by Darcy Burke
“Mr. Teague is downstairs,” North said.
“You couldn’t have started with that information?” Jason threw the coverlet off and went straight to his dressing chamber. He knew Scot and North followed him and so continued the conversation. “What else do you know?
North paused in the doorway while Scot immediately went to gather Jason’s clothing. “Nothing.”
Jason turned to Scot. “Then get me the hell dressed.”
Scarcely ten minutes later, Jason appeared downstairs in the front sitting room where Teague was standing before the windows. He turned when Jason greeted him.
“I’m sorry to bother you so early, my lord, but I wanted to inform you of last night’s robbery. Your butler told you?”
Jason nodded. “He did. How is Lady Lydia?”
“She and her aunt are anxious, but they weren’t home when it happened. They returned from a party to find their retainers bound together in the scullery.” Teague frowned. “That makes it different from the past few robberies, which were perpetrated without the residents being disturbed. Those thieves went in, took what they wanted, and no one realized until after the fact.”
Jason was relieved Lydia hadn’t been there when the theft occurred. “Why was this one done differently?”
Teague’s expression was grim. “I don’t know, but it’s notable because we haven’t seen a robbery like this in Mayfair since Aldridge died. Whoever planned it knew things about the house and staff and knew Lady Margaret and Lady Lydia would not be at home.”
Jason’s blood ran cold. He knew what Teague was going to say. “You think Ethan—Jagger—is involved.”
“We have his man, Oak. He told us Jagger did in fact take over Aldridge’s gang and that they’re responsible for the recent thefts. He also said the list you found was coded.”
Jason didn’t want to believe Ethan had lied to him or that he’d been foolish enough to succumb to Ethan’s treachery. And he really couldn’t believe Ethan would target Lydia’s house. Not the Ethan he’d come to know. If he’d had anything to do with robbing Lydia, scaring her . . . Jason would make sure he hanged.
Jason tried to think rationally over the blood roaring in his ears. “But you said this theft was different. Couldn’t someone else be responsible? Ethan told me there was another person.”
“He told you that?” Teague sounded skeptical. “I think it probable that he lied to you.”
Jason felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Repeatedly. Especially when he thought of things Ethan had said—that he’d spoken to Lydia several times. It was logical to think he’d had opportunity to learn about her household. And he’d been more than aware that Lydia wouldn’t be home last night. He’d ensured she would be at the Holborn soirée. Jason’s veins felt as if they’d turned to ice.
“There’s more,” Teague said. As if Jason needed to hear more. He was ready to string Ethan up himself. “Oak was taking orders from Jagger when he brought a particularly strong tincture of laudanum to Aldridge House the week that Lady Aldridge died so that when she took her regular dosage, she was actually overdosing.”
The lying son of a bitch. He clenched his fists. “Are you going to arrest Ethan?”
“Yes.” Teague grimaced. “But first we have to find him.”
Jason wanted answers. And then he wanted that bastard to suffer. “Allow me to help.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Carlyle seemed to think the two of you had reconciled.”
He’d spoken to Carlyle? But of course he had when Carlyle had delivered the list. Jason couldn’t summon even a bit of irritation toward the men, not when every fiber of his being was focused on the hatred he currently felt for his half brother. “Not anymore. I’ll find him for you. And then you can ensure he gets exactly what he deserves.”
After seeing Teague out, North returned to the sitting room. “My lord, would you care for breakfast?”
“No, I’m going out.” Jason turned and strode to the foyer. He doubted Ethan would be at the Bevelstoke, but Jason couldn’t just sit at home and do nothing. He was too fraught with furious energy.
As expected, Ethan wasn’t at the Bevelstoke. In fact, he’d scarcely been there at all in the past week, according to the footman at the door.
Frustrated and simmering with unsatisfied anger, Jason directed his coachman to Carlyle’s house. Perhaps he could help run Ethan to ground.
