Never Love a Scoundrel

by Darcy Burke

  North’s eyebrow climbed very high before he nodded deferentially.

  “What the hell?” Scot called as he entered the foyer from the back corridor. “I go to the pub for a pint and I come back to his lordship reminding you of your place?” He chuckled gleefully, utterly unaware of any tension, but maybe that was because the only tension was in Jason’s mind. Christ, what had he just done?

  “I wasn’t taking your brother to task,” Jason told Scot. “He’s trying to be . . . helpful.”

  Scot looked between them, his gaze settling on Jason. He opened his mouth, snapped it shut as if he’d decided silence was the better part of valor in this instance, and then dipped his head. When he looked up once more, there was a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “I’ll wager I’m more helpful than he is. Would you care to hear what I learned down the pub this afternoon?”

  Jason crossed his arms, grateful for a subject to occupy his mind other than the colossal mess he’d just made with Lydia. “Please.”

  “Ran into a former footman of Lady Aldridge’s. He left his post a fortnight or so ago. Said he couldn’t stand to work for the underbutler—he’d been Lord Aldridge’s valet and they gave him the position after his lordship passed.”

  “He just offered this information?” Jason asked.

  Scot shrugged. “Eh, you know how I am. We got to talking over an ale, and pretty soon he was spilling his life story.”

  Yes, Jason knew how that happened. Scot made everyone as comfortable as if they’d known him all their lives. And this footman was no exception, evidently. “What else did he tell you?”

  “He said the underbutler was haughty and inserted himself into every part of the household. He was very involved with caring for Lady Aldridge, which the footman found odd. He personally sent the orders for her laudanum and made sure her maid gave it to her regularly.”

  Was the underbutler perhaps working with Ethan’s man, Oak? Jason wondered whether Bow Street was aware of this information regarding Aldridge’s former valet. He ought to share it, particularly since he’d told Teague he would. However, Jason was reluctant to add fuel to the fire building around Ethan.

  Compassion for his half brother? Seducing innocents? What in the bloody hell was wrong with him?

  “My lord?” North asked, breaking into Jason’s thoughts. “Will you be informing Bow Street?”

  “I don’t know.” With a frustrated scowl, he turned and marched toward his office, expecting North and Scot to follow, which they did.

  Once inside, he poured a glass of whisky and dropped into his chair behind the desk. When he’d finished taking a sip, Scot was seated in another chair while North continued to stand, as was his wont.

  “If I tell Bow Street, this only adds to what they already have against Ethan.”

  “The list?” North asked.

  Jason had told them both about the paper he’d found after he’d returned home from the Bevelstoke yesterday.

  Scot settled back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. “Sounds like you don’t want Jagger to be guilty.”

  Jason didn’t know what he wanted, but he kept hearing his half brother asking him to trust him. He had a sudden thought. North was quite familiar with the city, Mayfair in particular, as he’d come south from the lowlands of Scotland to find work in a grand London house. “North, your memory for details is remarkable. Do you by chance recall whether the Chaunceys live at number nineteen Curzon Street?”

  North considered a moment and then firmly answered, “They do not, my lord.”

  “That was the address on the list I found at Ethan’s.”

  “Perhaps there was another address on Curzon Street?” North asked.

  Jason searched his brain—he’d been quite particular about memorizing the list. “No, the only address on Curzon Street was number nineteen.” He looked up at North. “What number was the South Audley Street robbery?”

  Once again, North provided the necessary detail. “The newspaper said it was number sixty-three.”

  Jason’s felt a triumphant surge. “That wasn’t the address on the paper. I don’t know what his list was for, but it doesn’t seem to be related to the robberies.”

  That still didn’t explain Ethan’s manservant’s potential role in Lady Aldridge’s death. Jason hoped the laudanum deliveries were simply what they seemed: a retainer delivering medicine. Though, the fact that it wasn’t her retainer didn’t instill confidence. And what did the underbutler’s behavior have to do with the matter—if anything? He ought to let Bow Street sort things out—they’d presumably come to the same conclusion regarding the list that Jason had and had perhaps already stopped their investigation of Ethan. However, Jason somehow doubted his half brother would get off so easily.

