Never Love a Scoundrel (37 page)

Carlyle took the paper and folded it. “It may soothe you to know that I do think your brother was trying to change. I’ve seen the potential in him for quite some time, then last spring, when my wife and I were taken hostage by Aldridge and his gang, Jagger let us go free.”

Jason refused to be duped by Ethan. If he’d acted kindly, it wasn’t because he was benevolent. It was because he had a reason that would somehow benefit him. “That doesn’t soothe me at all, actually.”

Carlyle nodded. “I’ll see this is delivered today.”

Jason stood. “How will you ensure he gets it?”

“I’ll make sure he knows it’s from you. You said he’d listen to you. Is there any chance at all he won’t?”

Ethan had gone out of his way to forge a relationship with Jason, and they’d shockingly reached an accord. “None. He trusts me.” He said he didn’t, but Jason didn’t believe that. Ethan was a lonely boy who was starved for someone to care about him. And Jason would use that to bring him down.

A quarter hour later, at his direction, his coach slowed in front of Lydia’s house. It looked fine, untouched even. However, inside, Lydia—and even her godforsaken aunt—were likely upset and frightened. Jason felt a nearly painful urge to rush into the house and offer comfort and protection. But neither of those were his responsibility. She’d made that perfectly clear.

He rapped on the roof, and the coach drew forward. As he moved away, he cast one last glance at the house and saw the flutter of a drape in an upstairs window. He felt a twinge in his chest and then turned away, for he was certain that if he looked hard enough, he’d see Lydia. And if he did, his heart would surely break all over again.

LYDIA’S HEART
clenched as she watched Jason’s coach pull away down the street. She turned from the window as Aunt Margaret walked into the sitting room.

She still looked pale this morning, and her eyes lacked their typical hard edge. Lydia wondered if last night’s robbery had somehow softened her.

“Why the devil do you look so forlorn?” Aunt Margaret demanded.

Apparently not.

“Last night was a bit of a trial, don’t you think?” Lydia saw no reason to mince words with her aunt any longer.

Aunt Margaret moved into the sitting room and took her usual chair. She peered up at Lydia with disappointment shadowing her gaze. “I gather a night of sleep—or even a half-night—didn’t prompt you to change your mind. You’re making an utterly foolish decision if you marry him.”

“I’m not. I love him, not that I expect you to understand that.” Lydia was certain her aunt had no concept of the emotion.

Clenching her jaw, Aunt Margaret glanced away. “I loved Lockwood, the cad. Wolverton, too, if you can believe it. And you can see what love did for me.” When she looked back to Lydia, her eyes gleamed with pain. “I was a fool to give myself to Lockwood, but he was immensely popular and I desperately wanted him to choose me. His son was the same way in his youth. Women fawned all over him. He could’ve had any of them and likely would’ve broken hearts like his father if I hadn’t intervened.”

Lydia’s jaw dropped. “What did you do?” Though she already knew. “You pushed his mother into her breakdown, didn’t you? Is everything you ever told me a lie?”

Aunt Margaret pursed her lips, but didn’t flinch beneath Lydia’s anger.

Lydia’s heart ached for Jason, and her animosity for the woman seated before her intensified. “You’re a horrible person.”

Her dark eyes were defiant. “Yes, I’m a horrible person, but with damned good reason.” Her lack of remorse was disgusting, but completely expected.

“Why?” Lydia asked. “Why did you make it your life’s work to ruin people? It’s not as if anyone knew of your transgressions.”

Margaret—sometime during the past few moments Lydia had stopped thinking of her as “Aunt”—gripped the arms of her chair. “What was left to me? My mistakes weren’t common knowledge, but men talk. I became a spinster. And I wasn’t going to fade into the wallpaper like your silly friend Miss Cheswick. I made the best of my lot, and now I’m one of the most revered people in Society.”

Lydia felt sorry for the woman. She was absolutely delusional. “You aren’t revered—you’re feared. That’s not the same thing. And saddest of all, you’re still alone. Well, that isn’t going to happen to me.”

She haughtily lifted her chin. “You won’t be happy. Marrying Lockwood will seal your fate in exile.”

Anger curled Lydia’s hands into fists and stiffened her spine. “I
will
be happy and not in spite of marrying Jason, but because of it.” Yes, some people would shun her, but she’d learned those people didn’t matter. Her true friends and people of good substance wouldn’t turn their backs on her. “And you’re wrong—there are plenty of people who will be happy for me, and for Jason.”

She gave Lydia the most awful, vindictive look. “I’ve made it my life’s work to ensure the Lockwood family is miserable. You won’t be spared once you become part of it.” She meant to continue her campaign of gossip, and she’d try to push Jason over the edge just as she’d done his mother.

Lydia stalked forward and stood before her chair. She glared down at the woman who’d made her life hell for far too long. “You won’t bother me or Jason. If you do, I’ll ensure all of Society knows everything I learned from Wolverton.”

Margaret blanched. “You wouldn’t.”

No, she wouldn’t, but Margaret didn’t need to know that. Since she always thought the worst of people, she’d have no trouble believing Lydia’s empty threat. “There’s only one way for you to know for certain.”

She stared up at Lydia a long moment before blinking and then turning her head away. “I taught you too well.”

“No, you didn’t, because unlike you, I take no joy in having to use information against you. I only wish there was a way for you to let go of the past.”

Margaret’s shoulder twitched, but she kept her gaze averted.

