Never Trust a Rogue

by Olivia Drake

  Did Mansfield have the key? Or was it on Mrs. Yardley’s ring?

  Another possibility occurred to her. In India, her father had had a desk similar to this one. When she was little, he had allowed her to conceal herself there while playing hide-and-seek with her sisters. It had been the perfect place to elude discovery.

  Lindsey felt around beneath the knee opening. In the back was a high, narrow shelf. In triumph, she pulled out a small iron key.

  She inserted the key into the hole and, in a moment, pulled open the top drawer. Inside lay a neat array of quills. A penknife for sharpening the tips. A blotter and sand. All ordinary items found in any desk.

  The IOU was nowhere in sight.

  But in the back lay a notebook and on top of it what looked like a clipping from a news sheet. She drew out the bit of paper and unfolded it. To her shock, she was gazing down at a recent news story about the second murder.

  Why would a gentleman cut out and save an article about the Serpentine Strangler? It made no sense . . . unless he had a connection to the murders.

  Perhaps the earl had his way with Nelda. Perhaps she had conceived his baby, and he did away with her before the scandal could come to light. Perhaps she’ll be found strangled like those other girls.

  Jocelyn’s words came back to haunt Lindsey. She didn’t want to believe it, but his possession of this clipping seemed to lend substance to the wild theory. It was certainly a damning piece of the puzzle.

  Even as she was congratulating herself on her detective skills, a sound in the passageway caught her attention.

  The heavy footsteps of a man.

  Chapter 8

  Thane pushed open the door to the library. Before he headed to the dining room for breakfast, he wanted to review his notes on the murders and organize his thoughts. God knew, his mind hadn’t been focused on the task these past few days. He could make a serious mistake by chasing after false clues or arriving at a wrongful conclusion.

  He was conscious of the time ticking away. His greatest fear was that the killer would strike again before Thane could apprehend him.

  In the middle of the library, a maidservant was down on her hands and knees, her back to the door as she vigorously scrubbed the wood floor. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t even notice her presence. But given his current ill humor, he was annoyed by the intrusion into his sanctum.

  Making a detour around an area of damp floor, he headed straight to his desk. He sat down, then reached underneath the desk for the key.

  It wasn’t on the shelf.

  Impossible. It was always on the shelf.

  Frowning, he pushed back the chair and crouched down to see if the key had fallen to the floor. He couldn’t make out much in the shadowy alcove, so he reached inside and patted the floorboards with his hand. From behind him came the splashing of water and the sound of more scrubbing.

  Half-turning toward the girl, he said, “Excuse me. Have you been cleaning around this desk?”

  She had shifted position so that her back was still toward him. A white mobcap covered her hair and hid her face from his view. Without looking up from her work, she muttered, “Nay, m’lord.”

  Now that was the truth. The hand he drew back was coated with dust. Disgusted, Thane slapped his palms together, then wiped them on his black breeches, leaving gray streaks that were bound to send Bernard into a bout of apoplexy.

  Blast it. Where was that key? Had he mistakenly carried it upstairs with him the previous night?

  No, that wasn’t his habit. There wasn’t any reason to think he’d done so. Besides, if he’d left it anywhere in his bedchamber, Bernard would have called his attention to it.

  Determined to have the notebook that was locked in the top drawer, Thane sat down again on the chair and scanned the floor around the desk. Damn it, one of the other maids must have been in here this morning. The key could have been knocked somewhere out of sight.

  He hated when things weren’t in their proper place. The discipline of the military had instilled that quality in him. In times of war, a carelessly mislaid weapon could mean the difference between life and death.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the maid was inching her bucket closer and closer to the door. There was a furtive quality to her actions that caught his attention.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. That voluminous cap on her head prevented him from catching more than a glimpse of her features. Like all maids, she wore a nondescript gray gown and white apron. She appeared to be slim and fit, which meant she was neither that tiny girl, Essie, from the kitchen, nor the pudgy one who cleaned the upstairs chambers.

