by Darcy Burke
JASON LINGERED near a vase of flowers on an ornately carved Chinese-motif table in Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s drawing room as she saw her last guest out. His first appearance in Society hadn’t been a rousing success exactly, but it hadn’t gone as poorly as he might’ve imagined. Yes, a few of the women had fled, but at least they hadn’t fainted dead away, and there’d been only one broken teacup.
Mrs. Lloyd-Jones reentered the drawing room and closed the door behind her. She was tall and possessed an elegant beauty that hadn’t faded with age. Her dark brown hair was streaked with gray, and her coffee-brown eyes still sparkled with wit and intelligence. He had fond memories of her from his childhood—and there were precious few of those. He hadn’t expected her to be offended by his attendance today, but he couldn’t ignore the joy he felt that she’d actually embraced his presence. Consequently, he felt comfortable enough to be familiar with her.
“Are you certain you should close the door?” he drawled, reaching back to the way he’d worked to charm ladies before he’d been prevented from doing so by his scar. “I’d hate for your reputation to be threatened.”
She chuckled. “My dear boy, I’m too old for such poppycock. Now tell me what the devil you’re really doing here. When I received your note yesterday morning, I nearly fell into my breakfast.” She went to the settee and sat, then patted the space beside her.
If he joined her, she’d be on his left side. She hadn’t stared at his scar, not like the audacious Lady Lydia, so perhaps he could be at ease. But in the end, his feet carried him to a chair opposite the settee instead.
He settled himself into the velvety cushion and went about avoiding a direct answer to her question. “I admit I was surprised when your guests were so shocked upon my arrival. Why didn’t you warn them?”
She chuckled and waved her hand. “We could all use a bit of excitement.”
Perhaps perversely, Jason found he’d been happy to supply it, or maybe he was just charmed by Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s support. “I’m glad to have been of service, though I can’t help but wonder if you’ll be a pair of ladies short two weeks hence.”
Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. “I shall not, if only because I’ll force Bridget to attend. And you’re procrastinating. Stop it at once and tell me what’s brought you out of seclusion.”
He flashed a brief smile. “It’s not as if I’ve been lurking in a cave. I live in London, and I see plenty of people.”
She gave him a rather maternal stare. “I’m well aware of your parties, which I never mention to your mother. I presume she knows nothing of them?”
He kept his face impassive, though he inwardly cringed. Mother would be horrified, but it wasn’t as if she’d ever find out. None of the Bosbury Park staff—his estate where Mother had been installed with her doctor and companion the past five years—would ever upset her, and he now had verification that her sole correspondent wouldn’t either. He exhaled softly with relief. “I appreciate your discretion.”
She rested her hand against her heart and leaned slightly forward. “Your mother isn’t as well as you say, is she? Otherwise, she’d be able to come back to Town.”
“She’s better, but no, she’s not improved enough to return to London, and I doubt she ever will be. I trust you to also keep that private.”
“Of course, you needn’t even ask,” she said, settling back and dropping her hand to her lap. “I would have visited her, you know, but her physician always deters me.”
“It’s probably for the best. Her health is still unpredictable.” At Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s consoling look, Jason shifted in his chair. He knew her pity was for his mother, but he couldn’t help but feel a sliver was directed at him, given his own purported insanity.
She smiled at Jason, dissipating the dark moment. “You’re a good son to see her so well cared for. I was so pleased you didn’t let her languish in an institution. At Bosbury Park she can enjoy some semblance of normalcy.” Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s expression froze a moment before her eyes widened. “Goodness, she’s not aware of Mr. Locke’s presence in Society, is she?”
Jason hid his surprise. Mrs. Lloyd-Jones clearly knew precisely who Mr. “Locke” was. He wondered how many people did. But he knew the answer to that—everyone, if they listened to Margaret Rutherford. “Mother knows nothing. I have the newspapers diverted and reviewed so she doesn’t inadvertently see something that would upset her.”
Her lips pulled up again in an approving smile. “Such a good son.”
