by Olivia Drake
“Eh?” Taking the bait, Wrayford sank into a chair and cast a prideful glance down at the elaborate folds of white linen. “At Stapleton’s, of course.”
Thane knew the establishment. If Bernard could connect the cravat left at the second crime scene to Stapleton’s, that would help build a case against Wrayford.
“Did you tie it yourself, or is that the work of your valet? Perhaps I’ll send my man, Bernard, over to study his technique.”
“Not a chance. My valet will never give up his secrets. Too bad you’ll never be able to duplicate this style.”
Damn. It would have been helpful for Bernard to have the chance to search Wrayford’s dressing room for a coat that was missing a brass button with a crosshatch pattern. From information he’d coaxed out of Lady Entwhistle, Thane knew that Wrayford had a taste for maidservants and bondage. But was there a connection between him and the third victim?
Thane was casting about for a way to ask Wrayford how well he knew the Beardsleys when the approach of footsteps again drew his gaze to the doorway. Mrs. Crompton swept into the drawing room with Lindsey lagging a few steps behind.
As Thane rose to his feet, Wrayford leaped out of his chair and rushed to bow over Lindsey’s hand. “My dear, you look utterly charming today, as always.”
For once, Wrayford spoke the truth. Lindsey Crompton was a goddess in bronze silk that skimmed her body and hinted at womanly curves. The color enhanced the richness of her upswept brown hair, while the scoop neckline revealed a tantalizing glimpse of beautiful breasts—a portion of her anatomy that Wrayford had noticed, too.
The damned lecher was gawking.
Fists clenched, Thane started forward. In three steps, he caught himself short. What the devil was he thinking—to knock Wrayford to the floor right here in the drawing room? That would make a fine impression on the ladies.
He forced himself to relax, to lower his head in a bow. “Miss Crompton. It’s always a pleasure.”
Extracting her hand from Wrayford’s, Lindsey afforded Thane a guarded smile. “Lord Mansfield. How good of you to call.”
Good? So, aloofness was the game she intended to play. “Surely you’ve been expecting me. We spoke the other day of going for a drive.”
She regarded him impassively. “Did we? I . . .”
“I’m afraid my daughter is not allowed to make promises to gentlemen without my permission,” Mrs. Crompton said. “Whatever she said to you must be rescinded.”
“Quite so,” Wrayford interjected. “I’m sure Miss Crompton would far rather go for a drive with me.”
“Perhaps,” Thane said, “we should allow the lady to choose for herself. If she’s to be known as someone who does not keep her word, it should be by her own decision.”
He looked straight into Lindsey’s beautiful blue eyes and she met his gaze without flinching. It was impossible to read her thoughts. Would she call his bluff?
He’d never had any real intention of tattling to her parents about her intrusion into his house. What kind of man would he be to force a lady into marriage by such dastardly means?
But she had believed his assertion that morning in his library, and he hoped she still did now. Claiming her for himself was the best way to keep Wrayford at bay. Despite Lindsey’s conviction that the IOU would bring her salvation, Thane seriously doubted that learning of Wrayford’s massive gambling debts would deter Mrs. Crompton from an ambition to marry her daughter to a duke’s heir.
Lindsey slid a glance at her mother. Then she gave Thane a cool nod. “You’re quite right, my lord. It seems I must honor my promise to you.”
Chapter 10
Lindsey could feel her mother’s angry stare boring into her back as Mansfield helped her up into his open phaeton. It took a bit of maneuvering with her skirts to achieve the high perch. Primly she settled herself on the leather cushions while he untied the reins and then leaped up beside her.
As he directed the black horse away from the curbstone, she caught one last view of her mother standing in the doorway, Wrayford glaring over her shoulder. A perverse sense of liberation made Lindsey smile and wave good-bye. It was unkind of her to feel so pleased at thwarting her mother’s wishes—and Wrayford’s. Yet Lindsey experienced a buoyancy of spirit nonetheless.
“It appears your mother doesn’t approve of me,” Mansfield said. “I suspect there’ll be a price to pay when you return home.”