  Scot leaned forward and leaned his elbow on Jason’s desk. Then he set his chin in his palm. “Both Curzon and South Audley Streets being on the list seems rather coincidental.”

  Jason didn’t like Scot’s train of thought, because he didn’t believe in coincidence.

  “Well,” Scot said thoughtfully, “what if the list is to do with the robberies and the addresses on it are some sort of code?”

  North frowned at his brother. “That’s a bit fanciful, even for you.”

  “No, I don’t think it is. My criminal history is thankfully brief,” he shot North an appreciative glance, “but I remember getting directions in code once.”

  So, the list might be incriminating after all. Damn. It was time to talk to Ethan—and time for him to be forthcoming.

  “Why don’t we let Bow Street do their job?” North suggested.

  Scot gave a little shrug and leaned back in his chair. He regarded Jason with a knowing smile. “How did you and Lady Lydia fare with party planning this afternoon?”

  Damn, and he was just putting her from his mind. “Fine.”

  Scot arched a brow, looking more like his twin than he would’ve liked to know. As he’d done earlier, he opened his mouth and snapped it closed. He dropped his chin to his chest and remained quiet.

  Jason seized his silence to redirect the conversation. “Are we set on how to protect Lockwood House’s more . . . interesting aspects?” He’d told them both about Margaret’s unknown plan to try to ruin the party.

  North inclined his head. “The doors to the prop room will be locked, and two footmen will be stationed outside. Additional footmen will stand guard at the top of the stairs and at the top of the servants’ staircase.”

  Jason’s “vice-free” party, as Lydia had called it, was going to require nearly as much security as his vice parties. “Excellent.”

  Scot sat up and rubbed his hands together. “Any chance we can cook something up that would satisfy Lady Margaret’s curiosity? Mayhap we can launch an offensive instead of waiting for her to make her move.”

  Jason was shocked to discover he didn’t want to stoop to her despicable level. “The additional security will be enough.”

  Scot exhaled his disappointment.

  North coughed. “Might I make a suggestion, my lord?”

  Both Jason and Scot turned their heads to look at him.

  “I could have Sarah follow Lady Margaret at the party—at a discreet distance, of course. She could ensure nothing unfortunate occurs by Lady Margaret’s design.”

  Another brilliant idea from his ever-reliable butler. Jason gave him a look that said he forgave him for his earlier cheek, but really there was nothing to forgive. North was merely playing the part of Jason’s conscience—to an annoyingly excellent degree. “A sound notion, North.”

  Scot rolled his eyes as he threw his head back against the chair and looked up at the ceiling. “Pray, don’t inflate his ego any more than you already do.”

  “Your jealousy is unattractive, brother.” North elevated his chin and left the office.

  Scot leapt to his feet and sent Jason a faux glare. “Thank you. He’ll be insufferable at dinner.”

  Jason shook his head as Scot followed his
brother’s departure. He’d long envied their brotherly relationship, and it was, he acknowledged, why he liked them so much, why he considered them as close as his own family, and why he tolerated—no, encouraged—their familiarity.

  But they weren’t family, and Jason’s was woefully small. Only his mother, an odd cousin or two . . . and Ethan. And just like that, he opened himself, if only a little bit, to the idea of having a brother.

  Chapter Seventeen

  LYDIA TRUDGED up the stairs toward her bedroom. Maybe she needed a nap. The brisk walk she’d just taken hadn’t helped to improve her mood, but she suspected nothing could until she heard from Jason.

  Three days had passed since their tryst, and she hadn’t received a bit of communication from him. She was frightfully worried that he utterly regretted their encounter and she had settled into a state of despondence because of it. She didn’t expect him to profess his undying love—she wasn’t even sure she wanted that—but his cold disregard was more painful than she could’ve imagined.

  “Lydia!” Aunt Margaret’s voice halted Lydia as she was passing the open door of the upstairs sitting room. “Come in here!”