Jason let the tension ease from his frame. “I recognize that I owe you an explanation for attending your tea. I’m ready to reenter Society.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Is this to do with Mr. Locke’s equally unexpected grand entrance?”
Though he felt as though he owed Mrs. Lloyd-Jones at least a modicum of honesty, he didn’t plan to reveal more than was necessary. He wasn’t yet ready to publicly declare he and Ethan were half brothers, which was why he’d dodged Lady Lydia’s questions. He certainly wasn’t going to disclose the depths of his hatred for Ethan, or their enduring rivalry. “Does it matter why?”
She leaned forward and studied him intently. “You’re being frightfully secretive. It’s very suspicious. That’s not going to help matters now that you’re out again.”
“I’m not looking to impress anyone.”
“Which is why you sit at the fringe of Society.” There was a note of admonishment to her tone. “You must play the game if you want to achieve entrance, Lockwood.”
She had a point, but he didn’t need—or want—to discuss his strategies with her. For now, he only wanted to gain access to the same places Ethan accessed, and Mrs. Lloyd-Jones was his key. He inclined his head toward her deferentially. “You mentioned a ball at Lady Whitmore’s tomorrow evening. Is there a chance you could secure me an invitation?”
Her eyes flashed surprise, but she recovered quickly. “I was going to say it would be difficult, but I wonder if it might actually be easy. People were salivating over your appearance at Lady Aldridge’s the other day, and after coming here, they will be simply agog. Half of them will be scandalized by your reappearance, and the other half will be clamoring for your company.”
He wished Lord Whitmore was one of the many members of the ton who visited Lockwood House, but alas, he was not. In any case, Jason wasn’t sure if that would have helped or hurt. The men who attended his parties might insist on keeping him as far away from their homes as possible. “Which half does Lady Whitmore fall into?”
“I’m not certain, but I think it might be the latter,” she said. “She’s trying to increase her standing because she has a daughter coming out in the spring.”
“Then she may not want me anywhere near her ball.”
“Let me take care of it. I’ll send a note as soon as I get a response.” She settled back against the settee. “What else can I do for you? Dare I hope that you might finally want to settle down with a wife? Your mother would be thrilled.”
An image of Lady Lydia came to his mind—her porcelain-perfect complexion, pale blond hair, and gently curving figure. She was alluring, to be sure. There was something about her eyes. Dark, where the rest of her was light. Complex, where the rest of her seemed straightforward. Still, he had no desire to marry. That had been his father’s disaster, and it wouldn’t be Jason’s. “I’m not in the market for a wife.”
“You’ll let me know if you change your mind?” she asked hopefully.
He smiled as he stood. “I would, though please don’t be disappointed when I don’t. Thank you, Mrs. Lloyd-Jones. Seeing you again has made me realize that perhaps I should not have kept myself so closed off. I do hope I’ll be able to attend Lady Whitmore’s tomorrow evening.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Will you allow me a dance?”
She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “I insist.”
Chapter Four
UPON ARRIVING at Lady Whitmore’s ball, Lydia immediately scanned the vast ballroom
for her closest friend, Audrey Cheswick. Audrey was very tall—taller than some men—with brown, corkscrew curls that did their best to defy any hairstyle. Those traits alone would’ve made her somewhat easy to find, but it was her wallflower status that ensured she could be located at any given moment—provided one didn’t mind skulking about the darkest corners of the venue.
There. Partially obscured by a column near the back corner. Lydia started a path to her friend. Free of Aunt Margaret’s presence—though saddled with the expectation of learning all she could about both Mr. Locke and Lord Lockwood—Lydia sought out Audrey for a few moments’ respite.
It took her several minutes to reach her friend because she was constantly stopped by people wanting to know about her encounters with Lockwood. By all appearances, he was the sole subject of conversation at the event; the ballroom was buzzing with little else.
At last, she arrived at Audrey’s side. “Would it pain you to at least stand partially in the light?” she said without heat, a genuine smile curving her lips. Audrey was the only person with whom she could be completely unaffected—and that was only when they were alone.