Amusement glinted in his keen dark eyes. The warmth there caught Lindsey off guard, causing an unexpected clutch inside her bosom. Blast him, he wasn’t the charming man he appeared to be on the surface. He was a cad who would stoop to blackmailing a lady into marriage. A rogue who flirted with loose women like Lady Entwhistle.
A villain who might well be a murderer.
“Mama has her mind set on a match with Lord Wrayford,” Lindsey said, folding her gloved hands in her lap and striving for a casual demeanor. “I could discredit him as a gambler if only I had the proof that you took from me.”
“Forget about that IOU. It will serve to discredit me as a gambler, too, when I seek the approval of your parents. Besides, Wrayford will cease to be of any importance once you and I announce our betrothal.”
Lindsey pursed her lips and pretended an interest in the passing row of elegant houses. Clearly, the earl believed she was quaking in terror at the prospect of him revealing the truth about her stealing into his home, clad as a maidservant. He presumed her to be cowed and intimidated at the notion of facing her parents’ wrath.
That had been her initial reaction.
But Lindsey had conquered her fear of being forced into a hasty marriage. Now that she’d had ample time to reflect on the matter, she had no intention of going through with any wedding. She was determined to stand her ground. No matter what brouhaha the earl might stir with Mama and Papa, no matter how dire the threat of scandal, she would refuse to speak her vows to a man she barely knew.
A man who might have strangled three maidservants.
How incongruous it was to ponder such a horror as she sat beside him, the well-sprung carriage gently rocking along the cobbled street. With the sun shining and a gentle breeze stirring the ribbons of her bonnet, it seemed impossible that he could have any part in such dark deeds. Nevertheless, she was pretending to go along with his courtship scheme because it offered her the opportunity to investigate him. He had too many uncanny connections to the murders—and she didn’t believe in coincidences.
The very first time Lindsey had met him, Mansfield had been in the company of a pretty maidservant.
At another ball, she had seen him flirting with Lady Entwhistle, who’d employed one of the victims of the Serpentine Strangler.
And Flora’s cousin, Nelda, had mysteriously vanished from his household—although, to be fair, her body had not been found. Did Mansfield know what had happened to her? Had he played a role in her disappearance?
Had he kept that news clipping so he could revel in his notoriety?
Somehow, Lindsey had to uncover the truth.
The earl slowed the phaeton to allow an elderly couple to hobble across the street. When he clucked softly, the horse resumed a brisk trot, its glossy black mane swinging. The harness jingled in rhythm with the clopping of hooves.
Abruptly Mansfield startled Lindsey by transferring the ribbons to one hand and reaching over to cover her hands in her lap. “You needn’t look so worried,” he murmured. “As we become better acquainted, you’ll see that I’m not an ogre.”
The warmth of his fingers made her heart beat faster. Those persuasive brown eyes invited her to lean toward him—but she held herself rigidly upright. “You sound very certain of yourself.”
Smiling, he withdrew his hand. “You’ll have to judge for yourself. However, women usually find me to be considerate.”
“Considerate? You were supposed to call on me yesterday, not today.”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, rendering his gaze unreadable. “I must beg your par
don. There was an unexpected business matter that required my full attention.”
Lindsey bit her lip to keep from asking him if he’d been hiding out after strangling a maidservant. “It was remiss of you not to have sent word to me.”
“You’re entirely right. It shan’t happen again. Now, if we’re to be engaged soon, perhaps you ought to tell me about your family. You have two sisters, do you not?”
“Yes,” she said, relieved to change the subject. “Portia is the eldest. She married Viscount Ratcliffe last year and they’re expecting their first child in a few months. Blythe is sixteen and still in the schoolroom. She’s already begging Mama to make her debut next spring, although Papa wants her to wait another year.”
“Hmm.” Mansfield narrowed his eyes at Lindsey. “Perhaps you’ll do me a favor.”
“What do you mean?”
“Blythe is nearly the same age as Jocelyn. I’d like for you to bring her to visit my ward.”
The invitation took Lindsey aback. “But you won’t allow anyone to call on Jocelyn, remember? The doctors said she might become overwrought.”
