Never Trust a Rogue (13 page)

“We merely had a polite conversation,” she said. “I’ve done the same with a good number of other gentlemen. Would you rather me be rude to the earl?”

Mrs. Crompton eyed her suspiciously. “He has a wicked reputation. I’ve heard that he keeps a fifteen-year-old girl in the house adjoining his. A girl who is of no relation to him.”

Lindsey found the insinuation monstrous, even given her dislike for Mansfield. But Mama mustn’t know that she’d met Jocelyn. “The girl is his ward. And I believe she’s crippled, too. Surely you’re not suggesting anything unseemly could be going on.”

“One never knows with his sort. He must not be encouraged, do you hear me? Now, Lord Wrayford is due to arrive at any moment. I’ve asked him to come here in the hopes that you would go on a drive with
him
.”

Nothing could be more unwelcome. Lindsey remembered the last time he’d taken her out in his carriage. He’d tried to plant a slobbery kiss on her mouth and she’d had to jam her elbow into his side to make him stop.

“Really, Mama! It isn’t fitting to push me at Lord Wrayford. What will he think of us?”

“He has been most welcoming of my intervention. And you would do well to encourage him. He is the heir to the old Duke of Sylvester, after all, and very soon he will outrank Lord Mansfield.”

“But . . . Lord Wrayford is a gambler. I heard some
ladies whispering that he owes large debts. That won’t make Papa very happy.”

“Nonsense, he’s a fine, upstanding gentleman who will make you a duchess someday. Only think, your firstborn son will someday be a duke.” Mrs. Crompton eyed her critically, then reached out to straighten the sleeve of Lindsey’s gown. “Now, do come along, darling. You must tell the earl that you have made other plans.”

Thane was sitting forward on an elegant but uncomfortable gold-striped settee, his elbows resting on his knees, when the sound of approaching footsteps came from the corridor.

He had been ruminating about the possible owner of the button found at the scene of the third murder. Cyrus Bott had handled the inquiries at various tailors’ around town, while Thane had questioned the watchmen who had been on duty that night, only to learn nothing of value. Now, he banished all thought of the Strangler, sat up straight, and affixed a pleasant smile to his face.

But it wasn’t Lindsey or her dragon of a mother who entered.

It was Wrayford.

Dressed to the nines in a pale blue coat and tan breeches, Wrayford carried a gold-topped walking stick that was pure pretension. His face had the florid complexion of a man who routinely imbibed too much drink. From his styled sandy hair to the polished tips of his brown shoes, he looked ready for courtship.

Wrayford stopped dead in his tracks. “You!” he exclaimed, his genial expression altering to suspicion. “What the devil are
you
doing here, Mansfield?”

Nothing could have been more providential. Thane had intended to seek him out for questioning later in the
day. Now he had the chance to milk this opportunity for all it was worth. “I could ask the same of you.”

“I’m here to take Miss Crompton out for a drive.”

Thane stretched his arms out along the back of the sofa. “It seems you’ll have to wait your turn, then.”

Wrayford’s face flushed a deeper red and his sandy brows lowered in a scowl. He stood there, nostrils flaring like a bull in a Spanish fighting ring. With an abrupt huff of released breath, he charged forward, gripping the stick like a cudgel. “Why, you knave—!”

Thane tensed his muscles without abandoning his relaxed pose. He was prepared to spring into action if need be. But Wrayford must have seen the menace in Thane’s gaze, because he stopped short a few feet distant.

“This is deliberate,” he snapped, shaking the cane. “You’ve no real interest in Miss Crompton. You’re trying to stop me from paying off my markers.”

“Don’t be absurd. I certainly do want the thousand guineas you lost to me in that dice game.”

“Blackguard! Then don’t interfere with my courtship of her!”

“It may be best to lower your voice,” Thane advised. “You wouldn’t want Miss Crompton—or her father—to learn just how close you are to drowning in River Tick.”

