by Olivia Drake
“Is that all you have, then?” Lucas inquired in his most disdainful tone.
“In diamonds, yes, milord. However, I’ve sapphires and emeralds aplenty. And others, as well. Only imagine Miss Jewel, her fair skin draped in a rope of fine rubies—”
“Never mind. We will try another shop. Good day.”
He took Rory’s arm and led her toward the door.
“If ’tis diamonds you want, I have brooches,” Scully called after them. “Earbobs! Bracelets! Tiaras!”
The bell tinkled as Lucas opened the door and ushered her outside. Clouds had banished the sunlight and a chill now tinged the air. The rowdy men had taken their rats away, thank goodness. That was the only bright spot in the afternoon.
“None of those even resembled Kitty’s necklace.” Rory hadn’t realized until now how much she’d expected to triumph in this quest. It was a letdown to know that they were no closer to finding the blackmailer. “What now?”
“We proceed to the next place on my list.” Lucas tapped her under the chin to tilt her face up. He gave her that slight smile again, the one that made her legs weak and turned her heart to mush. “And pray don’t look so glum, Jewel. I wouldn’t want word to get out that Dashell can’t keep his mistress happy.”
Chapter 13
What does a nobleman seek in a wife? Modesty, obedience, docility, and beauty, all traits that shun the intellect.
—MISS CELLANY
It was nearing dusk by the time Lucas stepped out of the brougham in front of his house. Having spent all afternoon in Rory’s company, it seemed perfectly natural for him to escort her up the steps, past the tall columns of the portico, and through the large door opened by a footman. It wasn’t until they were standing in the entrance hall and she was giving her bonnet to Jarvis that Lucas realized his mistake.
And then only because Rory flashed a startled look at him. “Oh! I completely forgot. I should have gone to the mews with the coachman, then come in by way of the kitchen.”
“Never mind, Miss Paxton,” he said, adopting a formal tone. “This is more convenient. Come, I want a word with you and my mother before dinner.”
As they started up the grand staircase together, he was careful to keep a circumspect distance from her. That had been a close call. He had almost treated Rory as a respectable lady of the ton, rather than his temporary employee. It was damned lucky he hadn’t addressed her by her given name in front of the butler and footman.
Or worse, called her Jewel.
Remembering her scorn of the tawdry name, he subdued a chuckle. It was time to shed his roguish act and return to the real world with its rules of proper behavior. Yet he had grown perilously comfortable in Rory’s company. A part of him regretted having to put their ruse aside until the morrow, when they would continue their hunt for the blackmailer.
In all, they had visited six establishments that dealt in pilfered jewelry. The task had been an exercise in futility. They had examined scores of diamond necklaces while failing to locate the one belonging to Kitty Paxton. Nevertheless, Lucas couldn’t recall another day that he had enjoyed more.
It all had to do with Rory. She had adapted brilliantly to the role of his mistress. Even now, his insides felt twisted into a carnal knot. She had teased him and tempted him, caressed and cooed, until at times her playacting seemed unnervingly real. She knew exactly how to entice a man with sultry looks and suggestive touches. They were an exaggerated version of the same techniques she had used eight years ago, flirting with a bevy of ardent swains, making each one of them feel he was the only man on earth.
Lucas glanced at her. She apparently had no inkling at all that he, too, had felt an acute passion for her back then—as he did now. He had deemed her too fast for his fastidious tastes. He had resisted her allure except for that one time when he’d succumbed to temptation and asked her to dance.
His claim that he’d forgotten their waltz had been a bald-faced lie. Every detail of clasping her in his arms remained seared into his memory. He recalled the slim indentation of her waist, the feminine curve of her hips, the silken sweetness of her skin. He had not been tongue-tied, either, despite what she believed. Rather, he had been determined not to make a fool of himself by babbling poetic flattery like her other admirers. He had known even then that Rory Paxton was all wrong for him.
