Never Love a Scoundrel

by Darcy Burke

  He turned to face her, still keeping the left side of his face slightly averted. “Do you visit Lady Aldridge often?”

  “No.” Like him, she found herself giving a brief response. However, she couldn’t very well reveal that she was here rooting for information about why Lady Aldridge was attending church with his bastard brother. Better to deflect the conversation back to him. “Have you seen Lady Aldridge often since her husband passed?”

  He sent her a look that made her wonder if he thought she was mad. “No.”

  Attempting to smooth over any discomfort, she said, “Well, I suppose it’s not odd that neither of us have seen her. She’s kept to herself for the most part, hasn’t she? Until recently.” She watched him closely to see his reaction. Was he here because of his half brother? What was their relationship?

  “Mmm.” Again, the noncommittal utterance.

  The door opened a small amount, and the butler’s round face appeared in the gap. “Lady Aldridge thanks you both for stopping by and hopes to receive you soon, but she’s simply too ill today.”

  Lydia stepped to the side so that she wasn’t blocked by Lockwood. “Please convey my best to her ladyship.”

  “And mine,” Lockwood put in.

  The butler nodded before closing the door. Lydia glanced at Lockwood as she turned. “I do hope she’s not terribly ill.”

  Lockwood pivoted, and they started back toward the gate. “Mmm.”

  “That’s the third time you’ve done that,” Lydia said. “But I suppose your conversation skills might be a bit out of practice.”

  She inwardly cringed and shot him a regretful look. She wasn’t typically sarcastic—out loud, at least—except with the select few with whom she felt comfortable. Did that mean she felt comfortable with Lord Lockwood, of all people?

  He slowed his pace and stared down at her. He didn’t appear angry, but with that scar and eyes the color of the Thames in winter—a dark, murky gray—he looked fierce. “Yes, they might just be,” he said softly, with what she thought could be a touch of humor.

  Lydia relaxed, but only briefly. She shouldn’t leave yet. If she failed to gather even a sliver of gossip for Aunt Margaret, she might find herself on the next mail coach to Northumberland. Expulsion would make the six years she’d spent entrenching herself in London Society all for naught. She’d likely wind up married to a sheep farmer who lived thirty miles from the nearest village. Rural sheep farmers were fine and good for someone who loved the country and isolation. But Lydia loved the bustle and noise—even the smell—of London.

  Fortified with the need to cling to the life she’d built in Town, Lydia gathered her courage and ignored her shame, two things she’d mastered under Aunt Margaret’s tutelage, and made a nuisance of herself. “Forgive my boldness, but I’m afraid I can’t let this opportunity go without asking. Why are you here? You’re a recluse, and yet here you are calling on Lady Aldridge.”

  He gave a little shrug. “Perhaps I’m just thoughtful. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “Of course not, but you must agree it’s . . . odd.”

  “No, I mustn’t agree.” He paused, his gaze assessing her shrewdly. “You’re going to tell everyone you’ve seen me here, aren’t you?”

  If Aunt Margaret had anything to say about it—and she unfortunately did—Lydia would tell anyone who would listen and even those who wouldn’t. But maybe he didn’t want her to. If he asked her not to tell, she’d agree, even though it would likely earn her Aunt Margaret’s undying wrath if she ever found out. Hesitantly she asked, “Is your visit here a secret?”

  “Not at all. Feel free to tell everyone you’ve met the mysterious and dastardly Lord Lockwood.” His eyes bored into hers with exacting precision, as if he was daring her to do what he said.

  She stared into his eyes, unable to look away. “Mysterious, yes, but dastardly? However can I draw such a conclusion after our brief encounter?” Because everything about him—from the notorious parties he hosted to the vicious scar delineating his face—said he was dastardly. And scandalous and dangerous and who knew what else.

  They arrived at the gate. He opened it for her. “I’m sure you’ll find the right word—or words—to describe me,” he drawled, his voice carrying the barest hint of darkness.

  Delicious.