  Feeling as if her feet were encased in bricks, Lydia turned. She wasn’t in the mood to suffer Aunt Margaret, but she was unfortunately at the woman’s mercy. “Yes, Aunt?”

  Margaret didn’t look up from the stack of missives in her lap. “Come here. There are letters for you.”

  Letters! Maybe one was from Jason. The bricks evaporated from her feet and her lungs swelled up as excitement jolted her into the sitting room. She eagerly went to Aunt Margaret, who thrust a piece of paper at her, again without looking up.

  The parchment was flat and had clearly been opened. Lydia suppressed her outrage. “Did you read this?”

  Finally, Aunt Margaret raised her gaze, though she looked anything but remorseful. Indeed, she looked harassed. “It’s from your father.”

  Smothering a scowl, Lydia went to sit in a chair and perused the brief letter. Two sentences in, her stomach dropped to her feet, and she felt as if she’d run up three flights of stairs.

  He wasn’t going to fund another Season.

  After six years, he’d decided it was time for her to come back to Northumberland. Mr. Jarvis’s wife had died last winter and he was looking for a replacement. A replacement? Could he not have used a . . . kinder word?

  “It appears you’re out of time.”

  Lydia looked up and couldn’t decide if Aunt Margaret’s expression was smug or unsympathetic. Both, she supposed. And Lydia couldn’t stifle her ire any longer. “You read my letter?”

  Aunt Margaret’s eyes narrowed, pitching her brows low. “You should know by now that you don’t have any secrets from me.”

  The frigid way in which she delivered the statement sent shivers of dread down Lydia’s spine. What did she know? Had she somehow learned of Lydia’s activities the other day? Sweat beaded the back of her neck, and her extremities went cold.

  Aunt Margaret leaned over the oval table separating her from Lydia and tossed two more pieces of parchment in her lap. “Your other letter. Or should I say ‘letters.’”

  Lydia glanced down and recognized Audrey’s hand. Oh, no. Aunt Margaret had opened Audrey’s letter, too. And since there was a second piece of paper, Lydia determined that Jason’s latest missive had been enclosed. What had he written? Nausea tossed Lydia’s belly until she truly thought she might be sick.

  Slowly, Lydia shuffled the papers to bring Jason’s to the top. Only, it hadn’t been written by Jason; it had been penned by North and contained a brief update about invitation responses and flowers. Lydia relaxed slightly, but the letter was still damning. Now Aunt Margaret knew she’d continued to help with Jason’s party.

  Working past the anxiety balled in her throat, Lydia asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “The question is, what are you going to do?” Aunt Margaret said softly. “You have two very distinct choices: Help me ruin Lockwood’s party or take the first mail coach to Northumberland.”

  Lydia clutched the stack of papers in her trembling hands. “My father didn’t ask me to return immediately.” He’d said he’d come to collect Lydia in a month’s time.

  “Lydia, you reside here by my good graces. Yes, your father gives me a stipend on your behalf, but it has always been my discretion to send you home at any time. I am quite content to decide that time is now, though I admit I will be disappointed. We had a very good alliance, and I simply don’t understand your rebellion.” She actually sounded let down, as if Lydia had once been a source of great pride and had now failed her. But then, that’s probably how she saw things in her twisted way.

  Lydia straightened her shoulders. She was proud of the way she’d changed, even if Aunt Margaret wasn’t. “I don’t enjoy ruining people’s evenings or worse, their lives. When I was popular last spring after the wagering incident, people began to genuinely like me.” Until Aunt Margaret had drawn her into her web of gossip once more.

  “You’re still popular,” Aunt Margaret said dismissively.

  “More like feared.”

  Aunt Margaret stared at Lydia as if she were a lunatic. “It’s better than being nothing, like your pathetic follower, Miss Cheswick.”

  Lydia inhaled sharply. “Audrey isn’t pathetic. She’s a true friend. I’d rather have one of her than a legion of people cowering at my feet.”

  Aunt Margaret smirked. “Lucky for you, then, that you have both.”

  Lydia’s endurance snapped. “Is it too much to want love? A husband? A family of my own?”

