Never Trust a Rogue

by Olivia Drake

  “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.”

  Chapter 14

  “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 coin
cidence. 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.

  Now, in the light of day, troubling questions nagged at her: Didn’t his skill at seduction enhance his likelihood as the murder suspect? Could he have had the same effect on other women . . . like those maidservants? Had he romanced them with sweet lies, enticed them into sin, and then lured them to their death?

  The very real possibility of that scenario made Lindsey shudder. Her hand strayed to her throat. It would have been so simple for him in the heat of the moment to untie his cravat and then wrap it around the neck of his victim . . . or to wrap it around her own neck.

  “Aha! I’ve found you!”

  The sudden boom of Wrayford’s voice gave Lindsey a start. She whirled around to see him grinning in the doorway. She’d been so lost in thought that the approach of his footsteps had failed to register on her consciousness.

  His presence here boded ill for both her investigation and her reputation.

  “Go back outside,” she ordered. “If any of the neighbors are watching, they’ll spread gossip about me and ruin my good name.”

  He made a dismissing gesture with his hand. “Let the small-minded busybodies say what they will. If there is the slightest smear to your character, I shall gladly protect your honor.”

  Wrayford swaggered toward her. In his dandified yellow coat and elaborate neck cloth, he more closely resembled a deceitful scapegrace rather than the guardian of a lady’s virtue. The calculating look in those pale blue eyes alarmed Lindsey.

  She deemed it prudent to retreat behind a wing chair. “The best way for you to protect me is to return to the carriage in accordance with my wishes.”

  “Nonsense. It’s quite rude of me to stand by idly when I could be here, offering my assistance. Have you found the earbob that you lost?”

  “Not yet. I’ve summoned your housekeeper to help me. She should arrive at any moment.”

  Instead of being discouraged, Wrayford came right up to Lindsey, stopping so close she could smell the cloying odor of his cologne. “Confess the truth now, my dear. There isn’t really a missing jewel, is there?”

  His question threw her off kilter. How could he possibly know it was a ruse? Was he merely guessing because her fib had been transparent? Or had he somehow figured out that she suspected Lord Mansfield of murder?

  “I . . . don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do, my darling.” Reaching out, he fingered a curl of her hair that had escaped her feathered bonnet. “You knew all along that I would follow you inside here. Because you wanted me to come to you. It was all part of your plan.”

  “Plan?”

  “Yes, you intend to trap me into wedlock. I’ve enough experience with women to know false modesty when I see it. In truth, you aspire to be Duchess of Sylvester as soon as my grandpapa takes to his deathbed.”

  Wrayford made a grab for her. Lindsey escaped him by moving to the other side of the chair.

  “That may be my mother’s wish, but it certainly isn’t mine. I’ve no interest whatsoever in becoming your wife.”

  He took a step closer, and again she eluded him, keeping the chair between them. “Don’t be coy,” he said. “I recognize a come-hither look when I see one.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong. I want no part of you. Now stay back or I’ll scream.”

  He thrust out his lower lip in a pout. “Please, Miss Crompton, you mustn’t deny me. Pray, fulfill my heart’s desire. Give me a kiss, now there’s a good girl.”

  He lunged again, this time catching hold of her sleeve. As she jumped back, Lindsey’s heel caught the hem of her skirt and caused her to stumble. Wrayford took instant advantage by clamping his arms around her from the side so that her shoulder was jammed into his chest. The awkward position made it more difficult for her to wrench free.

  Though her arms were locked at her sides, she managed to drive her elbow into his stomach. “Beast! Let me go!”

  Wrayford grunted but held on. Despite his soft appearance, he proved to be as strong and tenacious as a bulldog.

  He loosed a nasty chuckle. “You’re a feisty one. Exactly the way I like my females.”

  His mouth swooped down toward hers. She quickly turned her head, so that his slobbery lips met the back of her neck. Disgusted and alarmed, she glanced around but could spy no handy weapon like a letter opener anywhere in sight. Perhaps, if she were facing him, she might be able to manage the trick that Kasi had taught her—

  The jingle of keys in the doorway caught her attention. A fleshy woman peeked inside, a mobcap perched on her head and her dark eyes like currants in a doughy face.

  The housekeeper.

  “Help!” Lindsey called. “He’s attacking me!”

