Never Love a Scoundrel (5 page)

Aunt Margaret squinted at her.
“And?”
she drawled, dragging the word out thrice as long as it needed to be.

Lydia clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “I’m afraid Goodwin hadn’t spoken to his cousin on the subject.”

“Why should he?” Aunt Margaret laughed cruelly. “Goodwin’s cousin is a bloody earl. He doesn’t make time for his nothing second-cousin. You should have known that.” She lifted her chin and glared at Lydia, delivering a visual set-down to go with the verbal. “You’re a right nodcock sometimes. Have I not told you time and time again that knowledge is how we retain our place in this world?”

Lydia wasn’t a nodcock ever, but again she bit her tongue. Things were always the way Aunt Margaret saw them.
Always.
“Yes, Aunt Margaret.”

“Tonight,” Aunt Margaret began in her clearest dictatorial tone, “you will make every effort to gain an introduction to Mr. Locke, and you’ll angle for a dance. Lord knows you’ll have plenty of space on your card. You will determine what he’s doing with Lady Aldridge. And now that we know Lockwood is somehow involved, you’ll query him about his half brother as well.”

So many of these things were out of her control, not that Aunt Margaret cared. “I’ll do my best.”

Aunt Margaret nodded slightly, which had the effect of looking like preening. Or maybe it just felt that way because of the sycophantic manner in which Lydia felt beholden to address her.

Lydia turned her gaze toward the windows and the world beyond. Someday she’d have the opportunity to leave her aunt’s web of gossip, but as each year passed without a marriage proposal, Lydia began to despair that she would become a jaded spinster. Just like Aunt Margaret.

Chapter Three

LYDIA SITUATED
herself on Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s settee. Her drawing room contained six ladies, including herself—a small affair, but then Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s teas rarely saw above a dozen visitors. It was early yet, perhaps others would drop by. For now the usual attendees were present: the hostess, her spinster sister, Miss Vining, who resided with Mrs. Lloyd-Jones, her close friend, Mrs. Yarrow, and three other matrons.

Of the six, Lydia realized just one had a living husband—Lady Trevett, who was also the youngest woman in attendance aside from Lydia and a somewhat formidable gossip in her own right. How sad that most of these women were alone. Lydia imagined herself thirty years in the future with no one to keep her company save a few friends. She wouldn’t even have a young female relative to manage—not that she would ever do to anyone what Aunt Margaret had done to her.

But at least they
had
friends, something Lydia had very few of as a result of so many years dancing to Aunt Margaret’s tune. She had one close friend and had begun to acquire a few others since trying to shed herself of her reputation for gossip. She’d only be able to continue on this path if she got away from Aunt Margaret, which meant she had to find a husband.

Next to Lydia, Mrs. Lloyd-Jones was deep in conversation with Lady Trevett, who was seated on a facing settee. They were discussing the previous night’s ball, where Lydia had once again failed to draw Mr. Locke’s notice and as a result had suffered Aunt Margaret’s anger in the coach on the way home.

Lady Trevett leaned forward in her chair. “Lady Lydia, is it true you encountered Lord Lockwood the other day? I heard it from Mrs. Horwatt last night, but I didn’t have a chance to find you and obtain the real story.”

Lydia nodded. “Yes, I happened upon him outside Lady Aldridge’s. We were both there to pay a visit. Unfortunately, she was ill.”

Everyone exchanged pitying nods. “Such a shame about Lord Aldridge,” Mrs. Lloyd-Jones said. “To lose one’s husband is bad enough, but to lose him in such a fashion . . . ” She shuddered delicately. Answering murmurs of agreement filled the room.

“How did you find Lockwood?” Mrs. Yarrow asked, her eyes wide. “Is he as fearsome as they say?”

Last night, Lydia had disclosed the details—well, not
all
of the details—of their encounter to a handful of people, but each time she’d grown more irritated by their questions. It was absurd, but her experience with Lord Lockwood felt personal.
Intimate
. She was inexplicably loath to share it.

To keep herself from glaring in response, Lydia turned her gaze toward Mrs. Lloyd-Jones. She seemed to be suppressing a smile. How curious.

Mrs. Lloyd-Jones addressed Mrs. Yarrow with a firm tone. “I can’t imagine why he would appear fearsome.”

