Never Trust a Rogue (17 page)

The girl’s fingers felt warm and strong despite their dainty appearance. “Do you trust me?” Lindsey asked.

Jocelyn bit her lip. “I suppose so.”

“Then let me explain how Farah improved. It was my ayah, Kasi, who helped the girl’s muscles regain strength. Kasi accomplished it by massaging Farah’s legs every day.”

Lindsey nodded at the old Hindu nurse. She was half-afraid Kasi might refuse to cooperate. On the walk here, Lindsey had had to use considerable persuasion to convince the ayah to give her assistance.

Thankfully, Kasi appeared more biddable now. She rose from her stool and trotted forward, the gold-embroidered
purple sari swishing around her plump form. Her raisin brown eyes regarded Jocelyn with the softness of compassion.

Lindsey reached for the white blanket. “If it meets with your approval, she’ll demonstrate the method to you.”

Jocelyn gasped, slapping her palms down to hold the coverlet in place. “You mean . . . right now? Aren’t you going to ask Lord Mansfield’s permission? He would want to have the approval of my physician.”

Lindsey already knew what the earl would say. His pronouncement echoed in her memory.
You know little of her medical condition. I would sooner trust the guidance of her doctor. And he has been adamant in his assertion that she’s to be protected from any type of stimulation.

Unfortunately, the physician sounded like a strict curmudgeon who would never consider any homespun treatment that didn’t appear in his medical books, especially if it was administered by a foreigner. And there could be little doubt that Mansfield would concur with whatever the doctor proclaimed.

Yet the diagnosis kept Jocelyn confined and helpless—and that was something Lindsey could not abide. If there was any chance at all that the girl could recover, Lindsey firmly believed it was worth pursuing.

“Lord Mansfield needn’t know,” she said. “We’ll keep it our little secret until you’ve made sufficient progress in regaining your strength. Don’t you think it would be a wonderful surprise if you were to stand up one day and walk to him?”

A tentative smile bloomed on Jocelyn’s lips, and she gave a small nod. “I do want to . . . but . . .”

“Linds is right; you must at least attempt it,” Blythe urged. “Just imagine yourself strolling with me from shop to shop on Bond Street. We could try on all the gowns at the dressmaker’s. It will be great fun.”

While Jocelyn was distracted, Lindsey drew off the blanket. She pushed up the girl’s yellow skirt, discreetly avoiding staring at those thin shrunken limbs, encased in white silk stockings. Kasi bent over the chaise, her brown hands massaging Jocelyn’s calf in smooth strokes.

“Gently now,” Lindsey warned, “until she grows accustomed to it. Does it hurt, Jocelyn?”

The girl shook her head as she watched dubiously. After a moment she added, “But do you really believe this will work?”

The hopeful look she aimed at Lindsey broke her heart. “There’s no guarantee, but it’s certainly worth the effort, don’t you think? Now, you’ll need to have someone rub your legs like this at least twice a day. I’ll find Fisk so that Kasi can teach her how to do it for you.”

“The bell rope is over there,” Jocelyn said, nodding toward the fireplace.

Lindsey went to tug on the braided cord. Little did anyone know, she wanted to slip out of the room for a short while. She cast about for another reason. “It might be soothing if I were to read to you to help pass the time. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll find a book. Blythe, stay here and talk to Jocelyn while I’m gone.”

Lindsey hastened from the sitting room and shut the door behind her. Thankfully, the corridor was empty in either direction, the only observer an old-fashioned lady in a portrait on the opposite wall who appeared to be staring balefully at her. Lindsey aimed a distracted frown at the painting before setting out to have a look through the rooms on the side adjacent to Mansfield’s town house.

According to Jocelyn, he’d gone out this morning. That meant there was little risk of an accidental encounter. She would never have a better opportunity to find a piece of evidence that proved Mansfield was the Serpentine Strangler.

But time was of the essence. If she was gone more than ten or fifteen minutes, Jocelyn might send a servant in search of her.