  Lydia stopped. Where had that word come from? Her gaze darted to his scar. She was oddly fascinated by it. His ruined face should be unsettling, and she imagined most people—especially young ladies—cringed from it. But she found herself wanting to touch it. The wound had to have hurt quite a lot. He tipped his face again, averting the left side from her inquisitive gaze. Questions burned her tongue, but for the first time in she couldn’t remember how long she didn’t release them.

  She stepped from the courtyard, and from the corner of her eye saw her maid inch forward. Lord Lockwood held the gate open until she haltingly made her way through it. She kept her gaze carefully averted from his face as she went to stand several feet down the sidewalk.

  Lord Lockwood latched the iron clasp of the gate and then turned to Lydia. Again, he kept his right side prominent, and she wondered if he even realized it or if it was simply habit. How long ago had he received the scar? Aunt Margaret would know. She knew everything. And she was going to be giddy when she heard Lydia had met the reclusive Lord Lockwood.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lydia.” His deep voice resonated in her belly and that word sounded in her head again like a warning: delicious.

  Her pulse ticked up. “I do hope we’ll meet again.”

  He smiled then, and Lydia’s knees nearly melted. “You never know, but I shouldn’t think so.”

  “Then I shall have to treasure this interlude always,” she said, meaning every word. He carried an indescribable air. It was equal parts mystery and danger, but there was something else. Something that made her quivery and silly. “Though, I’ll endeavor to ensure it isn’t the last time.”

  He leaned slightly forward, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll look forward to your efforts.”

  She inclined her head and slowly turned away from him. She was reluctant to leave, but what was she going to do, stand there and trade flirtatious banter with him all afternoon? That sounded heavenly, actually.

  She passed her maid and after a few steps turned her head. Lockwood’s back was retreating down the street toward his carriage, which was parked at the opposite end of Aldridge House. She willed him to turn and look at her, but he didn’t. With an internal sigh, she turned back and continued on her solitary way.

  Chapter Two

  JASON STEPPED into Lockwood House and gave his gloves and hat to North, who gestured with his head to the left—toward the sitting room off the foyer.

  “My lord, a Mr. Teague from Bow Street is waiting to see you.”

  Bow Street? Jason’s gaze met North’s in silent communication, then he turned and entered the sitting room.

  A burly man with a balding pate and wearing a somber gray suit stood as Jason stepped over the threshold. He held his black hat in his meaty hands. “Good afternoon, my lord.” His tone was deep and his words clean, though they didn’t carry the clipped delivery of the aristocracy.

  Jason moved into the room after closing the door behind him. Curiosity pricked his neck. “Good afternoon, Mr. Teague. How can I be of assistance today?”

  Deep lines furrowed across Teague’s forehead. “I’m afraid I’m here on a sensitive matter.”

  Jason’s curiosity intensified. “Indeed? Let us be comfortable, then.” He gestured for Teague to sit as he seated himself in a chair covered in rich burgundy damask.

  Depositing himself back upon the settee from which he’d risen, Teague set his hat beside him. “I’d like to ask you some questions about Mr. Ethan Locke.”

  What had Ethan done to draw the attention of Bow Street? Jason had wondered if he was corrupt, as some thief-takers were wont to be. How else did he sport the expensive, bejeweled rings Jason had spi
ed on his fingers when he’d last seen him at the Bucket of Blood?

  Jason relaxed into the chair and smiled. “How can I help?”

  Teague set his hands on his knees. “Thank you, my lord. Can you confirm the rumor that he’s your half brother?” His gaze was direct, probing even.

  Jason saw no reason to lie, particularly when being honest might somehow cause trouble for a man who’d done more than his part in ruining Jason’s life. He set his elbows on the arms of the chair and sat back. “As much as I’d rather not claim relation to him, yes, he is my father’s bastard.”

  “I appreciate your openness, my lord. Have you been in contact with him?”

  “Not recently. After my father’s death, he and his mother found a new protector.” Jason weighed whether to tell the Runner about their altercation seven years ago, but decided to wait and see if it was pertinent. “I only just learned he was moving about in Society.”

