by Darcy Burke
“You’re a far kinder person than she is. To your credit.” He tipped his head in her direction. “I noticed the cameo you were wearing last night at Lockwood House. It’s an exquisite piece, is it a family heirloom? It looks to be early last century, at least.”
Lydia recalled the necklace she’d been wearing, it was one of her favorites. “You’ve a good eye, it’s from around 1700. It belonged to my great-great-grandmother.”
“It’s very special. Well, I suppose I must go,” Lord Wolverton said, getting to his feet. “Will I see you and your aunt Monday evening at Lady Holborn’s soirée?”
Lydia saw no reason not to voice her fear. “I’m not sure I want to face anyone after last night.”
“You mustn’t be embarrassed. Lockwood’s the one who came out looking bad, not you. Unless you still plan to wed him. But I’m sure you were well aware of how people would treat you if you married him when you accepted his proposal in the first place.” He paused, his gaze calculating. “Did you accept his proposal?”
Here was the moment where she could deny everything and leave Jason to look the crazed fool. But she couldn’t do that. “I did.”
Wolverton’s nose twitched. “I see. Well, it’s not too late for you to recover. Think about what you’ll do next.” His gaze turned earnest. “And don’t make a choice you’ll regret. Life is far too short, Lady Lydia.”
Lydia smiled at him, appreciating his kindness and support. “Thank you, Lord Wolverton. I look forward to seeing you Monday.”
He grinned down at her as he walked her to the door. “The pleasure will be all mine.”
Chapter Twenty
JASON AMBLED into the breakfast room in the middle of the afternoon, his head aching and his stomach rumbling. He stopped short at the sight of Ethan seated at the table devouring a plate of eggs, kippers, and freshly baked bread.
Ethan glanced up and waved his fork. “About time you came down,” he said around a mouthful of food.
Jason took in Ethan’s clothing and though much of last night was a blur—they’d become blindingly drunk after North had tided the mess and replenished the liquor in the office—he was fairly certain his half brother was wearing the same costume as the night before. “Did you sleep here last night?”
“You don’t remember offering me the use of your ‘gold room’?” Ethan smiled as he forked another piece of ham. “You were rather soused.”
With a scowl and a grunt, Jason sat at the table and waited for the footman to bring his plate. But as soon as it was placed before him, he wondered if he wanted to eat after all.
“Bring him an ale,” Ethan said to the footman.
Jason glanced at Ethan. “Your prescription for the effects of a drunken evening?”
Ethan lifted a tankard and held it up in toast. “It’s served me well.”
Jason could only imagine, and he had to agree. He’d spent a good amount of time inebriated after Society had ostracized him and when women had turned away in disgust and fear.
“Will you call on Lydia this afternoon?” Ethan asked, setting his ale back on the table.
Jason picked up his fork and moved some food around his plate. “No.”
Ethan glared at him. “Why the hell not? Last night you decided to beg her forgiveness. Don’t tell me you changed your mind, or I might have to beat the shit out of you.”
Due to the amount of whisky he’d imbibed, Jason remembered no such thing. He did need to beg her forgiveness, but he didn’t want to go to Margaret’s house to do it. “Leave it for now. I’d rather talk about your plan.”
Ethan cut a bite of ham and speared it with his fork. “It’s really too bad you don’t remember last night. I told you all about my plan.” His mouth spread into a wicked grin.
“Horseshit.” Jason stifled the urge to throw his plate at Ethan’s head. The footman delivered Jason’s ale, and Jason eagerly took a swig. Delicious. And just what he needed, thanks to Ethan. Was this what brotherhood felt like?
Ethan sat back in his chair. “Why won’t you go talk to her?”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t talk to her, I only said I wasn’t going today.” He scowled at Ethan. “I also asked you to leave it alone.”
Ethan’s stare was relentless. “I won’t. And from what your loyal servants told me, you shouldn’t hesitate.”
“What the bloody hell did they tell you?” But Jason could guess. Since when had their lips loosened to such an extent? And to a man Jason had spent most of his life hating?
