Never Trust a Rogue

by Olivia Drake

  He jerked his head around. “Wha—?”

  Lindsey gave him a mighty shove toward the side of the carriage. Caught off guard, he slid on the leather seat. His top hat went sailing into the darkness. Much to her regret, he managed to grab hold of the post that supported the roof.

  In cold determination, she seized the buggy whip from its holder and beat him around the chest and shoulders. Wrayford thrust up both his hands to protect his face.

  “Stop, you little bitch,” he roared. “Have you gone mad?”

  “Yes, I am mad. Lecher! How dare you think to abduct me!”

  Luck had failed her numerous times that day. But now fortune blessed her. At that very moment, the startled gelding careened off the road. The wheels of the phaeton hit a rock or a rabbit hole, she didn’t know which.

  The vehicle tilted drunkenly. Lindsey caught the side and held on for dear life. But Wrayford wasn’t quick enough. She had one last glimpse of his startled face as he plummeted from the carriage, yelping all the way.

  There was no time to reflect upon her success. Having somehow managed to hold on to the reins with one hand, she focused her attention on bringing the runaway horse under control. It took a few minutes, but a firm grip on the ribbons soon had him quieted enough to slow down to a walk. Through the murky dusk, she guided the still-skittish horse back onto the road.

  Lindsey needed the time to compose herself, as well. She felt shaky and weak, scarcely able to believe she’d actually won her freedom from Wrayford.

  Had he been injured in the fall? Or killed?

  She would have to check—from a distance, of course. He mustn’t have the opportunity to seize her again. Another such scuffle might not turn out so well. Her heart was still beating like the drumming of hooves.

  Then she realized it was hooves that she heard.

  As she neared the place where Wrayford had fallen, a horseman rode straight at her from down the road. He drew up beside the phaeton, and her beleaguered heart leaped in recognition.

  “Mansfield! What on earth are you doing here?”

  He looked extremely imposing in a greatcoat and knee boots, a broad-brimmed hat covering his hair. Controlling his frisky black mount with an easy tug of the reins, he peered closely at her. “Lindsey, thank God! Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly so. Now answer my question!”

  His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I came to save you. But apparently my gallantry isn’t needed here.”

  Lindsey smiled giddily back at him. “Oh, but it is. Pray go over there and see if Wrayford has broken his neck.”

  She pointed with the whip to the shadowed area of the meadow where a loud groaning could be heard.

  “Tumbled out of the carriage, did he? Too bad I missed it. That must have been quite a spectacle to see.”

  Turning the horse, Mansfield picked a path through the darkened shrubbery.

  Rain fell more thickly now, and she huddled on the seat and tried to stay dry. The earl was a black shadow in the half-light as he leaned down to speak to the fallen man. Wrayford’s whiny voice drifted across the meadow, although she couldn’t make out more than a word here and there. Mansfield spoke sharply in return, then wheeled his horse back around and cantered to her.

  “He’s suffered a few bruises but doesn’t appear to have any broken bones,” Mansfield said. “More’s the pity.”

  Beset by a belated attack of conscience, she said, “The storm is growing worse. Now that you’re here, should we help him back to the carriage?”

  “Hell, no. Let the rat drown.”

  Mansfield swung out of the saddle and tied his horse to the back of the phaeton. Then he leaped up onto the seat and shrugged off one arm of the greatcoat. Gathering her close, he wrapped the coat around her so they were snuggled together in a cocoon.

  He felt marvelously warm. She burrowed into his side, resting her head in the hollow of his shoulder. The occasional raindrop still struck her face, but she no longer cared. Let the heavens pour snow and hail. It didn’t matter so long as she was close to Mansfield.

  He took the leather reins from her, and as they drove off, Lindsey could hear Wrayford shouting after them. He sounded more infuriated than injured.

  “I suppose he can walk to the hunting box,” she said. “He said it’s only half a mile.”

  “So that’s where the craven bastard was taking you. My God, he could have murdered you.”