“I’ve reconsidered the situation since we last spoke. And I’ve decided you’re right, it would do her good to have a friend or two.”
He had heeded her advice? The notion gratified Lindsey, but only for a moment. The last thing she needed was for Blythe to get in the way of her sleuthing. “I rather doubt Mama would permit such a visit, since she’s so set on me marrying Wrayford. She won’t want to encourage any connection to you.”
“Then I shall have to charm her into changing her mind.”
Hands loosely on the reins, Mansfied looked utterly confident as he turned his gaze ahead to the street. The scar on his cheek was hidden from her view. Unlike other gentlemen who were out and about, he wore no hat and his black hair was tousled, a lock falling down onto his brow. His aura of brooding intensity brought to mind a fallen angel.
Awareness of him as a man hummed through her veins. She had little use for romance, so why did he fascinate her so? Perhaps because she couldn’t quite grasp his true character, and curiosity had always been her bane. Somehow she had to expose him as a conniving rogue.
Lindsey drew a deep breath. “I’ve been wondering. . . .”
He cast an inquiring glance at her. “Go on.”
“The other morning, your housekeeper was expecting a maid from an agency. She told me I was replacing a servant named Nelda.”
“And?”
“Well . . . I was curious as to what happened to Nelda.”
“Happened?” He frowned, his voice turning cool and dismissive. “She left, as servants are wont to do. I don’t keep track of the staff. Mrs. Yardley might know—you may ask her if you like.”
Lindsey found the subtle chilling of his demeanor highly intriguing. As a child in India, she had taught herself to notice nuances of character. She’d spent much of her time lingering in the shadows, eavesdropping on the conversations of the adults and observing the petty spats between the servants. Now she had the distinct impression there was more to the story than Mansfield let on.
His inscrutable expression was difficult to read, though. He had no nervous mannerisms like evasive glances or foot tapping, as she’d seen in other people. Of course, she was fast learning that he was an extremely shrewd man unlike anyone else she’d ever met.
What was he hiding?
As Mansfield drove along the residential street, she caught tantalizing glimpses of movement inside the windows. So many people, so many different lives. Where did the next victim of the Serpentine Strangler work? In one of these aristocratic homes?
According to the newspaper report, the killer had throttled his victims to death with a cravat. Lindsey’s gaze slid to Mansfield’s neatly tied white neck cloth, and she shuddered to imagine it being used to choke one of those poor women.
As they neared a busy intersection, she made a swift decision. “Pray don’t take me to the park. I would prefer to visit a friend instead.”
He glanced at her. “A friend.”
“An acquaintance, really.” Lindsey deemed it best not to claim too close of a relationship, since she only knew the girl as the daughter of one of Mama’s circle, someone who had made her debut the previous year with Lindsey’s older sister, Portia.
“Who?”
Lindsey watched him closely. “Perhaps you know her. Miss Frances Beardsley.”
One of his eyebrows arched as he looked at the street ahead. “Beardsley,” he mused. “The name sounds familiar. . . . You must forgive me. I haven’t been back in society for very long.”
Had that been a flash of guilt on his face? It was gone so swiftly Lindsey wasn’t certain. “You may have seen her name in the newspaper this morning.”
Mansfield’s mouth twisted. “Do you read the newspapers, then? I can’t imagine your mother approving of such racy behavior.”
Was he teasing? Or attempting to distract her? And why was she staring at his lips and remembering the taste of his kiss?
“Never mind Mama. The Beardsleys employed a maid by the name of Clara Kipp. She was found murdered yesterday morning in Hyde Park. I should like to offer my condolences.”
“Ah, now I recall the story. She was attacked by the villain they’re calling the Serpentine Strangler.”
His face indicated only sympathy mixed with a trace of revulsion. It was exactly the reaction Lindsey would expect of a well-mannered gentleman. Yet there was a tension about him that would seem to hint at deeper knowledge of the case. If he was the killer, he must have made contact with the maid during a visit to the Beardsleys’ house. When else would he have done so?