Just as he knew it now.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he stole another look at her. She was frowning down at the long carpet runner as they headed past the closed doors of the many bedchambers. The glow of her beauty caught his chest in a velvet vise. He felt obsessed by the wisps of ebony hair that curled around her delicate ears. The graceful line of her swanlike neck. The finely etched profile that belied the boldness of her spirit.
Eight years ago, maybe he should have behaved like her other beaus and actively pursued Rory, having intimate tête-à-têtes with her in an attempt to win her heart. Maybe she had needed someone steady and principled in her life. Maybe he could have saved her from ruining herself.
What foolishness. Had he married her back then, he wouldn’t have the means now to fix the dire financial straits in which his father had left him. Rory Paxton didn’t have a penny to her name. That fact alone put her as far out of his reach as the moon.
Yet something had changed between them today. It was more than mere lust, though that was an undeniable part of it. Over the course of playing their game, he had come to think of them as equals. Not as master and employee, nor as lord and commoner, but rather, as friends on even footing. Though he took issue with her modern opinions, he appreciated the fact that she wasn’t a meek, mindless female who could speak only of fashion and gossip.
Like Alice Kipling.
He shut his mind to that disloyal thought. He was playing with fire. Rory Paxton could never be anything to him other than a momentary diversion. Once they found the blackmailer, she would leave his house and he would marry Alice. He would never take a mistress—even if Rory was agreeable, which was highly doubtful. He had sworn long ago never to emulate his father, who’d changed women as often as he’d changed clothes.
Her brow furrowed, she slowed her steps and glanced back toward the stairs. Her velvety brown eyes lifted to his face. “Jarvis looked rather scandalized just now, don’t you think?”
“He’s seen women in low-cut gowns before.”
She gave an impatient shake of her head. “I meant about our excursion today. It must seem suspicious for you and your mother’s companion to go off alone together.” She held out her hand. “Now give me back my fichu before Lady Dashell sees me looking like a doxy.”
Lucas thought Rory looked stunning enough to attend a society party, despite the washed-out rose gown with its frayed cuffs. Nevertheless, he reached inside his coat and handed her the wadded lace. “I told Jarvis a version of the truth before we left. That I am assisting you in investigating a delicate problem involving your stepmother.”
“What? But Kitty doesn’t want anyone to know!”
“Jarvis is absolutely trustworthy. I did not give him the particulars, anyway. He’s under orders to ensure that none of the servants gossip about our outing.”
He watched her arrange the strip of white lace around her neck and then tuck the edges at strategic places along the edge of her bodice. The feminine grace of her movements captivated him, though he deeply regretted the need for her to conceal that delectable bosom. It was a damn shame he couldn’t take her to any balls, where plunging necklines were permissible. Or better yet, take her to his bed with nothing on at all, so he could savor every silken inch of her.
Rory glanced up and intercepted his stare. Pursing her soft lips, she turned around and finished with the fichu, saying over her shoulder, “The servants likely know about my sordid background by now. I’m afraid they will assume the worst. Of course, you needn’t worry. It is only the woman who is held to blame.”
“We men rule the world. It is high time you accepted that fact and behaved ac
cordingly.”
She spun around in a huff. “I will accept nothing of the sort…!” Her indignant voice died as she spied the cunning grin that tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Oh! You’re teasing me … aren’t you?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not.” She was so easy to rile, especially now that he knew her weakness. “Come, we’ve tarried long enough. I want to see how the marchioness has fared today.”
As they resumed walking, Lucas turned his mind to his mother. He’d suffered misgivings over leaving her with Bernice Culpepper. Rory’s aunt had a no-nonsense manner that must have caused friction during his absence. He himself had always found it best to humor Mama. Otherwise, she would carry a grudge for days on end, never letting him forget his error, complaining until he bowed to her wishes.
Rory stopped in front of the closed door to his mother’s bedchamber. Her gaze studied him quizzically; then she laid a light hand on his sleeve. “Are you worried, Lucas? You needn’t be. I’m sure Aunt Bernice took excellent care of Lady Dashell today.”