It was still very early—far earlier than Jason or any other gentleman was typically about. London at this hour of the morning was a strange and somewhat beautiful thing. It was quiet, peaceful, and seemed more purposeful, perhaps because of the people bustling about their business instead of carelessly seeking their pleasure. And maybe Jason noticed because he was about business instead of his usual pleasure-seeking.
A short time later, his coach stopped in front of Carlyle House. He had to convince Carlyle’s butler to awaken his lordship, but after a few minutes, he was shown to Carlyle’s office to await the man.
A maid brought a tea tray and after Jason had downed half a cup, Carlyle arrived. He was simply dressed, and Jason imagined he did so by himself. A man with his background likely had no use for a valet. Jason barely did, but only because he relied on him as a person. As a friend.
“To what do I owe this early morning visit?” Carlyle asked, sitting behind his desk. “Moss said you had an urgent matter.”
“Margaret Rutherford’s town house was robbed last night.”
Carlyle grimaced. “Your fiancée lives there. I’m very sorry that happened.” He said the words with an empathy that only one who’d experienced the same sensation could demonstrate, because his wife had been the victim of a similar crime.
Jason didn’t bother correcting him about his betrothal state. “Bow Street has testimony from Ethan’s manservant that ties Ethan to the thefts and to Lady Aldridge’s murder.”
Carlyle’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why? You’d already begun to suspect him.”
“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t hoping to be wrong. Your brother saved my wife’s life—and mine. I hate to see things turn out like this for him.”
Two hours ago, Jason might’ve believed Ethan was capable of a selfless act, but now he couldn’t see past the fact that he’d gone after Lydia. She might not want him, but he couldn’t simply turn off his feelings for her. “Help me find him.”
Carlyle leaned back in his chair. “Jagger’s very good at avoiding detection. He’s skillfully eluded Bow Street for over a week, yet he’s been to Lockwood House and a handful of other places.”
Jason knew how to draw him out. “He’ll come to see me. I just need to get him a message.”
Carlyle tapped his forefinger on the arm of his chair. “He’ll know soon that Bow Street wants to arrest him.”
“Then I’ll offer to help him.” It was nothing he hadn’t already done. Ethan wouldn’t suspect a thing. “Can you find a way to ensure he gets my note?”
“I won’t be able to find him myself, but I know people who are able to communicate with him.” Carlyle pulled a piece of parchment from his drawer and slid it across the desk to Jason along with a pen and ink.
Jason considered what to write and then scratched out a note asking Ethan to come to his party on Thursday evening. He said he’d help him escape Bow Street and even signed it Your Brother, which curdled his stomach more than a little.
Carlyle took the paper and folded it. “It may soothe you to know that I do think your brother was trying to change. I’ve seen the potential in him for quite some time, then last spring, when my wife and I were taken hostage by Aldridge and his gang, Jagger let us go free.”
Jason refused to be duped by Ethan. If he’d acted kindly, it wasn’t because he was benevolent. It was because he had a reason that would somehow benefit him. “That doesn’t soothe me at all, actually.”
Carlyle nodded. “I’ll see this is delivered today.”
Jason stood. “Ho
w will you ensure he gets it?”
“I’ll make sure he knows it’s from you. You said he’d listen to you. Is there any chance at all he won’t?”
Ethan had gone out of his way to forge a relationship with Jason, and they’d shockingly reached an accord. “None. He trusts me.” He said he didn’t, but Jason didn’t believe that. Ethan was a lonely boy who was starved for someone to care about him. And Jason would use that to bring him down.
A quarter hour later, at his direction, his coach slowed in front of Lydia’s house. It looked fine, untouched even. However, inside, Lydia—and even her godforsaken aunt—were likely upset and frightened. Jason felt a nearly painful urge to rush into the house and offer comfort and protection. But neither of those were his responsibility. She’d made that perfectly clear.
He rapped on the roof, and the coach drew forward. As he moved away, he cast one last glance at the house and saw the flutter of a drape in an upstairs window. He felt a twinge in his chest and then turned away, for he was certain that if he looked hard enough, he’d see Lydia. And if he did, his heart would surely break all over again.