Lydia inclined her head in agreement, glad for the support. “Indeed, he was a perfect gentleman. He held the gate open for my maid and me.” Lydia strove to direct the conversation where she needed it to go: To Mr. Locke. “Did any of you speak with Mr. Locke last night?”

Mrs. Lloyd-Jones tipped her head to the side. “Mr. Locke? I thought you’d set your cap for Mr. Goodwin.”

Lydia worked to keep the conversation on its necessary path. “It’s difficult
not
to be interested in a charming gentleman who asks you to dance. But surely you must agree Mr. Locke is rather dashing. One only wonders where he’s been hiding.”

“Mr. Locke is quite handsome and terribly charming.” Lady Trevett leaned forward, her eyes intent. “How is it Lady Margaret knows he is Lord Lockwood’s son?” She quickly added, “I’m not questioning the veracity, of course. Everyone knows your aunt only speaks the truth.” Lady Trevett was smart enough to know not to cast even a smidgeon of doubt against one of Society’s most feared matrons.

Lydia cast a quick glance at Mrs. Lloyd-Jones. As a friend of Lady Lockwood’s she could likely vouch for Aunt Margaret’s declaration. However, when she said nothing, Lydia gave the answer she’d rehearsed. “My dear aunt could never reveal her source in this intimate matter, but she was familiar with the Lockwood family.”

Settling back, Lady Trevett tapped her finger against her lip. “Ah, yes, I seem to recall . . . ”

Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s butler appeared in the doorway. “Lord Lockwood, my lady.”

Every head turned at once, and the resulting gasps were audible.

Lydia had reached for her cup, but was glad she hadn’t picked it up. She likely would have dropped it. The sound of breaking china echoed her thoughts and drew everyone’s attention to Miss Vining, who stared open-mouthed at the door, her teacup in pieces at her feet. Suddenly Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s suppressed smile made sense—she’d known his arrival was imminent.

Lord Lockwood’s intimidating figure filled the doorway. Lydia’s heart hammered as she looked up at him. He was, without question, the most broad-shouldered man she’d ever seen. And quite tall, with dark hair, and of course that vicious scar running down the left side of his face.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” His deep tone filled the drawing room as he stepped over the threshold. He offered a serene smile, which drew her to stare at his scar again. Did it pain him? How had it happened? Did he hate it very much?

Lydia shook herself from her fancy and caught sight of Lady Trevett’s horrified expression. Goodness, couldn’t the woman rein in her reaction? He wasn’t ghastly to behold. Oh, but perhaps that wasn’t the cause of her distress. It was simply his scandalous presence.

Mrs. Lloyd-Jones stood abruptly. She grinned and because Lydia knew her, she knew the welcoming expression was genuine—just as everyone else’s shock was equally real. “My dear boy, do come in. I’m honored by your attendance. Indeed, I shall be the envy of every woman in Town.” She gestured to the lot of them seated about the room. “All of us will be.

“Lord Lockwood,” she said with a knowing smile, “I believe you’ve already met my dear friend Lady Lydia Prewitt.”

He moved slowly closer, and the advance seemed somehow predatory. She attributed such nonsense to his size and ignored the way the drawing room suddenly felt quite small. And warm. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lady Lydia.” He bowed and Lydia wished she’d offered her hand. What would it feel like to have a man such as him touch her? He was vice and scandal incarnate.
Delicious.
Oh confound it, there was that word again!

She smoothed her skirt as if she could gentle the thudding of her heart. “The pleasure is mine, my lord.”

“Would you care for tea?” Mrs. Lloyd-Jones asked as she sank back down onto the settee.

“Yes, thank you. No cream, and just a bit of sugar.” He looked around at the shocked faces of the other women. “I hope it’s all right I’ve invaded your drawing room.” He turned his attention to Mrs. Lloyd-Jones.

Mrs. Lloyd-Jones poured his tea and stirred in a trifle of sugar. “You are more than welcome. Please, sit.” She gestured to the rather feminine-looking, pale yellow-cushioned gilt chair situated very near Lydia.

He lowered himself to the edge of the seat, looking as if he feared he would break the piece. Perhaps he would. He was huge. Wild. Unlike any other gentleman Lydia had ever met. But then he wasn’t a gentleman, even if he had given evidence to the contrary—holding gates open for her and her maid, bowing elegantly before her.