Her slippers tapping on the marble floor, Lindsey peeked into an elegant blue dining chamber and then a formal drawing room. A housemaid who was polishing the baseboards gave Lindsey a curious glance before returning to her labor.

Intent on her quest, Lindsey hastened down a back staircase to the ground floor. She struck gold in the first room to her left. It was a library that looked very similar to the one in Mansfield’s residence, with windows facing the back garden, cozy groupings of chairs, and an array of tables for writing. Here, at last, she spied the object of her search.

On the far wall stood the connecting door that must lead into his house.

As he descended the stairs on his way to the library, Thane was in a foul humor. Nothing whatsoever had gone according to plan today. Having risen early, he had visited Bow Street to speak to the chief magistrate, only to discover the man was tied up in a court hearing.

Next, he’d paid a call on the employers of the second murdered maidservant, Dorothy Huddleston. But Lord and Lady Farthingale were indisposed with a matching case of the chills.

Finally, he had returned home to see if Bernard had discovered anything about the latest victim through the network of below-stairs gossip. However, he had gone out on an errand and no one on the staff knew precisely when he’d return.

Thane decided he might as well use the time to check on Jocelyn. He normally did so at least once a day, but of late he’d been sorely neglectful of his ward. Even though he hardly knew how to make conversation with a fifteen-year-old girl, she was always delighted to see him and crestfallen at his departure. His actions—or lack thereof—stirred an uncomfortable feeling in him that he acknowledged was guilt.

Her father, Captain James Nevingford, had been Thane’s best friend since their early days together in the
cavalry. Even after all these months, it was still wrenching to think that James and his beloved wife, Sarah, were gone forever. Before Waterloo, James had secured Thane’s promise that in the event of his death, Thane would see to the care and education of his only child, Jocelyn. The terrible irony was that James had survived the rigors of the battlefield only to die in a carriage accident in Belgium that left his daughter crippled.

Accordingly, Thane had obtained the best physicians for Jocelyn. Once her bones were healed sufficiently for her to make the sea voyage across the Channel, he had brought the girl here to London and consulted with one of the king’s own doctors, who had examined her wasted muscles. Thane had been told that due to the strain on her delicate nature, she likely would never walk again. He had attempted to compensate for the grim prognosis by supplying Jocelyn with every creature comfort: a fine home, plenty of books and games, art lessons every other afternoon, and a host of servants to attend to her every need.

Do you ever take her on outings, to places where she can meet people her own age?

Lindsey Crompton’s sharp question continued to gnaw at him. Perhaps she was right, he had not done enough to secure Jocelyn’s happiness. That could be why his ward often had days when she was petulant and moody. He himself would behave like a caged bear if forced to sit day after day within four walls, never getting out to experience the world.

It was time he rectified the matter.

Striding into the library, he headed toward the connecting door. A fine Aubusson rug muffled his footfalls. This room brought to mind the memory of discovering Lindsey here, garbed as a maidservant and scrubbing the wood floor.

He wasn’t sorry for using the incident to coerce her into the promise of a betrothal. Her actions had been reckless, her mission to steal the IOU foolish. It was highly unlikely that securing proof of Wrayford’s debt would deter Mrs. Edith Crompton from the ambition to see her daughter marry the heir to a dukedom. Society swarmed with ruthless mothers intent on matchmaking. And Lindsey was too naïve to know how to stop Wrayford from taking advantage of her.

Once the blackguard had secured her hand—and her fortune—in marriage, he could set the stage for murder. A convenient fall down the stairs, a dose of arsenic in her food, and her immense dowry would belong to Wrayford with no strings attached.

Thane clenched his jaw. Never would he allow such a crime to transpire—even if it meant having to wed her himself. Lindsey Crompton might be clever, but she was a babe in the woods when it came to dealing with scoundrels like Wrayford. She could have no notion that the man might very well be the Serpentine Strangler.

