at our home,” he said. “She may already trust me.”
“Or she may have been desperate,” Victoria replied. “And desperation does not equal trust.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I want to meet her,” Victoria added, more softly now. “Not because I doubt you.” She hesitated. “But because … if I were in her place, I would want someone to look at me without judgment. Someone who understands what it means to give something up.”
Richard searched her face, noting the resolve there … and something else. A quiet protectiveness that mirrored his own, though it came from a different place. He wondered when Melody had ceased being an obligation to her and begun to matter in ways neither of them had anticipated.
“You would be placing yourself at risk,” he said, his voice lower now. “And I—” He stopped himself.
And I would not forgive myself, he did not say.
Victoria tilted her head, studying him with that infuriating perceptiveness of hers. “I understand where your caution stems from.”
He tensed. She knew about his past; everyone in London did. And he himself had laid it all out before her when he’d proposed. The feud, the violence, the promise of peace.
And she’d still accepted his offer.
“So you understand why I cannot accept what you’re suggesting,” he replied.
Her expression softened, just enough to undo him. “I will not be reckless,” she said. “But I will not be excluded, either.”
Richard looked away, toward the fire, then back at her. The pull between them hung thick in the air.
“Very well,” he said at last. “We will go together.”
Her shoulders eased, relief flickering across her face before she masked it. “Thank you.”
“This does not mean I approve,” he added.
“Of course not.”
“And you will follow my lead.”
She smiled faintly. “I always do.”