Lydia shook her head to clear the anger and disappointment away. It was time to let joy—and hope—in. She’d thought she couldn’t find happiness loving a scoundrel, but she’d been so very wrong.

But how to persuade him to receive her? He’d probably instructed his staff to ensure she wasn’t allowed within fifty feet of Lockwood House. Or, perhaps she didn’t need to persuade him. Perhaps she only needed to persuade his butler.

Chapter Twenty-three

JASON FELT
better than he had in days. The vice party—which he’d scheduled as soon as he’d arrived home from that disastrous Holborn soirée—was in full swing, his half brother would soon be in the custody of Bow Street, and Scot had arranged for a new Cyprian to meet him upstairs. He prowled from room to room like a caged animal while he waited for Ethan to arrive.

Scot found him in the drawing room. “Your entertainment for this evening awaits.”

Jason scowled at him. “I’m not ready yet. I told you: after Ethan arrives and Teague carts him away.” The Bow Street Runner was waiting in Jason’s office, and several other Runners were stationed about the house.

“I’m aware of what you said, but I thought I’d let you know anyway.” He glanced away. “And there’s, ah, one more thing. I had to put her in your bedchamber.”

Scot had Jason’s full attention now. “You did
what
?”

“I didn’t have any other choice. All of the other rooms are full. You’ve quite a crowd tonight. Seems that everyone wanted to come after what happened last week.”

Of course they had. “You’re an idiot,” Jason growled, his good mood evaporating. “You knew I didn’t want to see anyone this early, and you put her in
my
bedchamber. Get her out.”

“I would, but I promised Lord Faversham that I’d procure a certain young lady from the next room.” Scot was already hurrying off.

Jason swore. “I’ll tell her myself.”

He strode from the drawing room and quickly made his way upstairs. A couple was draped against the wall at the top of the stairs. Apparently he
was
short on space this evening. He made his way quietly past them.

When he got to his private wing, the corridor was brightly lit. They kept it that way to discourage people from venturing that way. An excess of light meant a dearth of privacy, and that was never a good thing.

He paused when he reached the door. What would he find inside? An image of Lydia—naked for once—spread across his bed invaded his mind, and he suffered a wave of lust so strong and so striking that he was suddenly certain he’d not only throw the Cyprian out of his room, he’d throw her out of the house. No, it was more than lust. It was love. He realized in that moment that he didn’t want to be with anyone else, and he feared he never would.

He opened the door and hadn’t planned to close it, but what he saw made him slam it shut.

Lydia—and yes she was fully, gloriously nude—was reclined upon his bed, her left arm raised against the bedpost.

Speech completely abandoned him as he stared at her gorgeous body, pale and perfect in the candlelight. It took every ounce of self-control, and he had precious little at this moment, not to throw himself on her.

“What are you doing here?” he croaked.

“Scot said you were in need of company. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I’d try out that thong.” She pulled her hand, and Jason could see her wrist was tethered to his bed.

His cock roared with lust. But his mind interceded with a dose of much-needed sanity. He couldn’t continue with her. “Lydia, as much as I might like to take advantage of your . . . offerings—” His mouth went absolutely dry as his gaze settled on the delectable globes of her breasts. He swallowed. “Does anyone besides Scot—and I’ll assume North—know you’re here?”

“No.” There was a note of cheer to her voice that made him want to scowl again. Why was she happy when he was still miserable?

Why was she even
here
, particularly during a vice party? “You refused me in front of half of London.”

She grimaced, her lovely features wrinkling briefly. “I didn’t mean to. You caught me quite by surprise. I’m afraid I panicked.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. “And you waited this long to tell me?”

She laughed then, a beautiful sound that filled him with hope. “That’s rich coming from the man who made me stew in misery for three days after publicly humiliating me.”

He flinched. “Perhaps my also public apology wasn’t enough, then.”

“No, I don’t think it was. You’ll have to make it up to me for quite some time.” She raked him with a thoroughly seductive stare. “Starting right now.”

Desire pulsed through him. He moved toward the bed, coming around the side to where her wrist was bound. “What are you saying?”

“That I want you. I want to marry you. I want a future with you.” She notched up her chin. “And I’m not leaving until you agree.”

He smiled then, admiring her ingenuity and persistence. But was their love enough?

“Lydia.” He forced himself to turn from her tempting curves and stare at the wall. “None of this changes who I am or what I’ve done. Society thinks me a crazed degenerate. I’ll never be accepted the way you want to be, and what’s more, I don’t want that.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft, small. “I never should have expected you to. I think I spent too long under Aunt Margaret’s tutelage. I lost sight of what was really important, if I ever really knew. And maybe I didn’t before I met you. Being with you was the only happiness I have ever known. I’ll take you any way I can get you—reprobate, lunatic, scoundrel.”

He snapped his gaze back to hers. She was staring at him with those dark, seductive eyes and he felt like he could see all the way to her heart. A heart she was offering him if he only had the courage to accept it.

Fear froze him in place and blurred his vision. If he opened himself to her, let her inside . . . it was all he had left. He didn’t know if he could risk it.

She pushed up from the bed, and with her free hand, stroked his ruined cheek. “I love you, Jason. Every damaged, mad, and lonely piece of you.”

The fear curdled in his gut, sparking a bead of nausea. “What if I
am
mad like my mother—”

Her touch grew firmer, cradling his face with warmth and security. “You aren’t. Together, we will keep the demons at bay. Your mother didn’t have a partner, a soul mate, someone who would fight for her. You do.”