  In the gloom, Mansfield’s expression looked grim, almost cruel. The intensity of his pronouncement made her shiver. Why would he make such a theatrical statement? Surely he couldn’t really believe it. His angry declaration must stem only from concern for her.

  Wanting to soothe him, she stroked her hand over his midsection. “Wrayford wants my dowry, that’s all. I wouldn’t be of much use to him dead.”

  Mansfield sat silent for a moment, staring out at the lashing rain. Then he cast a grave look down at her. “Listen to me, Lindsey. I’m going to tell you something that you mustn’t share with another living soul. Do you promise?”

  Mystified, she said, “Of course.”

  “There are things you don’t know about Wrayford. For some time now, I’ve been keeping a close watch on him. I’ve reason to believe he may be the Serpentine Strangler.”

  She stared up at him in stunned disbelief. “But . . . how can that be? He’s merely a . . . a buffoon.”

  Mansfield shook his head. “Don’t underestimate Wrayford. He’s notorious for using dastardly tricks to lure young maidservants into his bed. He also has a close connection to each of the Strangler’s victims. The first maid worked for Lady Entwhistle, the second for a neighbor who lives two doors away from him, and the third for the Beardsleys. It’s only a matter of finding a definitive piece of evidence that will link him to the murders.”

  Pellets of rain struck Lindsey, but she took no heed. Lud, could she have been any more wrongheaded? She had never even considered Wrayford, perhaps because he didn’t seem clever enough to plot a series of murders.

  But Mansfield knew him better. Mansfield had been investigating the scoundrel all along.

  The last pieces of the puzzle fell into place. No wonder Mansfield had kept that clipping about the murders locked in his desk. No wonder he had flirted with Lady Entwhistle—he must have been coaxing information from her. And no wonder he had continually warned Lindsey against associating with Wrayford.

  All these weeks, she had branded Mansfield as the murderer. She had wanted to believe the worst of him because he was so dangerously tempting. With his wicked charm, he posed a threat to the future she had planned for her life, the cherished wish to gain the freedom to determine her own destiny.

  But now her eyes had been opened. And the irony was, she wanted to be right here, cozied up with him, feeling the strong beating of his heart beneath her palm. Because she had fallen in love with him. Completely, madly, irrevocably in love.

  The certainty of her feelings warmed her through and through. She wanted to be his wife, and yet she had betrayed his trust in the most unforgivable manner.

  He deserved the truth. Even if it meant turning him against her.

  Taking a deep breath, Lindsey struggled to find the right words. “Mansfield, I—”

  “Thane,” he corrected. He placed his gloved hand over hers and smiled down at her through the gloom. “It’s time you addressed me with less formality.”

  “Thane,” she murmured. “Though perhaps you won’t like me very much in a moment. You see, I’ve something to confess. I . . . I thought for a time that you were the Strangler.”

  Her stomach in knots, she watched as his smile faded. He cocked an eyebrow, his expression one of cool lordly pride. The clopping of the horse hooves and the tapping of the rain filled the excruciating silence.

  When he said nothing, she swallowed hard and continued, “It was because of Nelda and Tilly. When they both disappeared, I feared you’d done away with them. I . . . I even went to Bow Street Station and reporte
d you to the Runners. I’m sorry for that . . . you can’t imagine how much.”

  “Indeed.”

  His neutral tone told her nothing. She laced her fingers in her lap, wanting to touch him but no longer deserving of that right. “Please try to understand. It was just that I was so determined to find some reason to deny my attraction to you. I didn’t want to admit that I could feel so drawn to any nobleman. There’s no excuse for what I did, and I won’t be surprised if you can never find it in your heart to forgive me—”

  “I knew what you’d done,” he broke in.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I saw you driving Wrayford’s carriage. I followed you to Bow Street that day, Miss Brown.”

  Lindsey’s jaw dropped. He could have no knowledge of the pseudonym she’d used unless he’d spoken to Cyrus Bott. All these days she had agonized over her impetuous behavior and Mansfield—Thane—had already known.

  Yet still he had pursued her.

