Never Trust a Rogue (27 page)

During that absurd speech, he steered her out the door and toward an alcove featuring a life-size marble statue of the goddess Athena. Lindsey considered yanking free, but she disliked making a scene while guests strolled the grand hall with its frescoed ceiling and massive chandelier.

A man stepped out from behind a bank of ferns. “Wrayford. I see you’re coercing women again.”

With a jolt, Lindsey found herself looking up at Mansfield. Her pulse sped up at the sight of him. He embodied the essence of masculinity in a chocolate brown coat, snowy white cravat, and fawn breeches. She yearned to catch his eye, but his hard gaze was focused on her companion.

Wrayford glowered. “Go find your own female. I’m sure Miss Crompton would be alarmed to learn how many hearts you’ve broken all over the Continent.”

Mansfield quirked his mouth in a way that resembled a snarl more than a smile, the expression enhanced by the thin scar that bisected his cheek. “Better broken hearts
than a trail of debts. Now, you will allow me to have a word alone with Miss Crompton.”

A look passed between them, and Wrayford’s tough stance wilted. With gutless bravado, he told Lindsey, “Your mother will hear about this outrage!”

He turned and stomped off into the throng of guests. Mansfield placed his hand at the small of her back, guiding her into the alcove so that they stood behind the potted ferns. The light pressure of his fingers conveyed a possessiveness that should have irked Lindsey but instead thrilled her to the core.

“Perhaps we should find someplace more private,” she murmured.

His mouth softened into a cocky grin. “I’d like nothing better than to ravish you, but now is hardly the appropriate time.”

A hot blush swept her cheeks. “I didn’t mean . . . it’s just that we mustn’t be seen together.”

His expression turning serious, he took hold of her hand and gently squeezed her fingers. “Never mind the secrecy. Now, tell me, why were you in Wrayford’s company? You should know better after witnessing his depravity the other night.”

“My mother orchestrated the meeting. She’s bound and determined that I should marry him.”

“And I am bound and determined that you shall marry
me
.” His thumb rubbed her palm in such a way that she felt the effect in a more intimate place. “Promise me you’ll keep your distance from him in the future.”

“You know I daren’t thwart the wishes of my parents. I’ll avoid Wrayford whenever possible, but I can guarantee you no more than that.” She paused, then added, “Not that I owe you any such pledge.”

Mansfield eyed her with a lazy smile. “In a matter of days, our month will be up. Then I’ll speak to your father
about our betrothal. That should put a permanent end to Wrayford’s pursuit of you.”

The reminder of their bargain ignited both alarm and longing in Lindsey. There were so many aspects to him that remained a mystery to her. Logic told her if there was anyone she needed to fear, it was Mansfield himself.

Yet his stroking of her hand spread a shivery pleasure throughout her body. With every breath, she inhaled his uniquely masculine scent. She had to struggle to keep her thoughts focused.
I am bound and determined that you shall marry me.

Was he merely in competition with Wrayford? Or did Mansfield want to claim her because he felt a deeper, richer emotion . . . like love? That second possibility filled her with a yearning so intense it frightened her.

He glanced beyond her shoulder. “Hmm. It appears we’ve been noticed.”

Lindsey turned her head to look. Through the screen of ferns, she spied her mother bearing down on them like a ship at full sail. “Oh, no. Lord Wrayford must have tattled.”

“There can be no doubt about that. Now, hold up your fan.”

Mystified, she obeyed, raising the open fan to her bosom.

Under its concealment, Mansfield tucked a folded bit of paper in between her corset and her skin. The boldness of his action caused her to gasp. The pleasure of his touch coursed over her skin, flashing downward to nestle low in her belly. It brought to mind the first time they’d met, when he’d plucked the IOU out of her bodice.

“Read my note later,” he murmured, as his fingers gave her soft breasts one last, loving stroke. “And dream of me.”

Two mornings later, a bell jingled overhead as Lindsey entered the dressmaker’s shop. On the brisk walk here, a sense of urgent anticipation had spurred her steps. Kasi had grumbled about the rush for the entire five blocks from their house.