Mrs. Lloyd-Jones finished with the tea. “Lydia, be a dear and give Lord Lockwood his teacup.”

Lydia picked up the cup and saucer and transferred them to Lord Lockwood. His fingers brushed against hers. Though they were both gloved, her imagination threatened to run away with itself from the slight contact—had he intended to touch her?

“Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s blend is excellent.” Lydia mentally chastised herself for the inane comment. Lockwood likely didn’t give a fig about tea!

Lord Lockwood’s gaze was intent, and when it was combined with that ferocious scar, he looked utterly imposing, like some warrior of old. Thankfully, he shifted his heady regard to their hostess. “I must apologize that it’s taken me so long to accept your kind invitation.”

“Not at all, my dear. Though, forgive me for saying, your presence is most remarkable,” Mrs. Lloyd-Jones said.

Miss Vining gasped again, and Lydia didn’t suppose it was due to the footman who was cleaning up the mess of her broken teacup. Mrs. Lloyd-Jones threw her sister an exasperated glance. “Bridget, pull yourself together. We’re being visited by Lord Lockwood, not Lucifer.”

Lord Lockwood cradled his teacup in his massive hands, making him seem even more masculine, if that were possible. “I’m certain there are those—perhaps even in this room—who would argue there is no distinction.” He lowered his voice and gave Mrs. Lloyd-Jones and Lydia a provocative stare. “And I wouldn’t blame them.”

Since Mrs. Lloyd-Jones had seen fit to address his attendance, Lydia saw no reason not to pursue the topic. “Why have you come today, Lord Lockwood? Is your presence here anything to do with the arrival of Mr. Locke in town?” Her heart fluttered as she waited for his response. Was it possible to offend a man who likened himself to Satan?

He returned her interest with a frank perusal. Lydia’s flesh heated, but she blamed it on the boldness of her query.

“I’ve yet to make the acquaintance of Mr. Locke,” he said. “Perhaps you can introduce me?” He sipped his tea while his eyes continued to bore into hers.

“This is hardly a suitable conversation,” Mrs. Yarrow said, giving Lydia an insistent glare. Perhaps it wasn’t polite to question a man about his rumored bastard half brother, but it wasn’t as if they all weren’t curious!

“It’s quite all right,” Lord Lockwood said, casting a knowing glance about the circle of ladies. “I’m aware of the rumors regarding Mr. Locke and myself.”

Mrs. Yarrow’s eyes widened and she blinked rapidly as her cheeks colored.

Lydia could feel the tension swirling about the room. Every single woman there wanted to ask him if Mr. Locke was indeed his bastard brother. Every woman but Lydia. She knew the truth, and not because Aunt Margaret had declared it. She knew it because Lord Lockwood’s eyes told her so.

“How is your mother?” Mrs. Lloyd-Jones asked, effectively dissipating the current of anxiety. “Her last letter said you were visiting.”

He busied himself with his teacup, keeping his eyes averted from everyone. “She’s well, thank you.” He looked up again and though he didn’t reveal the slightest bit of discomfort, Lydia had the sense his mother wasn’t as well as he claimed.

Mrs. Lloyd-Jones smiled with genuine warmth. Clearly she was an intimate friend of Lady Lockwood’s, just as Aunt Margaret had said. “I look forward to when she returns to town. She mentioned that would be soon.”

Lord Lockwood took another sip of tea. “Perhaps.”

Lady Trevett set her teacup down with a clatter. “Well, I’m afraid I must go.” She stood, smoothing the folds of her skirt with a flick of her wrist.

Lord Lockwood got to his feet. “I hope I haven’t driven you away.”

Lady Trevett pursed her lips and said nothing for a moment, as if she were trying to determine the best course of action. At length she turned to Mrs. Lloyd-Jones. “As always, thank you for tea.” Then she looked—quite expectantly, as if she were trying to communicate with her eyes—to Lydia. “I’d be happy to drop you at home, dear.”

There was no way Lydia was going to miss the opportunity to speak with Lord Lockwood. She tipped her head to the side and offered her a warm, grateful smile. “I appreciate your solicitude, Lady Trevett, but I do believe I’ll stay a bit longer.”