“No, but what would be the point?” Audrey asked, referring to her dearth of success in Society. She lacked a certain grace expected of young ladies and was prone to nervousness when presented to “important” people. Her parents despaired of her ever finding a match and constantly tried to improve her polish. “And you drag me about plenty.”
Lydia did, and she wasn’t sorry for it. “It’s good for you. However are you going to snare the duke of your dreams if you’re lurking in the shadows?”
“I don’t lurk. I reside. No one but you cares where I am.” She shrugged then turned toward Lydia, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Is it true you’ve seen Lockwood twice?”
Lydia nodded.
“How extraordinary,” Audrey breathed. “I fear I might’ve fainted dead away if I’d met him.”
“Oh, stop. You’re made of stronger stuff than that. Even Miss Vining failed to collapse, though she did drop her teacup.”
Audrey giggled softly. “Poor Miss Vining, his lordship’s presence must have completely overset her.” Her eyes were sincere when she added, “I hope she wasn’t too adversely affected.”
Lydia loved her friend’s capacity for empathy. It was one of the reasons she was drawn to her. “I’m sure she was fine.”
A commotion across the ballroom drew their attention.
“I think someone Important just arrived,” Audrey said. “There’s a murmur.” She inclined her head toward the doorway where the majordomo was announcing arrivals.
His deep voice intoned, “Mr. Ethan Locke.”
Every head turned, but Lydia couldn’t see anything. Perhaps Audrey, with her height advantage, could make something out. “What do you see?”
“Nothing. Everyone is mobbing the entrance. Poor fellow. Lockwood’s bastard brother or not, no one deserves that kind of notoriety.” It was that sort of statement that made Lydia wonder if Audrey really minded being a wallflower at all.
“I suppose I should go.” Lydia didn’t disguise the reluctance in her voice. The part of her that was trained to appreciate gossip wanted very much to partake in the spectacle going on across the ballroom. The part of her that wanted to simply be a young woman with her friend preferred to remain in the corner. However, doing that would only cause her heartache later. She turned to Audrey. “Come dear, it’s time for us to join the throng.” She linked her arm through Audrey’s and pulled her forward before she could protest.
Audrey sighed and fell into step beside her. She knew better than to argue, and after all, like Lydia, she did want to find a husband. But then their reasons were very different. Audrey believed in love and fairy tales and a happy ever after, while Lydia wanted to be a valued and accepted member of Society. As soon as she finished her “Aunt Margaret work” for the night, she could turn her attention to attracting Goodwin for another dance.
It took her and Audrey several minutes to break through the crowd. When they finally emerged near the doorway, Mr. Locke was surrounded by a group of women—several debutantes and their prurient mamas. Lydia couldn’t imagine they were driven to seek Mr. Locke’s company by anything other than curiosity. While it was true that a bastard son of a peer could find success—Lydia could name a few with ease—Mr. Locke’s manner and sensibility were as yet unknown.
His appearance suggested wealth. His black superfine jacket was cut in the latest fashion and a diamond pin flashed in the snowy folds of his impeccably wound cravat. Though his head was turned, she could tell his dark hair was artfully styled.
He pivoted toward them. His similarity to Lord Lockwood was astonishing. She was now certain they were half brothers, and everyone else would be too, once they saw Lockwood again. Was it the squarish chin? Similar, but not quite. The nose? No, Mr. Locke’s was more angular. It was the eyes.
“There she is,” said Lady Dunthorpe boldly from the circle gathered around Locke. All of them turned their attention to Lydia, including her quarry.
Locke moved forward through the circle. His gaze was purposeful, and his lips curved into a smile Lydia was sure could charm the hardest of hearts. “You’re Lady Lydia?”
He was seeking her out? Was it because she’d met Lockwood yesterday? Whatever the reason, she could scarcely believe her luck—at last. “Yes.”
“Shall we take a spin?” he asked with a dashing smile.