Or even that the scapegrace led a secret life that would put any decent lady to the blush.

Reaching the connecting door, Thane turned the knob. There was no need to knock, since Jocelyn spent her days upstairs in a cozy sitting room. She seldom had visitors, which meant only he and the servants frequented the ground floor.

He pushed open the door and stepped into a library that was similar to his own. The main difference was the contents of the shelves. While he owned an extensive collection of legal treatises, weighty biographies, and volumes on battlefield history, for Jocelyn he’d provided an array of educational and inspirational books more suited to a young lady, along with a few novels, including those by the Prince Regent’s favorite, Jane Austen. Any book Jocelyn
desired could be fetched by Fisk or one of the other servants.

The room was dim and quiet, the chairs empty, and the hearth cold. A pair of large oak tables provided places to sit and write in comfort. But almost immediately Thane sensed he wasn’t alone.

He had taken only two steps when his peripheral vision caught sight of someone standing to the left of him. Turning sharply, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Miss Lindsey Crompton was perusing the shelves.

Or at least she was pretending to do so. Her head was tilted slightly so she could observe him from the corner of her eye. An upsweep of dark chestnut curls revealed the swanlike curve of her neck. Slim and feminine, she wore a pale blue gown with a scoop neckline that revealed a tantalizing hint of her charms.

His gaze lingered a moment on those mounds of creamy flesh. He had to tamp down a surge of lust and force his eyes back to hers.

“Well, well. This is quite the surprise.”

“Oh! Good morning, my lord. I do hope you don’t mind my coming to visit Jocelyn without first asking your permission. I was just now seeking a book to read to her.” She plucked a volume at random from the shelf and riffled the pages. “This one looks interesting.”

She was talking too fast and her manner had a skittishness that stirred his suspicion. “I didn’t see your carriage out front,” he said.

“I walked here in the company of my sister and my maid Kasi. It’s a lovely day for a stroll, sunny yet brisk and cool.”

Thane took a step closer. The light allure of her perfume distracted him, but only for a moment. Her presence so near the connecting door was too convenient to be mere coincidence.

He took the book out of her hand and scanned the cover. “This is a geography text. It’s for Jocelyn’s schooling, not for pleasure reading.”

Those blue eyes rounded. “I was hoping to show her where I grew up in India. And I thought she might like to point out to me where she’s lived, since she and her mother followed the drum.”

While talking, Lindsey lowered her lashes slightly. That siren aura of mystery didn’t fool him—at least not for longer than one overheated moment of fantasy in which he envisioned their naked bodies entwined in wild passion.

He replaced the book on the shelf. “Enough with the fibs. You were planning to sneak into my house again, weren’t you? Don’t deny it. You still want that blasted IOU.”

She elevated her chin. “Believe what you will, my lord. It matters naught to me.”

Thane was accustomed to women flirting with him, paying him deference, or at the very least treating him with the proper respect due his rank. He had never before met a lady who cared so little for his regard.

Nor one he so dearly wanted to tame.

Half-irritated and half-amused, he closed the gap between them, crowding her against the bookshelf. He braced his arms on either side of her so that she was trapped in place. “I see you’ve learned little from that time when I caught you snooping in my house. You’re still as audacious as ever.”

Her breath caught in a little gasp that was pure enticement, although he was sure she didn’t mean it that way. Lifting her hands, she pushed against his encircling arms. “And you’re still as overbearing. Now kindly keep your distance.”

With any other female, Thane would have heeded her
wishes and stepped away. But Lindsey Crompton impaired his ability to think rationally. He was too enamored by the feel of her womanly form brushing against him.

He bent his head closer, the better to breathe in the intoxicating scent of her skin. “I must warn you to cease your wriggling,” he murmured. “With the wrong man, such careless behavior could result in retribution.”

She regarded him challengingly from beneath the screen of her dark lashes. “Oh? I would have called
you
the wrong man—”