LYDIA’S HEART clenched as she watched Jason’s coach pull away down the street. She turned from the window as Aunt Margaret walked into the sitting room.
She still looked pale this morning, and her eyes lacked their typical hard edge. Lydia wondered if last night’s robbery had somehow softened her.
“Why the devil do you look so forlorn?” Aunt Margaret demanded.
Apparently not.
“Last night was a bit of a trial, don’t you think?” Lydia saw no reason to mince words with her aunt any longer.
Aunt Margaret moved into the sitting room and took her usual chair. She peered up at Lydia with disappointment shadowing her gaze. “I gather a night of sleep—or even a half-night—didn’t prompt you to change your mind. You’re making an utterly foolish decision if you marry him.”
“I’m not. I love him, not that I expect you to understand that.” Lydia was certain her aunt had no concept of the emotion.
Clenching her jaw, Aunt Margaret glanced away. “I loved Lockwood, the cad. Wolverton, too, if you can believe it. And you can see what love did for me.” When she looked back to Lydia, her eyes gleamed with pain. “I was a fool to give myself to Lockwood, but he was immensely popular and I desperately wanted him to choose me. His son was the same way in his youth. Women fawned all over him. He could’ve had any of them and likely would’ve broken hearts like his father if I hadn’t intervened.”
Lydia’s jaw dropped. “What did you do?” Though she already knew. “You pushed his mother into her breakdown, didn’t you? Is everything you ever told me a lie?”
Aunt Margaret pursed her lips, but didn’t flinch beneath Lydia’s anger.
Lydia’s heart ached for Jason, and her animosity for the woman seated before her intensified. “You’re a horrible person.”
Her dark eyes were defiant. “Yes, I’m a horrible person, but with damned good reason.” Her lack of remorse was disgusting, but completely expected.
“Why?” Lydia asked. “Why did you make it your life’s work to ruin people? It’s not as if anyone knew of your transgressions.”
Margaret—sometime during the past few moments Lydia had stopped thinking of her as “Aunt”—gripped the arms of her chair. “What was left to me? My mistakes weren’t common knowledge, but men talk. I became a spinster. And I wasn’t going to fade into the wallpaper like your silly friend Miss Cheswick. I made the best of my lot, and now I’m one of the most revered people in Society.”
Lydia felt sorry for the woman. She was absolutely delusional. “You aren’t revered—you’re feared. That’s not the same thing. And saddest of all, you’re still alone. Well, that isn’t going to happen to me.”
She haughtily lifted her chin. “You won’t be happy. Marrying Lockwood will seal your fate in exile.”
Anger curled Lydia’s hands into fists and stiffened her spine. “I will be happy and not in spite of marrying Jason, but because of it.” Yes, some people would shun her, but she’d learned those people didn’t matter. Her true friends and people of good substance wouldn’t turn their backs on her. “And you’re wrong—there are plenty of people who will be happy for me, and for Jason.”
She gave Lydia the most awful, vindictive look. “I’ve made it my life’s work to ensure the Lockwood family is miserable. You won’t be spared once you become part of it.” She meant to continue her campaign of gossip, and she’d try to push Jason over the edge just as she’d done his mother.
Lydia stalked forward and stood before her chair. She glared down at the woman who’d made her life hell for far too long. “You won’t bother me or Jason. If you do, I’ll ensure all of Society knows everything I learned from Wolverton.”
Margaret blanched. “You wouldn’t.”
No, she wouldn’t, but Margaret didn’t need to know that. Since she always thought the worst of people, she’d have no trouble believing Lydia’s empty threat. “There’s only one way for you to know for certain.”
She stared up at Lydia a long moment before blinking and then turning her head away. “I taught you too well.”
“No, you didn’t, because unlike you, I take no joy in having to use information against you. I only wish there was a way for you to let go of the past.”