  Wrayford snarled over his shoulder, “Go away, Lambkin. You aren’t needed here.”

  The woman vanished from sight at once, abandoning Lindsey to Wrayford’s villainous clutches. Clearly, there would be no aid from any of his servants. She was on her own.

  Lindsey forced herself to go limp. Her best hope was to convince him that she had given up the fight, so that he might relax his guard. To enhance the aura of defeat, she let herself quiver a little as if in fear.

  “Oh my,” she murmured. “No one is willing to help me. Whatever am I to do now?”

  “Give me a little taste of your sweetcakes, that’s what,” Wrayford said, turning her in his arms to face him. “It’s only fair that a man should sample the wares before buying them, eh?”

  Lindsey clenched her teeth to keep from retorting that as the heiress, she was the one doing the purchasing.

  But she needed to play the damsel in distress. “You’re a cad for saying such things to a lady of virtue. My mother warned me never to let any man touch me.”

  “Bah, the two of you planned this ruse of the lost earbob. Although I’ll wager your mama never told you that the real jewel lies within my breeches.”

  Cackling at his crude jest, Wrayford leered down at her bosom.

  While he was distracted, she seized her chance and brought up her knee to connect with his groin. She scored a direct hit despite the hindrance of her skirts.

  Wrayford howled and his hold slackened. She gave him a mighty shove so that he fell backward. He stumbled against the bookshelves and dislodged several volumes that crashed to the floor. Moaning, he bent over, his hands cupping the front of his breeches.

  “Argh!”

  Amazed at how well the trick had worked, Lindsey sprang toward the door of the study. She had no intention of waiting around for Wrayford to recover. “I’m borrowing your carriage,” she said over her shoulder.

  His face a mask of agony, he glanced at her. “Wha—?”

  “Never fear, I learned how to handle the ribbons in India. Now, do have a pleasant afternoon!”

  Chapter 15

  Thane craned his neck to see the street ahead as the burly coachman drove the landau through the elegant district of Mayfair. The open coach trundled along at a sedate pace that set Thane’s nerves on edge. He despised being relegated to a seat back here like a doddering old uncle. If not for his need to chaperone Jocelyn, he would have leaped up to the front, grabbed the ribbons, and urged the horses to a faster pace.

  Where the devil had Wrayford taken Lindsey? The villain’s phaeton had been heading north, rather than west to Hyde Park, which was the usual
destination of courting couples out for a drive. On the off chance that the two were calling on a noble household, Thane had instructed the coachman to conduct a methodical sweep of every street in the area.

  “How much farther is it to St. James’s Palace?” Jocelyn asked.

  Thane flashed a distracted smile at his ward. She was all bundled up against the cool spring day, with a straw bonnet framing her delicate features and a blanket over her useless legs, which were propped on a stool. Pencil in hand, she had been doodling faces in the sketch pad in her lap.

  “It’ll be a little while yet,” he said. “I thought you might enjoy a tour through Mayfair first, to see all the fine houses.”

  “Oh, yes, it’s all been very interesting, especially the people. I’m certainly glad I brought paper and pencil. Although I daresay I could draw better if it weren’t so bumpy traveling over the cobblestones. Do you suppose we could slow down?”

  “We’ll stop soon enough, I promise you. Then you’ll have plenty of time to sketch.”

  They wouldn’t stop until he’d located Wrayford and Lindsey—if indeed the task was even possible. The couple could be any number of places by now. After all, they’d had a good fifteen minutes’ head start.

  Worry thrust Thane to the precipice of patience. If Wrayford really was the Serpentine Strangler, Lindsey could be in grave danger. As strong and capable as she was, she could have no notion of how to handle the murderous villain. Even a sharp letter opener might not stop a madman who was bent on killing her.

  He realized that Jocelyn was talking. “I do wish Lindsey or Blythe could have come with us today,” she said plaintively. “It would be so much more fun if I had a friend along.”

  Thane awkwardly patted her gloved hand. Lindsey was right; he ought to have allowed Jocelyn to associate with others her age. “It’s been rather lonely for you, hasn’t it?”

  “Perhaps they’ve changed their minds about liking me,” Jocelyn fretted. “I hope that isn’t the case. Do you suppose they’ll come back to see me sometime?”