by Darcy Burke
Locke complied with her directive and lightly splayed his hand across Audrey’s back. Because Audrey was quite tall, the top of her head came to his eyes. The top of Lydia’s head only came to Jason’s mouth. When had she noticed that detail?
“Lady Lydia,” Locke drawled, “We await your direction.”
She really needed to pay attention! She moved forward a step. “The waltz is a dance that is done in three-quarter time to the music. Your feet will move in a box-like pattern while you move around the room. It’s important that you remember to move and not just stay in your box. If you don’t, other couples will run into you.”
“I see,” he said. “Though that might be rather entertaining.”
Audrey giggled. “Oh it is, when it happens.”
“But let’s avoid it, shall we?” Lydia said. “Mr. Locke, you’re going to lead with your left foot.”
He frowned. “That feels odd.”
“Are you left-handed?” Audrey asked.
“Indeed I am,” he said, “how very astute of you.”
Audrey cocked her head to the side and regarded him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Left-handed people are said to be related to the devil.”
Lydia blinked. Where was her shy friend?
Locke’s lips curved up. “Yes, they are. And I’m sure you’ll find I’m no exception.”
Lydia coughed delicately. “Might we return to the lesson? Go ahead and step forward with your left foot.”
He did so, and Audrey automatically stepped back.
“Excellent, now you’re going to step forward and to the right with your right foot, making a right angle with your foot.”
Locke followed her instructions, and Audrey went along.
“Move your weight to your right foot, Mr. Locke, and then slide your left next to it.”
“Good. Now you’ll do the reverse. Step back with your right foot.” He did, and Audrey followed. “Move your left back and to the left—the opposite of what you did with your right going forward.”
He gave a single nod and complied.
“Put your weight back on your left foot and slide your right over next to it.”
After he completed the step, Lydia clapped her hands together. “Now you simply repeat it. I’m going to count as you do it. And let’s not worry about moving yet, let’s just master the steps.”
“Do you need to walk through it again?” Audrey asked. “You felt a trifle uncertain on that last step back.”
Locke’s mouth twisted into a faint scowl. “No. I think I have it. I am ready on your count, Lady Lydia.”
“And on one, two-three, ONE,” she called out. “Two, three, one, two, three.” She went slowly at first. Locke followed her cadence and moved as he ought. After three practice steps, Lydia went a little faster, and Locke kept up. For the first step. Then on the second he tried to lead with his left and kicked Audrey in the shin.
“Ow.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she withdrew her right hand from his shoulder to massage her leg beneath the hem of her skirt.
Locke watched her. He opened his mouth to say something, but then snapped it closed. He released her and tried to step back, but Audrey kept a hold of his right hand with her left.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Lydia, count again.”
Lydia counted, more slowly again, and he did fine for a series of five steps. “A little faster,” Audrey said.
Lydia complied and counted more quickly and this time, he managed three steps before trying to lead with his left. However, he corrected before he did any damage, and Audrey smiled at him encouragingly.
“Excellent work, Mr. Locke!” Lydia said. “Shall we take a break?”
Audrey released Locke’s hand and shoulder and stepped back. “I’ll go and fetch a tea tray.”
Once they were alone, Locke turned to face Lydia. “My brother is having a legitimate soirée at Lockwood House. What do you know about this?”
Though her involvement was supposed to be secret, she found she wanted to tell someone other than just Audrey. And since she and Locke shared confidences, she decided to trust him. “It was my idea, though that’s my secret that I’m sharing with you,” she said pointedly. “He ought to show Society he’s not just the scoundrel who provides those other entertainments.”
He chuckled. “I should have known you were managing this. And did you tell him to invite me?”
“In fact, I did. I’m glad he took my advice.”
“Thank you.” He studied her with interest. “You’re wrongly cast as an air-headed gossip with little awareness of loyalty.”
“You mustn’t believe everything you hear.” She nearly choked on those words since she’d always relied on people doing precisely that.
Audrey returned without a tea tray. She paused just over the threshold and clasped her hands. “Mr. Locke needs to go. My grandfather has returned home early.”
Locke frowned with disappointment. “What a shame.” But then he flashed a terrifyingly handsome smile, and Lydia saw a glimpse of what Jason might’ve looked like without his scar. And decided that she definitely preferred him with it. It wasn’t only that it gave his countenance character and a touch of vulnerability. It gave him depth and showed his strength—both inside and out.
“Until next time, ladies.” Locke bowed again and took himself off through Audrey’s bedchamber once more.
Lydia turned to Audrey and cocked her head to the side in mild bafflement. “You directed him through your bedchamber?”
Audrey’s eyes widened innocently. “It’s not as if I met him there.” Then her eyes narrowed playfully. “You don’t get to judge, not when you’re sneaking about with Lord Lockwood.”
Immediately, Lydia’s muscles tensed. She’d forgotten about her worries regarding Jason during the dance lesson, but now they came roaring back.
Audrey pressed her lips together, something she often did when she was worried. “Oh dear, what did I say?”