“I won’t have my mother bullied. It’s my duty to see that she’s happy.”
“Your mother also has a duty to keep herself happy. After all, it isn’t your fault she’s crippled.”
“Maybe it is.”
The minute he said that, he was sorry. Because his deep-seated guilt was something he’d never admitted to another living soul.
“What?” Rory questioned, giving him a probing stare that sought to invade his private thoughts. “Why would you say that?”
“Never mind. You’re only a servant here. It’s none of your concern.”
Instead of bristling at his jibe, as he’d intended, she took his hand between both of hers and rubbed it soothingly. Her fingers felt soft and delicate, and he wanted to feel them exploring every part of his body. “Tell me, Lucas. If it involves your mother, then I should know.”
The warmth of her touch seeped into his cold core, unfreezing the memory of that accident. He found himself talking without making a conscious decision to do so. “I was visiting my parents at Westvale Abbey last spring. They asked me to travel back to London with them. But I had no desire to listen to them quarrel for hours, as they were wont to do. So I rode ahead on horseback and left them far behind. I didn’t receive word of the accident until the following morning.” Drowning in a sea of regrets, he added aggressively, “I should have been there. I should have stopped my father from taking the reins from the coachman.”
Her grip squeezed his hand. “Oh, Lucas, no. You couldn’t possibly have known he would decide to do that.”
“I knew he was a daredevil. That he had a lifelong habit of reckless behavior.”
“But you weren’t his keeper, either. If anything, your mother should have been the one to stop him.”
“She tried. But he wouldn’t listen.”
“Then he wouldn’t have listened to you, either.” Her soft dark eyes held an intensity that willed him to believe her. “You oughtn’t torture yourself over something that you never imagined would happen.”
“Perhaps.”
As she continued to study him with that unnerving zeal, he assumed his most glacial expression. He didn’t know what madness had made him blurt out his innermost thoughts. She alone among women seemed to have the power to make him open his mouth and talk.
She must have decided it was useless to belabor the matter any further, for she released his hand and murmured, “Wait here, if you will. I’ll see if your mother will receive us.”
The moment she disappeared into the bedchamber, guilt dug its claws into Lucas. No matter what Rory said, it was still his fault. If only he had stayed with his parents. If only he had dissuaded his father from driving that coach. If only he had been there to protect his mother, she would not be confined to her bed now.
If. If. If. Too bad a man couldn’t reinvent his past and erase those ifs.
The door opened again. Rory poked her head out and gave him a pert smile. Her eyes large and brilliant, she motioned him inside. “Hurry. You’ll want to see this.”
Lucas entered the large bedchamber that he’d come to think of as his mother’s prison cell. She had all the trappings of luxury that he could muster, yet material possessions could never make up for her crippled legs. A branch of candles had been lit by the hearth to ward off the encroaching dusk. His gaze shot straight to the four-poster bed with its blue and white hangings. The pillows were plumped, the white counterpane folded down neatly to reveal a glimpse of linen sheets.
His insides lurched. Where was his mother?
In the next instant, a movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention to the dressing room. He turned to see Mrs. Bernice Culpepper emerge from the doorway.
The sight made his jaw drop. She was pushing a wheeled chair in which Lady Dashell sat like a queen on her throne. It was the rattan chair that he’d purchased shortly after the accident. The same chair that he had pleaded with his mother to use. She had vetoed it in no uncertain terms, thundering that she never wished to be seen in public as a cripple and then punctuating her rejection by hurling a book at him.
Mrs. Culpepper must have found the invalid’s chair where he’d had it stored in one of the nearby bedchambers. By what magical powers had she persuaded his mother to sit in the hated thing?
Even more astonishing, how had the woman convinced his mother to change out of her nightclothes and into an elegant green gown when she’d refused to do so for the past year?