“Don’t be angry with them,” Ethan said. “I plied them with whisky too. Damn, your valet can drink.”
Yes, Scot had an awe-inspiring tolerance for alcohol. But North? “I’m surprised that worked with my butler. He doesn’t typically indulge.”
“I had that impression, but I also think he had a rough night. Do you remember him telling us he caught one of your guests upstairs in your—prop room, is it?—with one of the courtesans?”
Hell. So his “legitimate” party really had turned into a vice party. “No, and perhaps I would’ve been better off not knowing at all. ”
Ethan half smirked. “When did you become such a coward? You’re a blackguard. Embrace it. You endorse debauchery, and even provide it. From what I can tell, you don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about that, so screw them all. Live your life and marry Lady Lydia.”
As if it were that simple. Did she even want to marry him after last night? “I don’t even know if she’ll have me. And I won’t discuss anything this important with Margaret hovering over our shoulders.”
“Then what will you do? You can’t just wait around for an opportunity. Your already-scarce invitations will surely wither completely after last night’s performance.”
Jason massaged his aching temple. Ethan was right. And inviting Lydia here again wouldn’t do. She’d already risked her reputation more than once to visit Lockwood House, and last night he’d thrashed it to within an inch of its life. No, he had to go to her, but not at Margaret’s. “There has to be somewhere I can see her.”
Ethan stood. “As it happens, there is. I’ll get you into the Holborn soirée on Monday.”
Jason gave up the pretense of eating and shoved his plate away. “How the hell are you aware of the ton’s social calendar? Furthermore, how are you so well placed that you can get me into Holborn House?”
Ethan flashed a grin. “I’m a nosy bastard. And I have ways of getting into places. In this instance, I can probably acquire an invitation via Sevrin—he’s rather close with Saxton.” Who was Holborn’s son.
“Your master plan is for me to attend this party, find myself alone with Lydia, and persuade her to marry me?” Jason doubted the likelihood of each of those separately, but all together they seemed damned near impossible.
Ethan gave a beleaguered sigh. “I know you won’t like me saying this, but trust me. Please?”
Jason slouched back in his chair and looked up at Ethan. “Do you know what? I will. For this. Which means you better not cock it up.”
Ethan clicked his heels together in a ludicrously formal fashion and bowed. “I won’t let you down.”
It wasn’t Ethan who worried him. Jason would be lucky if he wasn’t cut by everyone at the party the moment he walked in. Not that he ultimately gave a damn what anyone thought. That sparked an idea, and his chest began to lighten. He might be able to win her over yet. “On second thought, I don’t want an invitation. I’d prefer to maintain the element of surprise. Get me into the soirée some other way.” He fixed his brother with a mocking stare. “I assume that won’t prove difficult for you.”
Ethan grinned. “Not at all. See you Monday.”
He departed, and a moment later North entered. If he’d overimbibed the night before, it didn’t show. His dark hair was tamed and neat as usual, his livery impeccable. Jason scrutinized North’s features looking for any sign of weakness—the man was practically an automaton. But there! A faint swath of purple beneath his left eye. Jason
smiled, glad to see his butler wasn’t completely immune to indulgence.
“I’m glad to see you at last, my lord. I trust you’re feeling well.”
“Not quite, but I’ll get there. I fear I don’t remember much of what transpired after the party ended. Ethan says you found someone upstairs with one of the Cyprians. Who was it?”
“Blaylock.”
Idiot. “Strike him from the list, and everyone else who stood around the drawing room gawking.”
“That will decrease your numbers by about twenty, I’d say.” North paused, but clearly wasn’t finished. “You don’t mean to continue hosting your old style of parties now that you’re getting married?”
Of course he couldn’t, if he were married. But damn he would miss them. They gave him comfort. Enjoyment. Identity. He knew precisely who he was in that world. Without those parties, who was he?
“My lord?”