  She felt like a fool—a very blissful fool. “Is that why you took me to Pallister House? You wanted me to know that Tilly was still alive? And Nelda—you must have told her to contact my maid Flora so I’d realize she, too, was unharmed.”

  He shrugged. “I could hardly let you go on thinking ill of me, now could I? That would only guarantee you’d never accept my marriage proposal.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck and dropped a kiss there, breathing deeply of his familiar spicy scent. “Oh, Thane, I don’t deserve to be your wife.”

  “What, a girl who has the courage to knock a grown man out of a carriage? You’re exactly the one for me.” A thread of rough emotion in his voice, he tilted her face up to him. “If you hadn’t stopped Wrayford, we wouldn’t be here together right now. I’d never have found you in time.”

  Lindsey shuddered to think of what might have transpired had she failed. Thane wouldn’t have known they’d left the main road. He would have pressed onward in the wrong direction in the vain quest to track them down.

  His protectiveness stirred a soft tenderness in her, and she ran her fingers over his bristled jaw. “By the by, how did you find out where I’d gone today?”

  He glanced down at her, his expression unreadable, then looked back at the road. “I went to see your parents this afternoon.”

  She tilted her head back to look at him through the gloom. “You spoke to Mama?”

  “Regrettably, I never had the chance. Kasi spied me in the entrance hall and told me where you’d gone—and with whom.”

  “Bless her for that,” Lindsey said fervently. “But why did you go to my house in the first place?”

  “To inform your mother that her interference is pointless. And to request your father’s permission to marry you.”

  She took a shaky breath. It was humbling to know Thane had never wavered in his devotion to her, not even when he’d learned of her duplicity. She hardly dared to hope it meant that his feelings for her ran deep. . . .

  Before she could manage a reply, he pointed to the road ahead. “There’s an inn where we can stop. We daren’t go on any farther. It’s become too dark to see the road.”

  Lindsey spied the dim glow of a light through the veil of rain and darkness. Her heart began to beat faster. “By all means, we should take shelter for the night.”

  “Yes.” He paused, then added, “If there aren’t two rooms available, I can always sleep in the stables.”

  Lindsey felt as if she were standing on a precipice. She could retreat to the safety of her girlish fancies. Or she could become a woman by taking the plunge into a future of her own choosing.

  Lifting her hand, she caressed his cheek. “I’ve a better idea,” she murmured. “We can register as Mr. and Mrs. Pallister.”

  Chapter 24

  A short while later, Lindsey found herself ensconced in the best room the inn had to offer. A crackling wood fire helped to dry her damp hair, while the cheery yellow glow chased the gloom into the corners. The low, sloped ceiling and curtained windows created a cozy retreat that was dominated by a four-poster bed.

  Thane had left her alone for a few minutes while he saw to the horses. He’d said little to her in front of the fawning innkeeper, a stout, genial man who had been eager to offer the best accommodations to a gentleman and his lady wife. A maid had delivered a tray of bread and cheese, but Lindsey was too edgy to eat.

  She hungered only for Thane.

  Sitting by the fire, she’d already removed the pins from her hair. The maid had unbuttoned her, and Lindsey had shed both gown and corset, draping the dress over a chair by the fire to allow the rain-soaked hem to dry. Now, clad in only her chemise, she arose to prowl the small confines of the room.

  Her gaze flitted to the bed with its claret red hangings and plump pillows. How amazing to think that she would sleep there with Thane tonight. The prospect stirred a plethora of emotions in the pit of her stomach: nervousness, desire, impatience.

  Whatever was keeping him?

  Rain tapped on the darkened windowpanes, a lonely sound that stoked her yearning for him. All of her life, she had been taught that no decent young woman behaved with wanton disregard for propriety. A lady must be modest, well mannered, and . . . boring. Lindsey smiled to imagine how the gossipy old biddies of society would squawk if they knew the premier heiress of the season had freely chosen to ruin herself with a rogue.