  “You,” he said. “What is your name?”

  She didn’t answer at once, making him wonder if she’d even heard him. Then she murmured without turning her head, “Sally.”

  Sally? To his knowledge, there was no maid on the staff by that moniker. Then his frown cleared. She must be the new girl Yardley had told him about, Nelda’s replacement.

  At least that mystery was solved.

  For no reason at all, he thought of Lindsey Crompton again. Like a nagging tooth, she was always lurking at the fringes of his mind. No other woman had ever spoken to him with such cheeky animosity. Their conversation about Jocelyn had been especially troubling.

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

  That question stirred an unwelcome guilt in him. Was he wrong to have insulated his ward from the outside world? Maybe the doctors were mistaken and Jocelyn needed more interests in her life, rather than less. Maybe he ought to have created opportunities for her to form friendships with other young girls.

  The problem was that he had no female relatives to guide him in the matter. His cousin, Edward, was married, but he and his wife made their home in the country. Thane himself had been gone from society for many years. The ladies he knew were either mere acquaintances or entirely inappropriate, like Lady Entwhistle.

  If you cared a whit for Jocelyn, you would make the effort to behave as a gentleman. You wouldn’t consort with women of such dubious moral standards.

  He clenched his jaw at the memory of Lindsey’s denouncement of him. There was an unfortunate grain of truth to her words. Having the responsibility of a young ward did require him to have a high standard of respectability. Maybe he ought to do as Uncle Hugo had ordered and take a bride.

  No, not yet. Although he did intend at some future date to do his duty and produce an heir, it wouldn’t be fair to betroth himself to an innocent young miss. For the moment, he needed to be free to pursue Lady Entwhistle, as he had done the previous evening, in order to determine if one of her many lovers had done away with Maria Wilkes.

  At the top of his list of suspects was Lord Wrayford, a frequent occupant of Lady Entwhistle’s bed. Thane had focused his attention on Wrayford because he also lived two doors away from Lord and Lady Farthingale, who had employed the second victim.

  And now Wrayford was courting Lindsey Crompton.

  Not for the first time, Thane found himself worried for her safety. If Wrayford was the Strangler, she could be in grave danger. For all her acerbic nature, she was an innocent when it came to recognizing true evil. Thane tried to console himself with the reminder that Wrayford needed her dowry, so surely he wouldn’t harm her before they were wed.

  But afterward? What better way to claim all her money for himself than to kill her?

  The thought made Thane’s blood run cold. Devil take it, he needed those notes. The sooner he solved this crime, the better.

  He rose to his feet, intending to go ask Yardley about the key when the housekeeper herself came bustling into the library. The stout woman stopped by the maid and gave the girl a piercing stare before glancing over at him.

  “M’lord, I didn’t expect t’ see ye in ’ere.” She bobbed a curtsy almost as an afterthought.

  “Have you taken the key to my desk?” he asked.

  “The key, m’lord? Why, no, why would
I?”

  “It’s missing from its usual spot. I’d like you to ask all the servants if they’ve seen it. If you can’t locate it, then summon a locksmith. I’ve important papers and other valuables in there that I need to access.”

  Mrs. Yardley had the oddest reaction. Releasing a huff of breath, she planted her hands on her hips and spun around toward the new maid. Her venomous look could have slain a dragon at ten paces. “Sally! Stand up this instant. If indeed ’tis yer true name.”

  Sally had pushed her bucket almost to the verge of the doorway. Now she froze with her hand on the scrub brush. Her head was bowed, and Thane wondered what the devil was going on.

  All of a sudden, the girl sprang to her feet. Half-tripping on her clunky shoes and long hem, she made a mad dash for the corridor.

  Thane reacted on instinct. He lunged after her, bypassing Mrs. Yardley and knocking over a chair in the process. The brief falter had cost the girl her escape. He seized her by the waist before she even made it out into the passageway.

  His mind registered the slenderness of her form as he spun her around toward him. With his arms acting as manacles, he locked her against the door panel. She must be a thief. He’d been right to sense something amiss. . . .

