Never Trust a Rogue (28 page)

“Oh, I’m far too young to make my debut,” Jocelyn said breezily. “And when the time comes, I daresay I shall hold court while my suitors crowd around me.” She peered closely at Miss Valentine. “That’s a lovely pin you’re wearing. Do
you
have a beau?”

The clerk blushed, her chapped fingers going to the dainty stickpin tucked in the folds of her fichu. “Oh, no, miss, this isn’t from a suitor. My late father had it specially made for my mother a long time ago. A heart for a pretty Valentine, he used to say.”

Lindsey took a closer look. The dull gold stickpin had a heart fashioned out of tiny ruby red chips.

How observant of Jocelyn to have noticed it. “What a beautiful heirloom,” she said. “You must treasure it greatly.”

“Aye, miss, I do.”

They agreed upon a schedule for Miss Valentine to deliver the gowns; then Mansfield came into the dressing room to gather Jocelyn into his arms. He lifted her easily and carried her out into the shop, where a lady and her maid examined the buttons displayed in a glass case.

Kasi rose from a stool by the door and stood patiently waiting, holding a package wrapped with string. Thank heavens, she must have purchased the items on Mama’s list.

Lindsey didn’t want the morning to end. Since she wasn’t expected back home for another hour, she cast about for a reason to delay the departure. “Jocelyn, do you wish to look at any of the ribbons or trimmings?”

“Oh, not today,” Jocelyn said. “I’m tired of being indoors. I would very much like to go for a carriage ride.”

She and Mansfield exchanged a glance. A silent communication passed between them.

Then he looked at Lindsey. “We would be honored if you would join us.”

“I . . .” Yearning kept the automatic refusal glued to her tongue. The warmth in those chocolate brown eyes called to her, tempting her to risk any consequences in exchange for a few more minutes in his presence.

“Say yes,” he commanded. “We’ll only be gone a short while. Besides, you owe us a carriage ride after reneging last week.”

“You do indeed,” Jocelyn added, thrusting out her lower lip and looking woebegone. “I hope you won’t disappoint me yet again.”

Looking from one to the other, Lindsey laughed. “All right. But Kasi will accompany me. And I must return home in an hour, or Mama will worry.”

“Fair enough,” Mansfield said. “My landau is parked around the corner. Shall we go?”

As they walked out of the shop, the impact of his smile warmed Lindsey through and through. She shied away from examining the pleasure she found in his company. There would be time enough later to do so. All she wanted was to enjoy the outing.

Kasi fell into step beside her. For once, the old woman didn’t scold or complain. Rather, she trudged along in stoic silence, her enigmatic gaze trained on Mansfield.

The sunshine made Lindsey glad for the bonnet that shaded her eyes. Only a few pedestrians and carriages roamed this sleepy lane, which was tucked away from the hustle and bustle of nearby Bond Street. Carrying Jocelyn, Mansfield led the way past the bow window with its display of ribbons and lace, and around the corner of the brick building.

There a black landau sat waiting with a blue-liveried coachman sitting on the box. A footman opened the half door, and Mansfield entered first, since he had to settle Jocelyn on the cushions.

While she waited with Kasi, Lindsey happened to glance down the narrow alley. Her heart skipped a beat.

At the far end, a man leaned against the brick wall and watched them. There was something eerily familiar about him. Despite the cap that he had pulled down low over his brow, she recognized that lanky figure and debonair garb.

It was Cyrus Bott, the Bow Street Runner.

Hiding her alarm, Lindsey accepted Mansfield’s help while stepping into the landau. For once she felt no attraction, only the cold shroud of dread. She avoided his eyes for fear he might guess something was amiss.

Dear God!
Bott must be shadowing Mansfield in an effort to prove he was the Serpentine Strangler. When she’d informed the Runner about the two maids who had disappeared, she had expected him to make a few inquiries below stairs. She had hoped and prayed that he would discover that it was all a mistake, that Nelda and Tilly had merely taken posts elsewhere.