“It’s nothing,” Lydia said, refusing to be concerned about Jason Lockwood’s plans. His kisses might be divine, but she had no future with someone like him. His social standing might cost her a respectable circle of friends, he would saddle her with a notorious home, and his family was rife with madness. It was fine to maintain a friendship with him, but anything more would be foolish—she could never love a scoundrel.
Chapter Fifteen
IT HAD taken time to organize everything for Lydia’s visit today, not the least of which had been how to get her here. Jason had ended up enlisting the surprisingly enthusiastic help of Mrs. Lloyd-Jones. Lydia was to have gone to her house for an afternoon call, but would then travel to Lockwood House in a hack.
Things had come together perfectly, with the exception of Mrs. Lloyd-Jones insisting on coming along. Jason hadn’t been able to argue the propriety, and it was for the best, since he couldn’t keep kissing Lydia, no matter how badly he wanted to.
Jason strode into the foyer near the appointed time of Lydia’s arrival with North at his side. “Everything is ready for Lady Lydia’s visit?”
“Yes, my lord. Everyone has the afternoon off save Cook, who is busy in the kitchen, and of course me.” They’d cleared the house to protect Lady Lydia’s reputation—he trusted his staff implicitly, but took the measure anyway.
“Cook is working on the samples for the party,” North said. “We’ll bring them up upon Lady Lydia’s arrival.”
“Very good.” Jason pivoted on his heel. “I’ll await her in the drawing room.”
North nodded, and as Jason made his way through the foyer, he thought he heard the sounds of a coach out front.
A few minutes later, North showed Lydia into the drawing room. She wore a long-sleeved ivory dress with a small floral pattern topped with a green bodice that drew his eye directly to her breasts. He immediately snapped his gaze upward lest he be caught staring. This meeting was not starting on the right note—not if he meant to keep his hands to himself. It was especially
good then that she hadn’t come alone.
Alone. He looked behind Lydia for her chaperone. “Where’s Mrs. Lloyd-Jones?”
Lydia wasn’t looking at him, she was studying the room. “She wasn’t feeling well, and when her sister—Miss Vining—also pleaded a headache, she sent a maid with me instead.”
“A maid?” he dumbly repeated as his body shot to awareness.
“She’s gone to the kitchen,” Lydia said, perhaps a touch shyly. She had yet to meet his eyes. Where was the brazen girl who’d traced her finger along his scar?
A maid in the kitchen wasn’t going to do a thing to protect Lydia’s reputation. “Is that all right, or would you prefer her to chaperone?”
Her gaze finally found his, and the edge of her mouth ticked up. “It’s all right. I suggested she have tea.”
He had the sense Lydia was nervous, so he sought to set her at ease. He extended a bow. “Welcome to Lockwood House,” he said, winking at her playfully, “again.”
“Thank you. Do you mind if I remove my bonnet?” Her fingers were already tugging the ribbons from beneath her chin. She pulled the hat from her lush blond curls and set it on a table near the doorway.
The look she gave him when she turned around was filled with trepidation. “I wanted to apologize for my aunt’s behavior at the dinner party. I admit I was worried you meant to cancel today’s tour, especially when I didn’t hear from you until so late yesterday.”
He hated that she’d gone the better part of the week thinking he was perhaps angry with her. He’d been so focused on whatever Ethan was doing that it had never occurred to him to send a note of confirmation. He definitely hadn’t intended for Lydia to think he judged her for the things her aunt said and did. “There’s no need to apologize for your aunt. In fact,” he injected his tone with a light sarcasm hoping to convince her that he didn’t blame her, “you could apologize until you drew your last breath, and there would still be no way to forgive her. You, on the other hand, did nothing that requires forgiveness. Indeed, I should thank you for saving me from making the situation worse.”
Lydia smiled warmly, and he relaxed. “I’m glad you feel that way. I was disappointed the evening was ruined by her comments.”
“Nothing could have ruined that evening.” Damn, why had he said that? As if the memory of his unfinished seduction weren’t already something he had to work hard to forget. He should probably send her on her way right this minute, but he didn’t. Apparently he wasn’t a scoundrel for nothing.
Before Jason could adequately gauge her reaction, North appeared in the doorway with a tray of food. He set it on a table near the center of the room. A table that was usually adorned with a barely-clad Cyprian during vice parties. Do not think of Lydia in that position.
“A selection of food that Cook is suggesting for the party.” North executed a bow and then departed. Jason noted the bounder left the door open. What the hell use was propriety at this juncture? She was a young, unmarried woman who was secretly visiting Lockwood House without a proper chaperone. An open door was utterly pointless.
Lydia went to the tray and perused the items, her gaze landing on the pair of oysters. “These look splendid for the buffet. I love oysters.”
Jason couldn’t help but think of Casanova’s diet of fifty oysters a day. He resisted the urge to eat even one, because really, his lust didn’t require any assistance at the present moment. He directed his attention to the pheasant and the blood pudding and the sliced ham. “The food will do?”
“It looks excellent, and I’m sure it tastes divine.” She glanced around the drawing room. “Will this be our main room for entertaining?”
“Yes.”
She did a half-circuit before pausing to ask, “And what is this chamber’s function during your vice parties?”
“Lydia.” He stared at her as he fought to expel images of Lydia attending one of his vice parties from his mind. “Why on earth would you need to know that?”