Margaret’s shoulder twitched, but she kept her gaze averted.
Lydia shook her head to clear the anger and disappointment away. It was time to let joy—and hope—in. She’d thought she couldn’t find happiness loving a scoundrel, but she’d been so very wrong.
But how to persuade him to receive her? He’d probably instructed his staff to ensure she wasn’t allowed within fifty feet of Lockwood House. Or, perhaps she didn’t need to persuade him. Perhaps she only needed to persuade his butler.
Chapter Twenty-three
JASON FELT better than he had in days. The vice party—which he’d scheduled as soon as he’d arrived home from that disastrous Holborn soirée—was in full swing, his half brother would soon be in the custody of Bow Street, and Scot had arranged for a new Cyprian to meet him upstairs. He prowled from room to room like a caged animal while he waited for Ethan to arrive.
Scot found him in the drawing room. “Your entertainment for this evening awaits.”
Jason scowled at him. “I’m not ready yet. I told you: after Ethan arrives and Teague carts him away.” The Bow Street Runner was waiting in Jason’s office, and several other Runners were stationed about the house.
“I’m aware of what you said, but I thought I’d let you know anyway.” He glanced away. “And there’s, ah, one more thing. I had to put her in your bedchamber.”
Scot had Jason’s full attention now. “You did what?”
“I didn’t have any other choice. All of the other rooms are full. You’ve quite a crowd tonight. Seems that everyone wanted to come after what happened last week.”
Of course they had. “You’re an idiot,” Jason growled, his good mood evaporating. “You knew I didn’t want to see anyone this early, and you put her in my bedchamber. Get her out.”
“I would, but I promised Lord Faversham that I’d procure a certain young lady from the next room.” Scot was already hurrying off.
Jason swore. “I’ll tell her myself.”
He strode from the drawing room and quickly made his way upstairs. A couple was draped against the wall at the top of the stairs. Apparently he was short on space this evening. He made his way quietly past them.
When he got to his private wing, the corridor was brightly lit. They kept it that way to discourage people from venturing that way. An excess of light meant a dearth of privacy, and that was never a good thing.
He paused when he reached the door. What would he find inside? An image of Lydia—naked for once—spread across his bed invaded his mind, and he suffered a wave of lust so strong and so striking that he was suddenly certain he’d not only throw the Cyprian out of his room, he
’d throw her out of the house. No, it was more than lust. It was love. He realized in that moment that he didn’t want to be with anyone else, and he feared he never would.
He opened the door and hadn’t planned to close it, but what he saw made him slam it shut.
Lydia—and yes she was fully, gloriously nude—was reclined upon his bed, her left arm raised against the bedpost.
Speech completely abandoned him as he stared at her gorgeous body, pale and perfect in the candlelight. It took every ounce of self-control, and he had precious little at this moment, not to throw himself on her.
“What are you doing here?” he croaked.
“Scot said you were in need of company. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I’d try out that thong.” She pulled her hand, and Jason could see her wrist was tethered to his bed.
His cock roared with lust. But his mind interceded with a dose of much-needed sanity. He couldn’t continue with her. “Lydia, as much as I might like to take advantage of your . . . offerings—” His mouth went absolutely dry as his gaze settled on the delectable globes of her breasts. He swallowed. “Does anyone besides Scot—and I’ll assume North—know you’re here?”
“No.” There was a note of cheer to her voice that made him want to scowl again. Why was she happy when he was still miserable?
Why was she even here, particularly during a vice party? “You refused me in front of half of London.”
She grimaced, her lovely features wrinkling briefly. “I didn’t mean to. You caught me quite by surprise. I’m afraid I panicked.”
He stared at her, dumbfounded. “And you waited this long to tell me?”
She laughed then, a beautiful sound that filled him with hope. “That’s rich coming from the man who made me stew in misery for three days after publicly humiliating me.”
He flinched. “Perhaps my also public apology wasn’t enough, then.”