Jason realized he hadn’t answered North’s question. “I’m not ready to write off vice parties yet. I’m not certain I still have a bride.” If Lydia turned him down, he was going to immerse himself in a steady stream of the goddamn things.
North inclined his head and then squared his shoulders. “If I might say so, my lord, it’s good to see you and Mr. Jagger together. He seems to genuinely care for you.” North seemed surprised to be saying that.
Jason had to begrudgingly admit he’d begun to care about him in return. “I hope whatever plan he’s executing will come to fruition soon. Otherwise, our reconciliation will be very short-lived.”
North tipped his head to the side. “So you have reconciled then?”
Yes, he supposed they had. Jason nodded, still bemused over that turn of events. It seemed miracles really could happen. Perhaps he could hold out hope for a future with Lydia after all.
Come Monday, he’d find out.
AFTER REFUSING to join Aunt Margaret at church the next day, Lydia kept her afternoon appointment at Audrey’s grandfather’s townhouse. Would she still be welcome here if she married Society’s most infamous bachelor?
She stepped out of the coach and blinked up at the fashionable house in Berkley Square, which Audrey had called home since spending the summer here a year ago. Her grandfather was alone, and they got on very well together. Theirs was an enviable relationship.
Today’s visit had been set several days ago—before Jason’s party—and was to be Mr. Locke’s next dance lesson. Lydia wondered what Mr. Locke thought of what had happened. Had he spoken to Jason? Their interaction the other night seemed different, as if they’d reached some sort of accord, which surprised her.
Aunt Margaret’s footman held open the gate, and Lydia walked up the path to the door. The butler, Spool, showed Lydia to their usual sitting room where Audrey was waiting. She immediately stood and met Lydia as she entered.
Audrey’s eyes crinkled anxiously as she clasped Lydia’s hands. “Lydia, I am so sorry about Lockwood’s party. I wish I could have been there to support you.” Audrey, her parents, and her grandfather had been invited, but her parents had refused to allow her to attend.
“Thank you. It was an utter disaster, but then that’s precisely what Aunt Margaret wanted.”
Audrey gaped. “She’s responsible?”
“Mostly.” Lydia hesitated, though she didn’t know why. Audrey had likely already read what had happened, what Jason had done. Furthermore, she was Lydia’s dearest friend so of course she could confide in her. Oh, but the entire affair was so . . . humiliating. And the longer she went without hearing from Jason, the angrier that made her. “I’m sure you read the accounts in the paper. About Jason.”
Audrey squeezed Lydia’s hands and drew her further into the sitting room. “I did. But I’m withholding my judgment until you tell me what actually happened. Did he really remove his coat to propose?”
Despite all that had happened, Lydia couldn’t keep from smiling as she recalled the real reason he’d removed his coat. But just as quickly the smile faded from her mouth. Recalling their time together was only a painful reminder of what she’d risked and probably lost. Though she might not be with child—and she could only pray that was the case—she was now no better than Aunt Margaret. No, that wasn’t precisely true since she had no plans to entrap some unwitting gentleman into marriage. But if she didn’t marry Jason, what on earth was she going to do?
Despondently, she withdrew from Audrey’s comforting grip to remove her gloves and bonnet and set them on a table.
“Oh dear,” Audrey said, touching her mouth briefly in concern, “you don’t look at all happy.”
Lydia shrugged, feeling helpless. “Should I be? I went from happy fiancée to social pariah in the span of thirty minutes. Which I could endure if I thought Jason supported me. But I don’t know where he stands.”
“He’s likely just trying to sort out how to make amends,” Audrey said firmly. “In his defense—forgive me—I understand why he might not call on you at your aunt’s house.”
Lydia could understand that too, but that didn’t mean it was right. “He’s left me quite adrift.”
Audrey nodded, glancing at the floor. “What will you do?”
“That depends on him, but I don’t have an infinite amount of time. My father wants me to come home, and anyway, I’m not exactly marriageable anymore . . . ”
“Nonsense!” Audrey’s eyes narrowed. “Things are going to work out with Lockwood.”