Lindsey decided to risk one more question. “I wonder . . . is it possible that Nelda might have been a victim of the Serpentine Strangler, too?”
Mansfield subjected her to a hard stare. “Is that what’s made you on edge today? You may set your mind at ease. If she’d been murdered, her remains would have been discovered by now.”
“But if her body was well hidden . . .”
“Nonsense. The Strangler left his three victims in the middle of Hyde Park. He obviously wanted them to be found. And that’s quite enough wild speculation. Crime is hardly an appropriate topic to be discussed during a courtship.”
Lindsey opened her mouth to deny they were courting. But she swallowed the words. How could he be so certain about the murders anyway? Had the newspaper specified exactly where in Hyde Park the poor women had been found? She couldn’t recall.
Noticing that Mansfield had turned the horse onto Albemarle Street, she exclaimed, “I thought you weren’t acquainted with the Beardsleys! So how do you know their address?”
He shrugged. “The newspaper must have mentioned the street. I presume you know the number?”
Lindsey did, from the endless rounds of calls she had made with her mother to all the finest homes in Mayfair. “It’s the house with the ornate entryway,” she said, pointing discreetly. “The third one from the end.”
Although the hour was still early for visiting, a coach already waited out front. To her dismay, it bore the silver thistle insignia of the dukes of Milbourne.
Oh, no. Mama had cultivated an acquaintance with the elderly duchess, who was one of society’s biggest gossips. Being seen here with the Earl of Mansfield would be a declaration of their courtship. And besides, Mama likely would find out that they’d come here.
Why, oh why, hadn’t she considered that possibility?
As he drew up behind the coach, Lindsey said hastily, “There seems to be another visitor. Perhaps it would be best for me to return at another time.”
“Nonsense. We’re here already. It’ll only take a few moments for you to pay your respects.”
He jumped down and went to secure the horse to an iron post, leaving her to fume on the high seat. What an arrogant, dictatorial man! He was supposed to defer to a lady’s wishes, rather than override her decision. But short of making a nasty scene on a public s
treet, Lindsey had to exit the phaeton.
Climbing down, she felt with her slippered toe for the iron step. Two strong hands seized her by the waist from behind. As the earl easily swung her to the ground, momentum caused her to brush against his muscled form.
The contact was a jolt to her senses. A whiff of spice stirred the mad impulse to follow the scent to its source, to press her lips to his throat. It brought to mind that searing kiss out in the garden when she’d been held within the circle of his arms.
Now, his fingers brushed caressingly over her abdomen. Instantly her legs turned to molten wax and she might have stumbled if not for his firm hold on her.
“Don’t do that,” she muttered through gritted teeth.
Pulling free, Lindsey summoned all of her dignity and marched toward the front door. His low chuckle grated on her nerves. Strolling at her side, he murmured, “Come now, Miss Crompton. It isn’t as if I’ve never before touched you.”
“This is a public street,” she hissed. “You will keep your hands to yourself.”
“And when we’re alone? Will you allow me liberties then?”
His dark eyes laughed down at her. He looked breath-stoppingly handsome in the sunlight, his chocolate brown coat a perfect match for his eyes. But she was too clever to fall for his dangerous charm.
She grabbed hold of the brass knocker and rapped hard. “I’ll allow you to treat me as a lady.”
“I believe—”
Thankfully, the door opened and cut off his words. A footman admitted them into a luxurious entrance hall cluttered with Greek statuary and tall columns. A few minutes later, they were led upstairs to a crimson and gold drawing room, where the ancient, horse-faced Duchess of Milbourne sat across from plump Mrs. Beardsley and her frivolous blond daughter, Miss Frances Beardsley.
Mrs. Beardsley, who resembled an overstuffed pouter pigeon in gray silk, fluttered forward to greet them. “Why, this is a surprise!” She looked expectantly at the doorway. “And where is your mother today, Miss Crompton?”
“I’m afraid she had other calls to make.”
Lindsey hoped they wouldn’t question the lame excuse. It was one thing to accompany Mama and sit quietly listening to the chatter of the ladies. It was quite another to face three avid-eyed gossips while in the company of an infamous gentleman.