  “In a word, yes. You can have the latter two—if you really want them—but love is for fools. When will you realize the world is ruthless? If you don’t guard yourself, including your heart, you’ll be the one who’s ruined. You’re so terribly close . . . ” She let the innuendo hang in the air.

  Fear froze Lydia’s veins to ice. What else did Aunt Margaret know?

  Lydia scrutinized her aunt’s currently placid features for any indication that she knew of Lydia’s indiscretion, but there was nothing. Perhaps she was only referring to Lydia assisting Jason. “You’re angry with me for helping Lord Lockwood.”

  “Certainly,” she answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “You know I can’t tolerate him. Your betrayal is a slap in my face. I won’t have it. You’ll help me ruin his party on Friday, or I’ll send you packing immediately. Do you understand?”

  Quite clearly, but how could Lydia possibly promise to ruin Jason? Even if he wished they’d never met, she was long past the point of being able to consider hurting him.

  Aunt Margaret watched her shrewdly. “I can see that you’re weighing your decision carefully. Let me make it easy for you. Help me ruin his party, and I’ll let you stay until you marry. I’ll fund your expenses and convince your father to let you stay. If you refuse, you’ll be on your way to Northumberland by this time tomorrow.”

  A devil’s bargain—and one she couldn’t accept. However, if she didn’t, Jason would be ruined. Unless she was at the party to hopefully stop whatever her aunt planned, which meant she couldn’t leave for Northumberland until after.

  She’d have to agree to help Aunt Margaret—at least ostensibly.

  Still, once Aunt Margaret witnessed Lydia working against her at the party, Lydia would find herself traveling north come Saturday. But it would be worth it to help Jason. He deserved to find happiness—even if it wasn’t with her.

  “Fine. I’ll help you.” They were difficult words to utter, and they sounded that way: dark and scratchy as if saying them were the equivalent of carrying a load of stone across London.

  “Good girl.” Aunt Margaret flashed a terrible smile. “I’m not asking you to do anything you haven’t done before.”

  How Lydia wished she could refute that, say she’d never sunk to such depths, but it wasn’t true. She had. Mortification sliced through her.

  Aunt Margaret lowered her tone as if she were imparting a
secret—a dramatic tool she enjoyed. “Do remember that no matter where you are—London or the wilds of Northumberland—I have the power to ensure you’re never accepted.”

  Lydia’s throat constricted. How could she be so cruel? What had happened to make her such an awful person?

  “Now,” Aunt Margaret said sitting straighter and adopting a business-filled tone, “I saw from the letter that Lockwood is expecting nearly one hundred and fifty guests on Friday.” Her eyes glowed with excitement. “So many will witness his humiliation.”

  Lydia resisted the urge to scream. She could help Jason best if she knew what Aunt Margaret was scheming. “What do you plan to do?”

  Aunt Margaret shook her head, her lips curving into an imperious smile. “Oh, no. I don’t trust you enough to actually share the details with you beforehand. But you’ll know it when it happens, and I’ll expect you to spread the information like a wildfire in midsummer.”

  “Yes, Aunt Margaret.” Lydia didn’t bother trying to sound enthused. What was the point when Aunt Margaret was well aware she was consenting against her will?

  Aunt Margaret scooted forward on the settee and pursed her lips in a thoroughly patronizing manner. “I know you think I’m harsh, but I only want what’s best for you. I want to protect you from the vultures of the ton.”

  Lydia wanted to argue that they were the vultures.

  Aunt Margaret’s eyes narrowed, but her smile remained. “And yes, the surest way to guard yourself is to be one.”

  JASON MOVED through the Lamb and Flag Tavern toward the Bucket of Blood. He didn’t know whether Ethan would be here, but hoped so, particularly since he’d sent a note after failing to run him to ground at the Bevelstoke, despite multiple visits.

  Not that Ethan had responded. No, Jason’s sole correspondence that day had been a letter from Miss Cheswick stating she could no longer act as intermediary between him and Lydia. She hadn’t indicated why, which concerned Jason, but he’d have to deal with that problem tomorrow. Tonight, he needed answers from his half brother.