Lydia appreciated Audrey’s optimism, but she had to be realistic. “And if they don’t?”
“You’ll find someone else.” Though the tone of Audrey’s voice didn’t sound as if she believed that—only it couldn’t be for the same reasons Lydia knew she wouldn’t. Because Lydia hadn’t told Audrey why she wasn’t marriageable.
“I won’t find someone else,” Lydia said quietly, her gaze locking on the patterned carpet beneath her feet for a moment. “I’ve ensured no one else will have me. Unless I dupe them.”
Audrey’s expression wrinkled with confusion and then of a sudden her eyes flared wide. “Oh!” She rushed to put her arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “You poor dear. I’ve made my judgment. At least about Lockwood. He’s an utter cad. A scoundrel. The worst sort of reprobate.”
Lydia couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s staunch support.
“I do hope you’re not talking about me.” Mr. Locke entered the sitting room.
Audrey jumped and spun around. “Goodness, you surprised me!”
He bowed. “My apologies. But I do hope that doesn’t make me—what did you say?—‘the worst sort of reprobate.’”
“No, I’m afraid I was referring to your half brother.” Audrey’s eyes darkened with outrage.
He offered a benign smile. “Could I ask you to refrain from completely consigning him to hell? At least until after tomorrow night?”
“Why?” Audrey queried with a suspicious tone before Lydia could ask the same thing. “What’s going to happen tomorrow night?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say.” He turned his attention to Lydia. “You’ll be at the Holborn soirée, I hope?”
“I will,” she said cautiously, not at all sure she trusted this man or his brother not to make an absolute disaster of that event too.
“Excellent. Are we ready for my dance lesson?” Locke asked, appearing quite satisfied. Did he not realize Lydia’s future was hanging by the damaged thread that was Jason’s whim? Whatever he planned to do tomorrow night could affect her reputation more deeply than he already had.
Lydia crossed her arms, feeling rather justifiably mutinous. “I think I may change my mind and stay at home.”
Locke’s face darkened. “No. You can’t do that.” He took a step forward and then stopped short as if he forgot where he was and who he was with. He took a deep breath. “Please. You must go to the party.”
She wasn’t ready to agree, though her curiosity would surely get the best of her in the end. “I’m quite angry with him.”
Locke hel
d up his hands. “And you have every right to be. I took him to task myself.”
“You did?” Audrey asked, sounding impressed.
Locke turned toward Audrey and gave her a grin tinged with a hint of wicked. “Of course. What sort of gentleman would I be if I hadn’t?” He shot Lydia a pleading look. “Please trust me that he won’t do anything to upset you or impugn your reputation.”
In lieu of answering, Lydia pursed her lips together. She wasn’t sure she trusted either of them, but what more did she have to lose?
Her heart.
She narrowed her eyes at Locke. “I think it’s time for your lesson.”
“By all means.” Locke offered Audrey a courtly bow. “Shall we dance?”
Chapter Twenty-one
JASON SNUCK up the servant stairs of Holborn House on Ethan’s heels. It seemed a criminal background was useful for certain things. Such as stealing into a duke’s house.
Anxiety-induced perspiration dampened Jason’s palms beneath his gloves. He’d gone over and over what he needed to do, but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy. No, he feared it was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he’d do it. For Lydia.
Ethan led him through a door into a deserted sitting room and then turned to face him. “You wait here and I’ll go find her.”
Jason hadn’t informed Ethan of his plans. “No, this plan requires I find her at the party.”
Ethan stared at him as if he were daft. “If you go out there, it’ll be a catastrophe. You can’t just march into the middle of the party.”
Though his plan seemed preposterous, Jason had thought it through and was convinced it was necessary. And if he was very lucky, it would be successful to boot. “Why not? People might ridicule me? Or think I’m crazy? Or say I’m a degenerate? I hate to disappoint you, but they do that already.”
Ethan rolled his eyes but released him. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t try to stop you.”