Compressing his lips, Wrayford glanced over his shoulder at the arched doorway and the empty corridor beyond it. Then he cast a spiteful look at Thane and hissed, “You’re wasting your time here. Mrs. Crompton prefers
me
as a suitor.”

“I very much doubt Mr. Crompton will be pleased to hear that news.”

“What? You know I was referring to her daughter. And why are you poaching in
my
territory, anyway?”

“Maybe I’ve decided it’s time I took a wife.”

Thane pretended it was the most logical decision in the world when in fact it had been an act of supreme idiocy. He had embarked on the course on the spur of the moment, when he had caught Lindsey in his library, dressed like a maid and plotting to rifle through his desk for that damned IOU. Any lady who would go to such extreme lengths to rid herself of a suitor had to be nothing but trouble.

Yet there was something about her that robbed him of reason. Perhaps it was that lush mouth, so temptingly kissable, or her disdainful manner that challenged him to sweeten her disposition.

No, it was merely chivalry that obliged him to protect her from a suspected murderer. He need never go through with the betrothal if sufficient evidence to implicate Wrayford could be found.

Wrayford shook the walking stick. “Pick another girl. You don’t need an heiress. You’re well set for funds.”

“Is that all she is to you—a bank account?”

“Of course not. She’s a fine specimen of a female. Why else would a man shackle himself to such a proper young lady?”

“You seem more suited to a merry widow like Lady Entwhistle.”

A crafty look entered Wrayford’s pale blue eyes. “Speak for yourself, old chap. The two of you looked quite cozy at that ball the other night. Miss Crompton had some choice words to say about your little tête-à-tête.”

Had she?

Thane could well imagine Lindsey denouncing him. But he could hardly correct her mistaken assumptions. She mustn’t know the real reason for his conversation with Lady Entwhistle, that he had been gathering information about the woman’s various lovers.

“Have a seat, Wrayford. We’ll let Miss Crompton make
her own decision.” Thane deliberately eyed him up and down. “That’s quite a handsome cravat you’re wearing. Where do you purchase your neck cloths?”

“Eh?” Taking the bait, Wrayford sank into a chair and cast a prideful glance down at the elaborate folds of white linen. “At Stapleton’s, of course.”

Thane knew the establishment. If Bernard could connect the cravat left at the second crime scene to Stapleton’s, that would help build a case against Wrayford.

“Did you tie it yourself, or is that the work of your valet? Perhaps I’ll send my man, Bernard, over to study his technique.”

“Not a chance. My valet will never give up his secrets. Too bad you’ll never be able to duplicate this style.”

Damn
. It would have been helpful for Bernard to have the chance to search Wrayford’s dressing room for a coat that was missing a brass button with a crosshatch pattern. From information he’d coaxed out of Lady Entwhistle, Thane knew that Wrayford had a taste for maidservants and bondage. But was there a connection between him and the third victim?

Thane was casting about for a way to ask Wrayford how well he knew the Beardsleys when the approach of footsteps again drew his gaze to the doorway. Mrs. Crompton swept into the drawing room with Lindsey lagging a few steps behind.

As Thane rose to his feet, Wrayford leaped out of his chair and rushed to bow over Lindsey’s hand. “My dear, you look utterly charming today, as always.”

For once, Wrayford spoke the truth. Lindsey Crompton was a goddess in bronze silk that skimmed her body and hinted at womanly curves. The color enhanced the richness of her upswept brown hair, while the scoop neckline revealed a tantalizing glimpse of beautiful breasts—a portion of her anatomy that Wrayford had noticed, too.

The damned lecher was gawking.

Fists clenched, Thane started forward. In three steps, he caught himself short. What the devil was he thinking—to knock Wrayford to the floor right here in the drawing room? That would make a fine impression on the ladies.

He forced himself to relax, to lower his head in a bow. “Miss Crompton. It’s always a pleasure.”

Extracting her hand from Wrayford’s, Lindsey afforded Thane a guarded smile. “Lord Mansfield. How good of you to call.”

Good? So, aloofness was the game she intended to play. “Surely you’ve been expecting me. We spoke the other day of going for a drive.”

