by Olivia Drake
With his shaggy brown hair, freckled face, and warm brown eyes, he brought to mind an eager puppy. His ill-fitting russet coat and frayed cuffs revealed the purpose behind his dogged pursuit of her. As a younger son, he desperately needed to wed an heiress.
On occasion, Lindsey accepted his invitation, although unfortunately his skill at dancing matched his ability to speak clearly. “Thank you, but—”
At that moment, Lindsey spotted Lord Mansfield making his way toward her through the throng of guests. He was easy to spot in the multitude of aristocrats, since he was half a head taller than most of the other men present. Even from a distance, the sight of his scarred, handsome features caused her heart to lurch.
He was gazing straight at her.
A fit of nerves tied her stomach into knots. Had he been contacted by Cyrus Bott? Did he know that she’d accused him of murder? Lud, she couldn’t face him. Not here, in front of all these people.
She turned to Mr. Sykes and tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. “I’d be pleased to accept.”
His spaniel eyes lit with adoration. “Oh! M-my dear M-Miss Crompton, y-you have made m-me the h-happiest of men.”
“I’m very glad. Now do come along.”
She half-dragged him to the dance floor, where other couples were forming long lines, the men on one side, the ladies on the other. At least the separation gave her an excuse to avoid making small talk. Within moments, the orchestra in the corner of the ballroom struck up a country tune and she had the freedom to ponder while performing the orderly steps of the dance.
What a coward she’d proved to be. After that interview with the Bow Street Runner, Lindsey had expected to feel relieved at the burden of worry that had been lifted from her. She’d thought to relax, knowing she had acted appropriately in relating her suspicions to the proper authorities. Instead, she’d been wracked with guilt. She’d gone over and over the evidence, but now it all seemed weak and circumstantial.
What if Mansfield was tossed into prison—and he was innocent of any crime? What would happen to Jocelyn? Mansfield had said the girl didn’t have any blood relations who could take her in.
Surreptitiously Lindsey kept a watch for him, but he had vanished into the horde of guests. That fact did little to ease her tension. As she performed the dance, she braced herself to feel the tap of his fingers on her shoulder. It would be just like him to appear out of nowhere.
Nothing happened.
Down the line, she saw many familiar faces, but no Mansfield and no Lord Wrayford, either. Since attacking her two days ago, Wrayford had avoided her company. After leaving Bow Street Station, she’d deposited his phaeton at a public stable and sent a note as to where to retrieve the vehicle. To her mother she’d told a fib about enjoying their ride in the park. The news had made Mrs. Crompton happy for a time, but tonight, during the coach ride here to the party, Mama had fretted about his neglect of Lindsey.
At least Wrayford hadn’t tattled on her. Maybe he’d been too embarrassed to reveal that a lady had bested him, and in such a humiliating manner. With any luck, the incident would mark the end of his interference in her life.
As the dance ended and Mr. Sykes escorted her back to her mother, Lindsey glanced across the crowded ballroom and stopped short. Mr. Sykes stuttered something, but she paid him no heed. Her attention was focused on the arched doorway.
Mansfield stood in the large foyer just outside the ballroom. He was speaking to a maid who carried a silver tray of champagne glasses. After a moment, he walked alongside the servant in the direction of the grand staircase, where they vanished from sight.
Lindsey’s breath froze in her lungs. All of her suspicions of him returned in full force. What in heaven’s name was he doing with that maidservant?
“Is-is s-something wrong?” Mr. Sykes asked.
“No, of course not.” She glanced toward her mother, who was holding court with several other older ladies seated in chairs near a stand of palms. Their heads were bent close while they shared tidbits of gossip. “I merely saw someone I know.”
He bowed over her hand. “It-it has b-been a delight. M-May I c-call on you tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to obtain permission from Mama,” Lindsey said, knowing that her mother would consider the penniless younger son of a baron eminently unsuitable. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must have a word with my friend.”
Lindsey scurried toward the gilded arch of the doorway. To avoid being delayed by any acquaintance, she kept her head down slightly while making her way through the crush of guests. People thronged the grand lobby, most of them strolling toward the supper room where a midnight buffet was laid out.