  “So this was a surprise to you?” At Jason’s nod he continued. “Do you know where he’s been the last several years?”

  “Here in town, though not in Society. I see him at boxing matches now and again.” Tension spiraled down Jason’s neck. He enjoyed a good bout, but seeing Ethan at one never failed to ruin it. “He sponsored a fighter last spring.”

  “Yes, we’ve spoken to Mr. Ackley,” Teague said.

  Jason wondered if they’d also spoken to the other man who’d fought for Ethan—Lord Ambrose Sevrin. But again, Jason kept that to himself. Perhaps Sevrin wouldn’t appreciate being involved. Jason would talk to him, provided he was even in London at present.

  Teague’s lips pursed, and he glanced at the floor briefly. “Do you have any plans to contact Locke now that he’s come out?”

  “I might.” Especially now that I know Bow Street is investigating him. But what for? “Do you suspect my half brother of some crime?”

  Teague tipped his head to the side and was quiet a moment. “I shouldn’t say, my lord. However, seeing as you are his relation and a peer, it seems I could trust you with a few details. Particularly since you are inclined to help.” The last was said with the barest inflection of a question, but Jason understood. If Teague gave him information, Jason must do the same.

  “I’m eager to help, Mr. Teague.” Anything to put an end to Ethan’s foray into Society.

  “I’m sure you know that Lord Aldridge was found to be the leader of a theft ring. It was in the papers last spring.”

  Jason’s pulse thrummed. “Yes, I’m aware.”

  Teague leaned forward. “The thefts stopped after his death, but they picked up again a month or so ago. Then Mr. Jagger—sorry, Mr. Locke—showed up.”

  Bow Street of course knew his real last name. “No need to apologize. His name is Jagger after all, not Locke and certainly not Lockwood. Do you suspect him of taking over Aldridge’s theft ring?”

  “His association with Lady Aldridge seems . . . odd. We don’t believe she was involved with her husband’s crimes at all, but she’s kept almost entirely to herself since his death. Until she allowed Jagger to take her to church. We’re simply trying to ascertain your brother’s motives.” He shook his head infinitesimally. “The timing of his appearance and the resurgence of thefts in Mayfair is simply too coincidental to ignore.”

  Jason didn’t believe in coincidence. “I agree. Is he still a thief-taker?”

  “Not for some time.” Teague frowned. “I don’t think he was a very honest one, either.”

  Jason snorted. “That’s not surprising.”

  “May I speak plainly, my lord?” Teague asked tentatively.

  “Please.”

  “You seem to hold your half brother in low regard. Why?”

  Jason ran his hands along the curved gilt arms of his chair and offered a bitter smile. “Ethan was my father’s favorite, as was his mother, and he took every opportunity to lord it over me and my mother. I wouldn’t put anything past him. To say that we share a rivalry is an understatement. When my father died, he and his mother were finally out of our lives.”

  Teague seemed rapt. “You haven’t spoken to him since then?”

  “Just once.” Again, Jason didn’t want to divulge the specifics of that event. He only said, “He visited me to ask for some letters his mother had written to our father. I couldn’t find them.” He hadn’t even bothered to look.

  Teague frowned again. “Forgive the question, but if he’s been absent from your life for several years, why are you certain he’s capable of this level of wrongdoing?”

  Jason gripped the arms of his chair as the old fury settled into his bones. “He made sure I was cast out from Society, that after my mother’s public collapse, I too would lose my standing. All of London thinks me a madman, Mr. Teague, and I have Ethan to thank for that. He’s ruthless when it comes to getting what he wants.”

  His eyes widening slightly, Teague leaned back against the settee. “I see.”

  Ready for the interview to conclude, Jason stood. “Then you also see how much I’d like to be of service to your investigation.”

  Teague plucked up his hat and levered himself to his feet. “I’m pleased to hear it, my lord. Do let me know if you learn anything.”

  “I will notify Bow Street at once.” Jason led him to the door of the sitting room.