Lindsey had
not
intended for Bott to spy on the earl. It was far too risky. If Mansfield noticed the man and then found out she had alerted the law, he would be furious with her.

She sat down beside Jocelyn while Kasi settled her bulk on the other side of the girl. Watching the earl adjust the blanket over the girl’s legs and then hand her a sketch pad and pencil, Lindsey had the awful sense that she’d misjudged him. Surely a man who had taken a crippled girl under his wing, a man who would treat his ward with such thoughtful care, could not be guilty of the heinous crime of murder.

The more she came to know Mansfield, the less she
was able to view him in the role of the Serpentine Strangler, who had killed three maidservants in the dark of night. There had to be rational explanations for all the events that had stirred her suspicions.

And if indeed he was innocent of the charges, he would be more than angry to discover what Lindsey had done. He would be horrified—and wounded—by her utter condemnation of his character.

As the vehicle began to move, she clenched her gloved fingers in her lap. Mansfield sat on the opposite seat with his back to the horses, allowing Lindsey to look ahead as the landau proceeded down the alleyway. But she couldn’t quite see around the horses and the coachman on his high box.

She took a deep breath to quell her panic. If he spotted Bott, Mansfield wouldn’t know him, anyway. Unless, of course, the Runner had been nosing around Mansfield’s house and asking questions of his staff. . . .

Then they were passing the place where she had seen Bott, and to her vast relief he was gone. She couldn’t spot him anywhere, not even when the coach emerged onto the main street. Here throngs of pedestrians strolled along the foot pavement, looking in shop windows, while street peddlers shouted out their wares of hot pies and oranges on the corner.

It was foolish to be so fearful, she told herself. Bott would take great care to keep Mansfield from guessing that he was being watched. The Runner must have ducked into one of the many stores or joined a group of people as cover. A skilled detective knew many ways to be unobtrusive about collecting information.

Yet only when the landau had gone several blocks down the crowded street did she allow herself to relax against the cushioned leather seat. The fine-sprung coach
rocked only slightly over the cobblestones, the motion not disturbing Jocelyn, who was idly sketching a likeness of Miss Valentine. On the other side of her, Kasi folded her stubby fingers over her mango orange sari as she observed the hustle and bustle of the thoroughfare.

Lindsey glanced at Mansfield to find him watching her, one eyebrow cocked. The cool breeze had tossed a lock of dark hair onto his forehead, enhancing his rakishly attractive looks.

“Who did you see?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You seemed to be looking for someone you knew back there,” he said. “I merely wondered who it might be.”

“Oh! No one. I—I was just remembering that I forgot to purchase a length of Belgian lace for my mother.”

“Ah. Perhaps you can apply to Miss Valentine and ask her to send it.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely. “Now, you haven’t even asked where we’re going.”

It was an enormous relief to change the subject. “Where are we going?”

“For a drive around the outskirts of Hyde Park. Jocelyn will enjoy seeing the fine houses on Park Lane.”

The girl raised her head. “Actually, I prefer to draw people. So it doesn’t matter to me where we go so long as we’re outdoors.”

Mansfield chuckled. “I’m glad you’re so easily pleased, sprite. Then you won’t mind if we make one brief stop along the way.”

“Stop?” Lindsey asked.

“Yes.” His gaze touched her, slid away, then returned. “At my uncle’s house.”

Intrigued, Lindsey leaned forward slightly. “I didn’t realize you had any relations in town. Perhaps I know him. What is his name?”

“The Honorable Hugo Pallister, and you won’t have met him, since he isn’t in London. It’s been many years since he’s come here.”

She remembered Mama’s friend the Duchess of Milbourne asking after a Hugo who lived in Oxfordshire. What had Mansfield said in reply?
My uncle is as cantankerous as ever.

Apparently, the two of them had a strained relationship. Lindsey found herself keen to ferret out why.