Lydia glanced at the dance floor. The set was nearly half over. “The next set?”
He presented his arm. “No, I meant a stroll about the ballroom.”
No dance? Lydia suffered a jolt of disappointment. Hopefully she’d dance later. For now, she had to be satisfied that she’d drawn Locke’s attention at all.
She shot Audrey an apologetic look. Audrey’s mouth lifted in a small, knowing smile. She inclined her head as if to say, “Go on,” and then retreated to the perimeter.
Lydia took Mr. Locke’s arm, and he led her away from the goggling circle of women. “You do realize this is a bit improper since we haven’t been formally introduced.”
He exhaled softly. “Right, I should have realized. Do you want to stop?” His gait slowed.
“Not at all.” She’d be forgiven such a transgression because people were too afraid of Lady Margaret’s wrath to deride her niece. Not to mention, everyone was eager to solve the mystery of his sudden appearance and they’d pin their hopes on Lydia finding success.
“You were looking for me?” Lydia asked, curious as to why.
“I understand you had tea with Lockwood yesterday.”
Her pulse quickened. Was she about to become the first person to hear him admit they were half brothers? “Yes.”
Locke inclined his head toward people as they passed. Lydia didn’t bother to register their identities; she was too intent on Locke.
“How was he?” he finally asked.
Overwhelming. And not in a bad way. “He was very pleasant—and honest.” What did Locke want to know? He was proving every bit as reticent as Lockwood. Which wasn’t surprising. The two men were circling each other like the cocks on the farm back in Northumberland.
He turned and led her along the back of the room where the doors were open to the cool night air. “And what did you discuss?”
“Mr. Locke, are you going to tell me why you’re so interested in Lord Lockwood?”
He slid her an inscrutable look, and his mouth curved into an indulgent smile. “Don’t pretend you don’t know the gossip. Didn’t it originate with your aunt?”
She didn’t flinch from his gaze. “Are you confirming it?”
“If your aunt spread this information, and one can presume you are an intimate of your aunt’s, shouldn’t you already know the answer?”
What a pair of frustrating men! Neither wanted to come right out and say it. But Locke was right—she already knew the truth. She pursued a new avenue. “Why have you come to Town now?�
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“If you tell me what you and Lockwood discussed yesterday, I shall tell you anything you want to know.”
Anything? Aunt Margaret would be thrilled. Lydia, on the other hand, suffered a pang of anxiety. She’d so been hoping to permanently improve her reputation, and here she was, being asked to gossip about Lockwood. “He spoke briefly of his mother—that she is well and may return to London.”
“Indeed?” His tone carried a hint of surprise. “I’m glad for him if that’s true.”
He was glad for Lockwood? While Lockwood likely wanted to exact revenge against him. The relationship between these two men was beyond curious. Lydia burned to know more—and not for the purpose of sharing what she learned. “He also said you scarred his face.”
Locke didn’t react. He merely slid her an amused glance and said, “Did he?”
Lydia refrained from glaring at him in exasperation. “Did you? And before you attempt to evade answering me again, you did say you would tell me anything I wanted to know.”
“I said anything, not everything. I can say I didn’t realize I’d scarred his face.” He gave her a mocking glance. “We haven’t spoken of it. We’re not exactly close.”
Given the desire for vengeance that had burned in Lockwood’s eyes, Lydia was certain he blamed his half brother. But perhaps there had been mitigating circumstances. Locke wasn’t gloating about having done him harm, but neither was he apologetic. “How do you think he was injured?”
“He fell through a window.”
She felt a pull of allegiance toward Lockwood, probably due to Locke’s cavalier attitude. A thought occurred to her, one that might explain the divide between them. “Did you push him?”
His shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “I might have.”
Again, not even a sliver of remorse, but also no note of triumph. What had happened between these men? “Why?”
He was silent a moment as he turned her around and directed them back they way they’d come. “It’s a very long story, I’m afraid. And somewhat tedious. Probably not very appropriate ballroom talk.”