  One look at her face left him thunderstruck. Framed by the droopy white mobcap, she had the fine features of a lady—a lady he knew well. He was gazing down into the defiant blue eyes of Miss Lindsey Crompton.

  In short order, Lindsey found herself marched back into the library by Lord Mansfield. His fingers had a bruising grip on her upper arm, and his cold expression was etched in stone. There was absolutely no way to escape, trapped as she was by the oversized shoes and his superior strength.

  He righted a straight-backed chair that had been knocked over and then pushed her down onto it. “Sit.”

  Lindsey obeyed, although pride kept her chin high. He had every right to be furious, she reckoned. She had invaded his house, tricked his staff, and tried to deceive him, too. Once he calmed down, maybe she’d have a chance to talk her way out of this dilemma.

  Mrs. Yardley swooped after them. “I’m terrible sorry, m’lord. She said she was the girl from the agency.”

  “I said no such thing,” Lindsey objected. “You assumed it.”

  Mrs. Yardley shook her finger at Lindsey. “An’ listen to ye talk, all ’igh-an’-mighty. Ye came ’ere to steal ’Is Lordship blind, ye did. I thought there was somethin’ fishy about ye. I knew it fer sure when I went downstairs and the right girl came t’ the back door.”

  Now that was a contingency Lindsey hadn’t considered. She had been forced to make up the rules as she went along, rather than planning ahead, as she preferred to do. If only the earl hadn’t come into the library, she could have completed her search of his desk and then left the house before the woman’s return.

  “Go on back to your work,” Mansfield told Mrs. Yardley. “I’ll handle this matter.”

  “Best t’ check ’er pockets fer gold, m’lord. She belongs in Newgate, she does. I’ve a good mind t’ send a footman fer the Watch.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he said. “Now, go and await my instructions. And kindly close the door on your way out.”

  Mrs. Yardley gave Lindsey one final piqued glare, then dipped a curtsy to the earl. She flounced out of the library and pulled the door shut with a self-righteous click.

  Mansfield stood watching Lindsey. He placed his hands on his hips, pushing back his dark blue coat and making her uncomfortably aware of his powerful form. A shaft of morning sunlight illuminated his unsmiling face. The scar on his cheek would have lent him a sinister aspect except for the white spot of sticking plaster where he’d cut himself shaving.

  It made him look human.

  She would sooner believe him a fiend from Hell.

  Abruptly he stepped forward and thrust out his hand. “The key.”

  Denials would serve no purpose. Keeping a wary eye on him, Lindsey reached into the pocket of her apron, found the small iron key, and dropped it into his palm.

  “If you must know, I never looked in your desk,” she fibbed, not wanting him to know that she had seen the clipping. If only she’d had a chance to look at that notebook, too. . . . “You came in before I had the opportunity.”

  He dropped the key into an inner pocket of his coat. “If you think that absolves you of guilt, Miss Crompton, you’re sadly mistaken. You entered my house under false pretenses. You lied to Yardley. And you intended to steal something from me.” He paused. “I presume it was the IOU.”

  Lindsey swallowed. He mustn’t realize she was investigating Nelda’s disappearance, too. Mrs. Yardley had claimed Nelda had gone off somewhere with her lover, but what if the woman had been misled by Mansfield? If he was involved in Nelda’s mysterious vanishing, that in itself would be compelling evidence to prove he was the Serpentine Strangler. He may have disposed of her body in such a way that it had not yet been found.

  She suppressed a shiver and forced herself to meet his gaze. “Yes, the IOU. I need proof of Lord Wrayford’s perfidity so that I can convince my parents he’ll make an unsuitable husband.”

  “Is there another man you wish to marry?”

  “No, of course not. I . . .” Lindsey stopped herself from blurting out that she had a better plan for her life, one that did not involve consigning herself for eternity to the custody of any man. “I find most noblemen to be either condescending bores or unprincipled rogues.”