She regarded him impassively. “Did we? I . . .”

“I’m afraid my daughter is not allowed to make promises to gentlemen without my permission,” Mrs. Crompton said. “Whatever she said to you must be rescinded.”

“Quite so,” Wrayford interjected. “I’m sure Miss Crompton would far rather go for a drive with
me
.”

“Perhaps,” Thane said, “we should allow the lady to choose for herself. If she’s to be known as someone who does not keep her word, it should be by her own decision.”

He looked straight into Lindsey’s beautiful blue eyes and she met his gaze without flinching. It was impossible to read her thoughts. Would she call his bluff?

He’d never had any real intention of tattling to her parents about her intrusion into his house. What kind of man would he be to force a lady into marriage by such dastardly means?

But she had believed his assertion that morning in his library, and he hoped she still did now. Claiming her for himself was the best way to keep Wrayford at bay. Despite Lindsey’s conviction that the IOU would bring her salvation, Thane seriously doubted that learning of Wrayford’s massive gambling debts would deter
Mrs. Crompton from an ambition to marry her daughter to a duke’s heir.

Lindsey slid a glance at her mother. Then she gave Thane a cool nod. “You’re quite right, my lord. It seems I must honor my promise to you.”

Lindsey could feel her mother’s angry stare boring into her back as Mansfield helped her up into his open phaeton. It took a bit of maneuvering with her skirts to achieve the high perch. Primly she settled herself on the leather cushions while he untied the reins and then leaped up beside her.

As he directed the black horse away from the curbstone, she caught one last view of her mother standing in the doorway, Wrayford glaring over her shoulder. A perverse sense of liberation made Lindsey smile and wave good-bye. It was unkind of her to feel so pleased at thwarting her mother’s wishes—and Wrayford’s. Yet Lindsey experienced a buoyancy of spirit nonetheless.

“It appears your mother doesn’t approve of me,” Mansfield said. “I suspect there’ll be a price to pay when you return home.”

Amusement glinted in his keen dark eyes. The warmth there caught Lindsey off guard, causing an unexpected clutch inside her bosom. Blast him, he wasn’t the charming man he appeared to be on the surface. He was a cad who would stoop to blackmailing a lady into marriage. A rogue who flirted with loose women like Lady Entwhistle.

A villain who might well be a murderer.

“Mama has her mind set on a match with Lord Wrayford,” Lindsey said, folding her gloved hands in her lap and striving for a casual demeanor. “I could discredit him as a gambler if only I had the proof that you took from me.”

“Forget about that IOU. It will serve to discredit
me
as a gambler, too, when I seek the approval of your parents. Besides, Wrayford will cease to be of any importance once you and I announce our betrothal.”

Lindsey pursed her lips and pretended an interest in the passing row of elegant houses. Clearly, the earl believed she was quaking in terror at the prospect of him revealing the truth about her stealing into his home, clad as a maidservant. He presumed her to be cowed and intimidated at the notion of facing her parents’ wrath.

That had been her initial reaction.

But Lindsey had conquered her fear of being forced into a hasty marriage. Now that she’d had ample time to reflect on the matter, she had no intention of going through with any wedding. She was determined to stand her ground. No matter what brouhaha the earl might stir with Mama and Papa, no matter how dire the threat of scandal, she would refuse to speak her vows to a man she barely knew.

A man who might have strangled three maidservants.

How incongruous it was to ponder such a horror as she sat beside him, the well-sprung carriage gently rocking along the cobbled street. With the sun shining and a gentle breeze stirring the ribbons of her bonnet, it seemed impossible that he could have any part in such dark deeds. Nevertheless, she was pretending to go along with his courtship scheme because it offered her the opportunity to investigate him. He had too many uncanny connections to the murders—and she didn’t believe in coincidences.

The very first time Lindsey had met him, Mansfield had been in the company of a pretty maidservant.

At another ball, she had seen him flirting with Lady Entwhistle, who’d employed one of the victims of the Serpentine Strangler.