  Teague inclined his head before putting his hat atop it. “Good day, my lord.”

  North showed him through the foyer and then outside. Then the butler turned to Jason with a questioning look.

  “You heard that?” Jason asked, well aware that North sometimes eavesdropped, though his motivation was perfectly acceptable. He liked to anticipate needs before one even knew they had them and organize things with the best possible efficiency. He was a damned good butler.

  North crossed the foyer to join him. “I did, my lord. How do you plan to proceed?”

  Jason’s mind worked. He would help Bow Street with their investigation. To do that, he needed to kindle some sort of relationship with Ethan. The thought turned his stomach. “Teague said Ethan’s been invited to some events. Who the hell is extending him invitations?”

  “I can find out, my lord.”

  “No, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I am invited to the same things.” But how the hell was that going to be possible? Jason’s invitations had dried up seven years ago. Anger ripped through him again. Ethan was effortlessly gliding into the Society that had exiled Jason.

  “You could angle for a few invitations,” North said. “You’ve become friendly with several gentlemen in prominent positions.”

  While that was true, they’d befriended him as the host of scandal-filled parties who provided them with all the gambling, liquor, and courtesans they could want. Such a relationship didn’t precisely translate to sharing a drink at White’s or exchanging pleasantries at Almack’s, where he doubted he could even obtain a voucher. Anyway, he didn’t really want to be included.

  Still, if he wanted to help Bow Street, he had to do something. And if he thought about it, the idea of encountering the lovely Lady Lydia again held a certain appeal. She hadn’t been cowed by his hideous face. In fact, if he hadn’t been mistaken, she’d actually flirted with him.

  He looked expectantly at North, suspecting he already had a plan. “What do you suggest? Even if people don’t remember what happened here seven years ago, they certainly haven’t forgotten the party I hosted the other night. And if they don’t, I’ll be having another soon. In short, I have no invitations, and no respectable person would extend one.”

  North’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “In fact, you do. Just one, but that’s all you need.”

  Jason stared at him blankly. “I do? What idiot is heedless enough to send me an invitation?”

  “Mrs. Lloyd-Jones, my lord. She hosts a bi-weekly tea and always sends a card.”

  Good Christ, she wasn’t an idiot; she was an old friend of his mother’s. The only one who’d cared enough to visit after Mother’s collapse. The onl
y one who still wrote to her. Jason shook his head. He was the idiot for neglecting her. “When?”

  “Day after tomorrow, if you’d care to attend.”

  Jason nearly laughed at the idea of attending a tea, but he had to start somewhere. “All right, I’ll go. Send Mrs. Lloyd-Jones a note. I don’t want to send her into a fit of apoplexy by showing up unannounced.”

  North’s nod was brisk, an economic movement as efficient as he was. “Shall I assume you wish to cancel the next party?”

  The vice party. What had started after Jason’s removal from Society as a way for Jason to build his own circle of acceptance had become a well-attended and sought-after event by those in the highest echelons of the ton. He offered a haven for those seeking pleasure outside of Society’s dictates, and he’d become accustomed to providing that support. Within that world, he was the arbiter of acceptability, the style-setter, the very king. And he had no plans to relinquish any of it. “Assume no such thing. Haven’t the invitations already gone out?”

  “Indeed. However, and do forgive my impertinence, but do you think it wise to have the party when you are trying to gain acceptance?”

  He pinned his butler with a dark stare. “Acceptance is not my goal. Once I’ve concluded my business with Ethan, I’ll be more than happy to return to my fiefdom here at Lockwood House.”

  Another quick nod, but this one dipped a bit lower, offering the faintest note of apology. “It’s good that you’re going to Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s tea. Perhaps you’ll be able to change some perceptions about you and your family.”

  Jason was only mildly surprised by North’s suggestion. Though usually stoic, he’d also been a supportive friend over the years. Indeed, Jason liked him and his brother better than just about anyone else. Which was why Jason teased him and asked, “What the devil’s gotten into you? You aren’t pining for some happy ending to this family tragedy? What has marriage done to you?”