Her face lit with a guilty smile. “Sorry. I’m naturally curious. Anyone would be.”
“Everyone is.” He prowled toward her. “Have you come here today to discover all the answers and then share them with London’s finest?” As soon as he said it, he wanted to bite the question back. “And now I’m sorry. I was teasing you and it wasn’t well done of me.”
She fixed him with an ardent look. “I shall keep everything you tell me today inviolate.”
He shouldn’t spoil her naiveté and reveal any of the details of his parties, but he was enjoying their time together more than he thought possible and couldn’t seem to stop himself. He moved to walk beside her as she completed her circuit. “This is where guests come when they first arrive. We keep the illumination somewhat dim.”
“Everyone wears a mask, do they not?” she asked, sounding a trifle breathless, which only served to heighten his infernal desire.
“Yes, unless they go directly to the gaming room. Several gentlemen come here just for the cards or billiards and don’t care who knows it.”
She flicked him an inquisitive glance. “The Marquess of Wolverton sometimes attends for those purposes, or so I’ve heard.”
Jason nodded, his mind wavering on what to share and what to keep from her, to preserve her delightful air of innocence. “I invite only certain gentlemen, and they must present their invitation to gain entrance.”
She paused and turned her upper body toward him, rapt. “What about women?”
“I would never risk a lady’s reputation by inviting her directly, but if one chooses to attend—or if she isn’t a lady at all—we don’t typically turn her away. My retainers are instructed to use their judgment regarding whom to admit.”
“So if I appeared in a mask without an invitation, I’d be welcome?” she asked.
He pressed his lips together. “I don’t recommend you try it. You recall what happened to Lady Philippa.”
She inclined her head. “Lord Sevrin did try to rescue her.”
While that was true, they’d been discovered nonetheless. “And you see how well that turned out.”
She gave him a small smile. “Actually, it turned out perfectly for them. They’re quite happy.”
“You’re correct. I only meant their road to happiness wasn’t easy—it was paved with secrets and scandal.”
She glanced away from him, her voice growing soft. “I shouldn’t care if my road to happiness was rife with disaster and heartache, just so long as it led to happiness.”
Not for the first time, he wondered at the cause of her sadness. He sensed it there, just beneath the surface. To all appearances she was lively and confident, but maybe it was because he was on the outside looking in that he saw a young woman fighting for her place.
She turned to face him with a bright smile. “I hope it’s all right that we use this room as a congregation point as well. Then we’ll have the music and dancing here later in the evening. What other rooms should we plan to use?”
He held out his arm. “Next door is a smaller drawing room. I thought we would use it for the dinner.” He led her into the room where his guests typically engaged in illicit embraces. “We’ll move this furniture out and set up a buffet.”
“We’ll need some tables and chairs for people to sit and enjoy the food if they choose,” she said, surveying the room.
“Of course, North will take care of that.” He knew she would ask about the function of this room during a vice party and sought to head her off. “Don’t ask me for specifics about this room. Guests come here when they wish for a modicum of privacy.”
She turned her questioning gaze on him. “Don’t you offer rooms upstairs for that sort of thing?”
A rush of heat flooded his lower half. “Bloody hell. Pardon me, Lydia. How on earth do you know all of this?”
“I’m a dreadfully good listener.” Her gaze caught his, and she imparted this information as if they were bosom friends. In that moment he knew he absolutely did want to know her. “
If you position yourself next to the right people at certain events, you can overhear some very interesting things.”
He was rapt. “Such as?”
“Such as Lord Compton took Mrs. Horwatt upstairs at one of your parties last year.”
He blinked. “But people are masked. How do they know?” He could only imagine Compton’s friends had spread the tale. Who else would’ve known? He recalled that Mrs. Horwatt’s face had been entirely covered.
Lydia’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “If Lord Compton is the one imparting the information, it’s safe to say it’s accurate, is it not?”
“The blighter!” But then he was hardly shocked by Compton boasting of his sexual prowess. It’s what men—most men—did. “So you have more than a vague idea of what happens here?”
“Yes, though I don’t suppose you’d take me upstairs to see what all the fuss is about—since you’ve warned me against sneaking into one of your parties.”
The scoundrel in him wanted to. The scoundrel in him wanted to carry her upstairs right this instant to the very first room he found and finish what he’d started the other night. But even he acknowledged that he wasn’t a complete blackguard, and so he led her into the next room.
He tried very hard not to focus on the heat of her gloved fingers burning through his sleeve or the sound of her skirts rustling against her legs. He took a deep breath to calm his lust and immediately regretted the action for now his senses were full of her spicy floral scent. What was that flower? Hyacinths.
“The billiards room?” she asked, her gaze landing on the baize-covered table at the opposite end of the room.
“Yes, this is where gentlemen gamble away their fortunes.”
She peered up at him. “Do you gamble?”
“Infrequently. And when I do, I prefer to wager on fights.”
“Pugilism? Did you watch Lord Sevrin fight?”
“I did.” Though, he’d spent more time watching Ethan in his elevated seating area and wondering why in the hell Sevrin had agreed to fight for him.