Resembling a ripe mango in her yellowish orange sari, the ayah planted herself just inside the door. “Memsahib not like this,” she warned for the umpteenth time.

“Mama need never know. And please do be a dear and purchase the items on her list.”

Lindsey was too preoccupied to pay the servant any further heed. The broad brim of the straw bonnet framed her face as she surveyed the small establishment. Located on a lane off one of the fashionable shopping streets, this store was unfamiliar to her. Shelves of colorful fabric filled one wall. Here and there, glass cases contained buttons, lace, and other trimmings. Rolls of ribbons dangled their colorful streamers from the ceiling.

At this early hour, only a few people browsed the merchandise. A maid in a drab brown cloak was making a purchase from a shop clerk. By the light of the bow window, two ladies were paging through a book of patterns.

Anxiety twisted Lindsey’s stomach. She was a full quarter of an hour late to the appointment because Mama
had summoned her for a lecture on their plans for the day. She’d been instructed to fetch several items and return immediately so as not to delay the scheduled round of afternoon calls.

Mama knew nothing of Lindsey’s planned rendezvous with Mansfield.

Had she missed the meeting because of her tardiness? Surely not, for he’d taken the trouble of seeking her out at the musicale and slipping that note into her bodice. The brief message had conveyed an invitation to come here this morning. She doubted he would give up on her after a mere fifteen minutes.

She started toward the clerk behind the counter, intending to make inquiries once the woman finished her transaction. But the sound of girlish giggling drifted from the rear of the shop, followed by the deep tone of a man’s voice.

Her heart aflutter, Lindsey veered in that direction. She proceeded through a doorway and entered a small corridor with curtained dressing rooms on either side. Parting the drapery of one, she smiled.

Jocelyn reclined on a chaise with a copy of
La Belle Assemblée
lying open on the lap of her pale green gown. She wore her long blond hair caught back with a ribbon. Her eyes bright with mirth, she watched as Mansfield struck a pose, pretending to model a frilly yellow dress that he held up to his chest.

Neither of them noticed Lindsey.

“What think you of this one, m’lady?” he asked. “Every fashionable girl owns at least a score of gowns in this style.”

“Take it away,” Jocelyn said with an imperious wave of her hand. “Heaven forbid I should look like everyone else.”

Mansfield tossed it over a chair. “I do beg your pardon.
Perhaps another will suit m’lady’s impeccable tastes. This one looks fetching when worn with a fancy bonnet.”

He snatched up a feathered hat and jammed it onto his dark head, then grabbed a cherry pink gown from a hook on the wall. As he swung back toward Jocelyn, he spied Lindsey and stopped, clutching the dress to his front.

A faint dull flush swept his scarred face. With his brown eyes fixed on her, he looked charmingly discomfited. The sight of those masculine features framed by the dainty bonnet made her laugh.

She pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the dressing room. “My, this is a surprise. I was expecting the Earl of Mansfield, rather than
Lady
Mansfield.”

Recovering his aplomb, he dipped an exaggerated curtsy. “I’m ever so pleased you could join us today, Miss Crompton. Perhaps you can offer better advice on fashion than I.”

“Lindsey!” Jocelyn cried out. “I was so afraid you’d forgotten all about me.”

Lindsey went to give her a hug. “I’m terribly sorry to be late. I wouldn’t have missed this outing for the world.”

“But where is Blythe? Did she not come with you?”

“I’m afraid she had a French lesson this morning. Now, what in heaven’s name is going on here?”

“Lord Mansfield is most comical, isn’t he? He’s been showing me some of the selections.”

“So I see. Although I must say, I do prefer him as a man.”

“That’s a relief,” Mansfield said.

He whipped off the bonnet, leaving his black hair in attractive disarray. Tossing the gown and hat onto a chair, he aimed a dazzling smile at Lindsey, one that made her legs turn to molten wax. “I’m afraid I wasn’t a very successful salesman, anyway. Miss Finicky turned down all my choices.”

