Never Trust a Rogue (20 page)

Edith would never, ever allow that to happen. She had not achieved entry to high society without having strength of will.

“Follow me,” she told Kasi. “I want a word with you in private.”

But no sooner had Edith turned toward the house when she caught sight of a landau heading down the street on the opposite side of the square from where Lord Wrayford’s carriage had disappeared. Something made her pause to observe its approach.

A coachman sat on the high seat, driving a matched pair of blacks. With a shock, Edith recognized the gentleman riding in the back. Her sharp eyes could just make out his boldly handsome, scarred face. A young woman, bundled in blankets against the cool spring weather, perched beside him.

Edith amended her order to Kasi: “Go to my boudoir at once. I’ll see you there shortly.”

The Hindu bowed and disappeared into the mansion. Edith proceeded inside as well, for the earl must be coming here to call and she did not wish for their conversation to take place outside on the steps. She instructed the footman on duty in the entrance hall to send any visitors to her in the green sitting room.

Who was the girl with Lord Mansfield? His ward?

Pursing her lips, Edith headed for the chamber down the corridor, her footsteps ringing on the marble floor. If he was intending to introduce Lindsey to his ward, then he must be very serious indeed about winning her hand. And there were already signs that Lindsey harbored a preference for him.

No wonder the little minx had been watching out the front window of the drawing room. Lindsey must have been intending to sneak out of the house to join him. She had taken a shine to Lord Mansfield, and that was something Edith could never allow.

“If you don’t mind,” Lindsey said, “I should like to make a stop on our way to the park. A brief detour to your home.”

Lord Wrayford’s pale blue eyes bugged out as he swung to stare at her. He fumbled the reins, causing the bay gelding to swing his head from side to side and snort a protest. “What’s that you say? You want to go to my
house
?”

“Yes. You see, at your ball, I lost one of my best diamond
earbobs. Do you know if any of your maids might have found it?”

“Uh . . . not that I’ve been informed.”

“Well, it may have rolled out of sight beneath a piece of furniture. In truth, I believe I may know exactly where I dropped it. I hope you won’t mind my taking a quick peek.”

He arched his sandy eyebrows. “Certainly not, Miss Crompton. Your wish is my command!”

As he returned his attention back to the street, Lindsey caught the occasional calculating glance he sent her way. Of course, the buffoon must be pondering how to use her request to his advantage. He would see it as a chance to compromise her, to force her hand in marriage. Too bad for him, she had no intention of letting that happen.

Striving for serenity, she kept her gloved hands folded in her lap as he turned the phaeton onto Bruton Street with its row of stately redbrick residences. Had Mansfield arrived at her house yet? Would he—and Jocelyn—be disappointed to find her gone?

Lindsey banished the troubling thought. At present, she had more important things to occupy her, the first of which was gaining entry to Lord Wrayford’s house and accomplishing her purpose there without his interference.

Midway along the block, he stopped the carriage and clambered down to secure the reins. Lindsey quickly descended from the high perch before he could come around to help her. She shuddered to imagine his hands on her waist, the way Mansfield had done when he’d assisted her.

Not that she wanted the earl touching her, either. All men liked to show their superiority over women and to keep them as possessions. Lindsey had no intention of spending her life under the rule of any male.

She glided to the iron post where Wrayford was
securing the leather ribbons. “Thank you for being so kind. Now I must ask you to wait right here.”

“What?” he said, his florid face exhibiting displeasure. “I thought you said you wanted to have a look around my house.”

“It’s best that I do so alone. If you accompany me, people will find out and gossip. They’ll spread rumors and ruin my good name. You wouldn’t wish to embroil a lady in scandal, now would you?”

Wrayford looked as if he would relish doing just that—and much more. His detestable gaze kept flitting to her bosom. With the corners of his mouth turned downward and his lower lip jutted out, he resembled an overgrown schoolboy who had been denied a sweet.