  Mansfield made no reply. His eyes narrowed, he walked back and forth like a restless tiger contemplating its prey. His plain garb belied the usual veneer of the sophisticated lord and made him look more like a ruffian from the streets.

  As he paced, his calculating scrutiny served to magnify her trepidation. What was he thinking? Did he intend to wreak some sort of punishment on her? But what could he really do to her?

  What, indeed.

  Lindsey shifted on the chair as an alarming thought occurred to her. The Serpentine Strangler had attacked only maidservants. If Mansfield was the killer, then perhaps the sight of her in this mobcap and aproned gown would turn his mind to murder.

  Her heart thrumming, she started to rise. “I must return home at once. My mother will be wondering where I am—”

  “Sit down, Miss Crompton. Unless you wish me to inform your parents of your actions this morning.”

  The silken menace of his voice made her wilt back into the chair. She could imagine the fireworks that would ensue if Mama were to find out that Lindsey had come alone to a bachelor’s house, especially one with a reputation as a ladies’ man. And it would make matters even worse if Mama knew that her daughter had demeaned herself to playact as a servant.

  “You wouldn’t dare do that,” she challenged. “My father would be well within his rights to demand that you offer for me.”

  “Quite so.”

  His easy agreement worried Lindsey, as did the calculating smile that lifted one corner of his mouth. “You wouldn’t wish to be forced into a marriage to me,” she stated firmly. “I’m a commoner and far beneath your notice. So you had better let me go at once, lest you be caught in your own trap.”

  “As you yourself pointed out recently, I need to nurture a more respectable image for Jocelyn’s sake. The best way for me to do so is to acquire a wife.”

  Lindsey clenched her fingers in the folds of her apron. Dear God. What was he saying? That he did want to be forced into wedlock—with her? “There are scores of blue-blooded debutantes making their bow this season. Choose one of them.”

  He stepped closer, towering over her. “Ah, but I have you right here, ensnared in my web. You’ve saved me the trouble of sorting through all the other prospects.”

  He was serious. Aghast, she shook her head. “I can’t marry you. I won’t. We are dreadfully ill suited.”

  “Not in all ways.” He reached down to lightly caress her cheek with his fingers. “You enjoyed my kiss, Lindsey. We would meld well together in t
he marriage bed.”

  An involuntary shiver radiated over her skin, and she flinched away from him. Yet she could still feel the effects of his touch. It had ignited a burn deep inside her, while his dark, knowing gaze sparked the memory of being held in his arms.

  Jumping up, Lindsey moved behind the chair, keeping it between them as a shield. “You must be mad to think I would ever agree to such a scheme.”

  “Rather, it is the most logical of plans. You’ll accept my proposal, or else I’ll inform your parents of what happened here this morning and your father will force you into the marriage anyway. You really have no choice in the matter.”

  He had her backed into a corner. It would serve no purpose to involve her parents because the outcome would be the same. If they discovered what Lindsey had done, Mama would be in a cold fury, while Papa would give her that awful, censorious look of disappointment. She remembered their anguish the previous year when Portia had run off with Colin, Viscount Ratcliffe. Lindsey couldn’t bear the thought of causing her family such shame.

  But the alternative was to marry Mansfield.

  He was too wicked, too dictatorial, too full of his own prideful superiority. He would never allow her the freedom to live her own life as she pleased. She would be trapped in a rarified world of parties and fashion and snobby aristocrats who would always regard her common background with disdain.

  And that wasn’t the worst of it. What if Mansfield really was the Serpentine Strangler?

  No one would believe a peer capable of such heinous acts, least of all her parents, who worshipped the nobility. Lindsey needed proof positive that he was the culprit. . . .

  An idea sprang full-blown into her head. Why not turn the tables on him, use the situation to her advantage? By stalling, she would gain the time to investigate him. Then once she’d exposed him as a criminal, there would be no question of a betrothal.

  Lifting her chin, she met his watchful eyes. “All right, I will yield to your proposal. But you must agree to one condition.”