“Since you were away in the cavalry,” she said, “you must not have seen him very often over the years. He’s your father’s brother, is he not?”

“His twin, actually. I grew up in his household in Oxfordshire after my parents died.” Mansfield compressed his lips and looked out at the passing street. His posture clearly discouraged any further questions.

His reticence only intrigued her all the more.

Since Mansfield’s father had possessed the title, Hugo would have been the second born of the twins. Therefore, Hugo would have inherited the earldom if a certain nephew hadn’t stood in the way. Could that be the source of Hugo’s cantankerous nature?

It was ridiculous to speculate. Lindsey knew little of the man, except that one-word description. Yet he was a part of Mansfield’s life, and for that reason she burned to know more.

“How old were you when you lost your parents?” she asked.

He glanced at her. “Five years. I’ve been told they both fell ill of a fever.”

The news caused a softness of sympathy in her breast. She remembered what Kasi had proclaimed while reading his palm:
Long ago, you a very lonely boy. No parents, no family, no love.

Lindsey had always known the warmth and security of
family. It was a revelation to think of him as a small orphaned boy thrust into his uncle’s household. She wanted to question him further, but since Jocelyn had lost her parents only the previous year, Lindsey didn’t want to pursue the matter for fear of bringing back sad memories. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I scarcely remember them.”

His dismissive manner warned her to change the subject. “Why do you need to visit your uncle’s house?”

“As I was leaving this morning, I received a message from the steward, asking me to approve a few expenditures. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Ah, here we are.”

Directly across from Hyde Park, the landau drew up in front of a stately stone residence with tall pillars flanking a carved portico. Rows of fanlight windows lent a graceful splendor to the façade, and the brass fittings on the dark green front door gleamed in the sunshine.

“What a lovely place!” Lindsey exclaimed. “I’ve noticed it on drives to the park, but I never knew who lived here.”

“This is Pallister House.” He paused, eyeing her. “Would you care to take a quick tour? I’m sure Jocelyn and Kasi wouldn’t mind waiting.”

“Go ahead,” Jocelyn said, waving her pencil. “There’s so much more to draw out here than inside a dusty old house.”

“The place had better not be dusty,” Mansfield said in a mock-threatening voice. “Or I shall have a stern word with the housekeeper.”

The footman opened the door and stood back impassively. Mansfield descended from the coach and then held out his hand to assist Lindsey.

She hesitated a moment before grasping it. What harm could there be in going inside the house with him? He
could hardly be planning to ravish her while Jocelyn and Kasi waited outside. And even with the family not in residence, there must be a skeleton staff of servants on duty to keep the place tidy.

As they walked toward the marble portico, she said, “Pallister House . . . with that name, shouldn’t it belong to you, as head of the family?”

He shrugged. “Such a large pile is highly impractical for a bachelor household.”

He had dodged the question rather than answered it directly, she noted. “Did you ever come here as a youth?”

“Once or twice. Enough to know my way around.”

Extracting an iron key from an inner pocket of his coat, he bent down to insert it in the lock. Then he frowned at her and said, “It’s already unlocked. The maids must have been polishing the brass this morning.”

He turned the handle and opened the door. His hand at the small of her back, Mansfield ushered her into an impressive foyer lit by sunshine streaming though the tall windows. The place had the musty, forlorn air of a house that had been closed up for years, devoid of family members to lend it brightness and life.

Her footsteps echoed on the checkered marble floor. She tilted her head back to gaze at the high domed ceiling, then the gracefully curving staircase with its intricate oak railing.

“So you visited here as a boy,” she mused. “Did you ever slide down that banister?”

“More than once. And each time, it was well worth the paddling I received in return.”

She laughed. “I’m imagining you as a very naughty child who often fell into trouble.”

“That is unfortunately true,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. “Now, I would like to take a look around, to make sure everything is in proper order. Shall we?”