“No one will know if we hurry on inside very quickly,” he countered, grabbing for her arm.

She pulled free. “It’s too late. The neighbors are already watching us. Just now I saw someone peering out the window across the street. If you dare to follow me inside, you’ll ruin not just me but your own standing in society as well.”

“Oh, balderdash. It was probably a servant.”

He swung his head around to inspect the opposite house and Lindsey seized the opportunity to mount the three steps to his porch. She rapped hard with the brass knocker. The claret red door swung open to reveal a tall footman in green livery with shiny brass buttons.

“Good morning,” she said. “Your master has granted me permission to fetch something that I left here. He’ll be waiting for me outside.”

The servant bowed, revealing the top of his curly white wig. “Aye, m’lady.”

As she stepped into the shabby foyer, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Much to her relief, Lord Wrayford paced back and forth beside the carriage. He was sulking,
his arms folded and his chin lowered in displeasure. Lindsey suspected she had only a limited amount of time before he would lose patience and come after her.

The footman shut the door. Continuing with her ruse, she explained, “I lost a diamond earbob during Lord Wrayford’s ball. The last time I recall noticing it was when I went to his study. I’d like to have a look around there.”

“Aye, m’lady.”

Like most footmen, he was a young, handsome man, but his blue eyes were vacuous, his features devoid of intellect. He just stood there, staring dumbly at her.

“Will you be so kind as to show me to the study?” she prompted.

“Oh . . . aye, m’lady.”

He plodded off down a dim corridor, and Lindsey followed at his heels. She already knew the way from her previous visit here. But she needed to question one of the staff and this footman would have to do.

He led her inside the shadowy room, then turned as if to leave.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Me? Buttery, miss. Buttery, I am, but don’t serve me up on toast.” Blushing, he ran his finger under his high collar. “ ’Tis a jest me mam used t’ say.”

Lindsey smiled politely. “Do open the draperies, Buttery. I’ll need the light in order to see.”

As he went to do her bidding, Lindsey strolled around the shabby study, making a pretense of peering beneath the chairs, then under the old desk where she had found the IOU on that fateful night when she’d met Lord Mansfield. The stale odor of tobacco smoke permeated the air. As the draperies were drawn back, daylight illuminated the shelves of musty, ancient books.

“There was a maidservant I encountered here on the
evening of His Lordship’s ball,” Lindsey said. “I wonder if you might know her name. She was quite pretty, about my height, with fair hair.”

Lindsey burned to question the woman who had been with Lord Mansfield that night. He’d had his arm around her as he’d ushered her into the study. Clearly expecting the room to be deserted, he had brought the woman here in the midst of a party.

Why?

Her stomach twisted. He must have wanted to engage in a tryst—because what other purpose could there be for a gentleman to seek out the companionship of a comely maidservant?

Unless he also intended to murder her. . . .

The footman furrowed his brow. He stared up at the yellowed paint of the ceiling as if searching the cobwebs of his mind for the identity of the woman. “Must’ve been Tilly, I s’pose.”

“If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like a word with Tilly. She might know what happened to my diamond earbob.”

“Are ye sayin’ . . . she nicked it?”

“No, of course not. I’m certain it was merely mislaid. But since she passed by this room at the same time as I did, I thought perhaps she might have seen where the earbob dropped.”

The excuse sounded impossibly contrived, yet Buttery didn’t question it. He continued to stand there, gazing at Lindsey and shifting from one foot to the other.

“Well?” she prompted. “Will you please go and ask Tilly to come here at once?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Can’t, m’lady. ’Tis impossible. Ye see, Tilly’s gone.”

Foreboding slid down her spine. “Gone where?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She quit ’ere the day after the ball.”

“I’m afraid my daughter must have changed her mind about your invitation. She isn’t at home today.”