  Any doubts she’d harbored about Thane had melted away the moment he’d appeared out of the darkness, riding to her rescue. She felt only a slight twinge of regret at giving up her dream of opening a private detective agency. Spinsterhood might have brought her freedom, but it would deny her a life with Thane . . . a life without love.

  Her smile faded. Did he love her? His actions would suggest so, yet he had not spoken the words. When first he had proposed the betrothal scheme all those weeks ago, he’d said that he needed a wife in order to foster a more respectable image for Jocelyn’s sake.

  Was that still his sole purpose? Lindsey fervently hoped not. She wanted him to love her for herself.

  A light knock sounded on the door. A moment later, Thane stepped into the bedchamber. He closed the door and stood there in the shadows, staring at her.

  Her heart thumped against her rib cage. She was keenly aware of her nudity beneath the linen chemise. Perhaps she’d been too forward in removing her gown. For all she knew, there might be some sort of protocol to follow when disrobing. Or had he expected her to be in bed already, waiting for him there?

  His gaze fixed on her, he removed his greatcoat and hat, letting them fall without a care. Then he peeled off his coat and waistcoat as well. His boot heels sharp against the wood floor, he came striding forward, a buccaneer in his billowy white shirt and buckskin breeches. The desire burning in his dark eyes made her melt.

  Reaching out, he combed his fingers through the cascade of her hair. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “My God, you are so very beautiful.”

  He smelled of rain and spice, a heady combination that made her dizzy. The bout of nerves she’d felt earlier transformed into a powerful yearning that unfurled throughout her body.

  “You are, too,” she murmured.

  Bracing her hands on his shoulders, Lindsey raised herself on tiptoes and brought her mouth to his. He responded instantly, his arms enveloping her and his tongue aggressively seeking hers. His kiss swept her out of the chill of darkness and into a realm of light and warmth. Clinging to him, she lost herself to the sultry heaven of arousal.

  His hands skimmed down her back, molding their hips together so that she felt the imprint of his manhood, thick and hard against the muslin chemise. His virility made her aware of the perfect way their bodies complemented each other.

  The kiss tapered off to tiny licks, to moist lips rubbing back and forth. She loved the mastery of his mouth, the tenderness of his touch. It made her eager to be lying in bed with him, kissing and caressing beneath the covers.

  She took h
is hand and led him over to the chair by the fire. “Sit down, and I’ll help you with your boots.”

  His eyes shone with amusement and something else, something that promised pleasure. “Yes, my lady.”

  “I’m hardly behaving as a lady,” she said, bending over him to yank off one tasseled knee boot. “My old governess would be quite appalled to see me now.”

  “Mmm.”

  Working on the second boot, she looked up to find him staring down into her gaping bodice. A flush tingled through her breasts and made them ache. She loved the hunger in his eyes, for it was reserved for her alone. With her palms on his knees, she leaned over him, teasing him with a better view. In a sultry tone, she asked, “Is that all you have to say?”

  He shook his head. “Let me add, you take my breath away.”

  On that thrilling statement, he caught her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap so that she sat straddling him. The scandalous position drew her chemise up to the tops of her bare thighs. She could feel him beneath her, his breeches the only barrier to the joining of their flesh.

  Her pulse quickening, she looped her arms around his neck. “My dear lord,” she whispered. “You’ve become quite adept at tempting me into sin.”

  “I’ve only just begun.”

  He began to kiss her again, gently at first, then with increasing fervency. His tongue eased her lips apart and he tasted her deeply as if she were a feast to a starving man. His seductive manner emboldened her to act on her own desires. She tugged the shirt from his waistband and slipped her hands under it, the better to feel the hard-muscled heat of his chest.

  He did the same with her chemise, delving beneath to cup her bare bottom and glide over smooth flesh. Sweet heaven, how she ached for his caress. Yet he seemed content with a leisurely exploration, oblivious to the way he was driving her mad.

  “Please,” she murmured, swiveling her hips to encourage him. “Won’t you touch me . . . as you did before?”

  He shifted his hand tantalizingly close. “I want your promise first.”