“I’ll thank you to call me Miss Nevingford,” Jocelyn said with an exaggerated sniff. “And you looked ridiculous. I do believe it was a ploy to discourage me from squandering your coin.”

“Oho, so now I’m an evil pinchpenny, am I? Well, I shall have to prove you wrong by purchasing an entire new wardrobe for you.”

“Hurrah!” Jocelyn clapped her hands. “You are my witness, Lindsey. He has promised to buy me anything I please.”

Their bantering warmed Lindsey’s heart. She had been troubled by the aloofness that Mansfield had exhibited toward his ward, worried that Jocelyn had been given all creature comforts yet lacked the love of a father figure in her life. Now her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed. Clearly, the girl had blossomed under Mansfield’s paternal care. It reminded Lindsey of how dearly she herself treasured the attention of her father on those rare occasions when he could wrest himself away from business affairs.

The lone clerk came bustling into the dressing room, clutching several rolls of fabric. Clad in an aproned gown of dark gray, the nondescript woman managed to curtsy without dropping her burden. She looked only a decade older than Lindsey, yet years of labor already had worn grooves into her plain features.

“Forgive me, m’lord. The proprietor was taken ill today and there’s no one to help out.”

“Never mind, I quite understand,” Mansfield said as he turned to Lindsey. “This is Miss Valentine. She’s been kind enough to assist us.”

The clerk gazed adoringly at him, then quickly glanced away when she caught Lindsey’s eye. That glimpse of raw attraction shook Lindsey. Did he have this effect on all women?

Surely he must. The appealing combination of a handsome face, a lofty title, and a benevolent manner was part of his allure.

His lethal allure—perhaps.

Unwilling to dwell on morbid speculation, Lindsey focused her attention on Jocelyn. She stepped forward and took a bolt of delicate rose fabric from the clerk. “This shade would look lovely on you, Jocelyn. Shall we go through the fashion book together and choose a style of gown?”

“Oh, yes, please!”

Miss Valentine fetched a straight-backed chair for Lindsey, then the bell tinkled out in the shop and the clerk excused herself to answer the summons.

Lindsey was aware of Mansfield watching them indulgently as they pored over the periodical. Jocelyn had very definite opinions on the mode of her gowns, preferring those with subtle adornment to more elaborate designs. Lindsey found their chitchat quite comfortable, for it reminded her of being with her sisters. She was relaxed and happy, at least until Jocelyn called over her guardian to grant his final approval of her selections.

Lindsey’s heart beat faster as Mansfield walked to them. He stopped so close she could have reached out and touched his buckskin breeches. What would those firm muscles feel like under the exploration of her fingers? She wanted so badly to know.

Appalled with herself, she gripped the edge of the book and forced her gaze to remain on the page. Temptation loomed at the corner of her eye. Afterward she could not have identified the particular gown in the sketch had her life depended upon it.

Miss Valentine returned to the dressing room to take Jocelyn’s measurements, and Mansfield tactfully retreated out to the main area of the shop.

“Are you able to sit up straight for me, Miss Nevingford?” asked the clerk.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Lindsey answered for her.

“Actually, I
can,
” Jocelyn said.

To Lindsey’s surprise, the girl used her thin arms to lever herself into an upright position on the chaise. Her useless legs, the dainty feet housed in slim green slippers, dangled an inch or so from the floor.

Was she doing her daily exercises, as Kasi had instructed? Mrs. Fisk, Jocelyn’s old companion, had been instructed in how to help her. Lindsey wanted to ask but couldn’t do so now, not with Mansfield lurking nearby. He mustn’t learn of the scheme when he’d been so adamant about Jocelyn following the doctor’s strict instructions. Only time would tell if the repetitive movements would strengthen Jocelyn’s legs and allow her to walk again.

Miss Valentine took the petite girl’s measurements, exclaiming over the slenderness of her waist and shoulders. “ ’Tis a pity indeed that you cannot walk,” she said with a cluck of her tongue. “All the gents would fight for the privilege to dance with you, I’m sure.”