His eyes burned and he blinked hard to clear them. His chest felt as tight as a drum. Who the devil cared how it had been accomplished? All that mattered was that Mama was out of that cursed bed.
In a joyful daze, Lucas walked forward, his eyes on the marchioness. Her gray hair had been arranged in neat curls. He could swear there was even a hint of rouge on her face. He bent down to kiss her wrinkled cheek. “Mama. You look … marvelous.”
She scowled in her usual imperious manner. That much hadn’t changed. “You’re late. I wish to have dinner in the dining chamber tonight and you’ve kept me waiting.”
“I’m sorry. If I had known…” He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing the dark strands. He felt caught in a trance. Her willingness to go downstairs again was such a novel prospect that he could scarcely string two thoughts together. “Have you notified the staff?”
“No, my lord,” Mrs. Culpepper said. “I told the kitchen to hold her dinner, that’s all. We thought it best to be a surprise. She wanted to see the look on your face first. It was well worth the wait, wasn’t it, Prudence?”
Glancing up at the sturdy woman, his mother let loose a rusty chortle. “Quite a shock I gave the boy, eh? It’s a wonder he didn’t keel over in a swoon!”
Lucas couldn’t take issue with his mother’s portrayal of him as a weakling. He was too grateful to see her up and about. And laughing, for God’s sake. He hadn’t heard her do so in forever.
“Shall I ring to inform Jarvis of your dinner plans?” Rory asked Lady Dashell.
“Yes, make yourself useful, girl, now that you’ve taken the day off to go gallivanting around the city. I demand to know what exactly you’ve been doing with my son all this time.”
“You’ll have to ask Lord Dashell, my lady.” Rory cast a mischievous look at him on her way to pull the bell rope by the bedside.
The minx was remembering how she had spent the afternoon pretending to be his mistress. Lucas would never reveal how much he’d enjoyed the subterfuge. Nor would he ever tell his mother that they were trying find a blackmailer who had stolen a packet of love letters written by her husband to his paramour.
He looked at the marchioness. “As I explained to you earlier, Miss Paxton and I have been assisting her stepmother in investigating a certain … misconduct against her. That is all I am at liberty to say.”
“Misconduct, bah! You’re as tightlipped as Bernice. Everyone knows what’s going on but me. It is extremely unfair of you to exclude me.”
�
��I’m sorry, Mama, but you cannot expect me to betray a confidence. It is a private matter that Mrs. Paxton wishes to be kept quiet.”
“Then she should summon the police rather than involve my son in her sordid business!” Lady Dashell cast a crafty look at him. “Besides, what’s the harm in telling me? I’ve no one to gossip with, anyway!”
Bernice stepped out from behind the wheeled chair to shake a stern finger at his mother. “You know very well that you’ll have the chance to gossip very soon, Prudence. Unless you’ve changed your mind, that is.”
The two older women exchanged a secretive smile. It was the sort of snickering look that one would expect from a pair of immature debutantes.
Watching them, Rory planted her hands on the curve of her hips. “Just what are you two planning?”
“Do you want to tell them, or shall I?” Bernice asked Lady Dashell.
“You go ahead. I wish to watch their faces when they hear this!”
“Hear what?” Lucas demanded.
Bernice glanced at him, then at Rory. “There’s no need to beat around the bush, so I’ll just say it. Lady Dashell has decided it’s time that she rejoins society.”
Lucas reeled from his second shock of the past five minutes. He had all but given up hope that his mother would resume her rightful place in the ton’s exalted hierarchy. She had always thrived at balls and other society events. Basking in the warmth of friends and other hangers-on had seemed to compensate for the lack of love in her marriage.
He broke into a smile. “That is most excellent news, Mama. What in the world brought you to this decision?”
“Bernice told me I was a fool for hiding myself away. That people must be pitying me. That I was missing a great opportunity to make a grand entrance and show them all that I’m still one of the foremost leaders of society.”