Elegant and slender, Mrs. Edith Crompton sat embroidering a handkerchief by the hearth, her dainty fingers drawing the white thread in and out of the linen square. An expression of tranquil politeness graced her face, as one would expect of any lady of society. Yet as she glanced from her sewing to him Thane recognized the hardness of resolve in the arch of her brow and the firmness of her chin. He found himself admiring her iron will even as he silently cursed her determination to bar him from Lindsey’s company.

Clearly, he had a rocky road to travel before he won over Lindsey’s family.

“May I inquire where she’s gone?” Thane asked. “Perhaps she means to return in time for our appointment.”

“Hardly,” Mrs. Crompton said with studied sympathy. “In truth, you’ve only just missed her. A few minutes ago, she went for a drive with Lord Wrayford.”

His gut tightened with alarm. “With Wrayford? Good God!”

So he’d been right to think he’d glimpsed that villain’s fancy yellow phaeton leaving the square. Blast himself for a fool! He ought to have had the sense to give chase.
Not, of course, that the cumbersome landau could have kept up with the lighter vehicle. And he had Jocelyn to consider, who was waiting outside with the coachman.

Mrs. Crompton frowned. “I’m sorry if you consider Lord Wrayford to be a rival for my daughter’s affections. But that is no excuse for you to use our heavenly Father’s name in vain.”

“I beg your pardon.” Thane took a step toward her. “Tell me, where were they heading?”

“I hardly think that is any concern of yours.”

“It is indeed my concern. You see—”

Running his fingers through his hair, Thane bit off his words. No doubt Mrs. Crompton already knew Wrayford was a philanderer who would never keep his marriage vows, a gamester who would squander Lindsey’s fortune within a year. Maybe she didn’t care so long as she could purchase a ducal coronet for her daughter.

However, the woman couldn’t possibly know that Wrayford was under suspicion of murder. Or that Thane was compelled to keep the investigation a secret until he could find irrefutable proof of Wrayford’s culpability.

Mrs. Crompton let the embroidery fall to her lap. “Let me be quite frank, my lord,” she said, fixing him with a resolute stare. “I wouldn’t recommend your pursuing Lindsey any further. Her schedule is quite full, and I rather doubt she’ll be interested in seeking your company anytime in the near future. You see, she informed me this very morning that she wants nothing more to do with you.”

Thane stood stock-still. Had Lindsey confessed to her mother about his attempt to seduce her? Surely not. Mrs. Crompton had to be spinning a tall tale in order to discourage his courtship.

Yet Lindsey had been furious with him the previous day, angry enough to strike out at him with that blasted
letter opener. She must have accepted his invitation out of kindness toward his ward and then had second thoughts. Apparently, not even her charitable feelings for Jocelyn could induce Lindsey to spend a few hours in his company. And now, to avoid him, she had gone off with Wrayford.

The sharp teeth of guilt nipped at Thane. By his own actions he may have inadvertently pushed her into the arms of a killer.

Lindsey sent Buttery below stairs to fetch the housekeeper, since pulling the bell rope would summon only a maid and waste precious minutes. With Lord Wrayford impatiently waiting outside with the carriage, Lindsey couldn’t afford any delays.

She paced the threadbare rug in the study while considering the troubling new development. Another servant associated with Mansfield had vanished under peculiar circumstances. Lindsey herself had seen fair-haired Tilly in his company on the night of Wrayford’s ball.

Her disappearance was too significant an event to be mere coincidence. Not when the same thing had happened to Nelda.

Yet a part of Lindsey balked at believing Mansfield was capable of cold-blooded murder. He had served honorably in the cavalry for many years. He had shown true concern for Jocelyn and had showered his ward with all manner of luxuries. For the most part, he had behaved as a proper gentleman—except when it came to seducing women.

Memory swept her into the quagmire of bodily desire. From the moment he had taken her into his arms, she had been wild for his kisses, eager for his touch in places that made her blush to recall. No other man had ever had so profound an effect on her. It was as if the earl had
administered a love potion that had erased all her reason and logic.