She went against the flow toward the staircase that curved downward to the ground floor. All the while, she kept a sharp eye peeled for Mansfield. At the carved oak balustrade overlooking the entrance hall, she glanced down and spied him.
He was alone now, striding rapidly toward the rear of the house. Once again, he vanished from her view.
Without conscious decision, Lindsey went flying down the staircase, clutching her pale blue skirt to keep from tripping. At the bottom, she followed in the direction he’d been heading and caught sight of him at the end of the long passageway. There he opened a door and disappeared through it.
Was he intending to meet that maidservant? Had they planned a rendezvous in some deserted place, as he’d done with Tilly?
Alarm spurred Lindsey on a swift journey along the arched corridor. On either side, the chambers were dimly lit, since most of the guests were upstairs in the reception rooms. Reaching the door, she opened it and was startled to find herself outside on a loggia that ran along the back of the house. There were lanterns strung through the trees, but with supper about to begin, no guests strolled the pathways.
Where was Mansfield?
A tall shadow at the back gate caught her eye. As he stepped through the opening, a shaft of moonlight revealed the distinctive features of his scarred face.
She shivered, as much from a sense of sinister foreboding as from the chill of the evening air. Logic fought a battle with her imagination. Maybe she was mistaken to think he’d made plans for a tryst. Maybe he’d tired of the party and intended to return home or to pay a visit to his club.
Yet a nagging fear persisted in her. She’d never forgive herself if there was another murder and she had the means to prevent it. The maid could have slipped out a different door in order to meet him elsewhere. The woman’s life could be in jeopardy.
Lindsey headed through the garden in pursuit. Her slippers made a muted crunching sound on the crushed oyster shells of the path. Anxiety tightened her stomach. If only she’d taken the pistol, the one Mama kept in her night table, the one Lindsey had borrowed the previous year and lent to her sister Portia, who’d promptly used it to shoot Colin in the arm. What an uproar that had been!
The memory usually brought a smile to Lindsey’s face, but not tonight. Tonight she longed fiercely for the protection of a weapon.
Yet the lack of one didn’t deter her, either.
Quietly she opened the garden gate and stepped through it. Gloom shrouded the mews, and the scent of horse droppings perfumed the night air. In a nearby stable, a horse snorted, then settled down.
Which way had Mansfield gone? Was it possible he merely intended to fetch his mount and in a moment she’d hear him riding away?
Her eyes were adjusting to the lack of light. To the left she glimpsed a black shadow far down the alleyway. Good heavens, he was moving away from her at a rapid pace.
Even as she plunged through the darkness in hot pursuit, Lindsey wrestled with a mountain of qualms. She oughtn’t be doing this. Oh, she was going to be in such awful trouble if her mother found out she had left the ballroom on this wild chase. All manner of terrible things could happen to a woman who ventured out alone at night. Footpads and robbers roamed London, hunting for easy prey. This time, she might not be so lucky in subduing her ass
ailant as she’d been with Lord Wrayford.
Ahead of her, Mansfield passed through another gate. The creak of the hinges carried through the hushed air. Afraid she might miss him, Lindsey made haste, stumbling on a stone and biting her lip to keep from crying out. Luckily, the gate stood ajar and she was able to slip noiselessly through the opening.
She found herself in a darkened garden three doors away from where the ball was being held. Taking refuge behind a tree trunk, she studied the scene. Lamplight glowed in several of the windows. A winding pathway led through clumps of overgrown plants and shrubbery. She could just make out the black figure of Mansfield striding toward the house.
Lindsey wracked her brain to remember who lived here. She had visited most of the better families in Mayfair, but apparently this house didn’t belong to one of them. Yet there was something about the location that nagged at her memory. . . .
The distant scuff of a footstep yanked her attention to the veranda. A rear door opened, and the faint light revealed a tall, dark form entering the house. Mansfield. She hesitated no more than an instant before scurrying in his wake.
Many times in her daydreams she had fancied herself on a clandestine mission such as this one, creeping through the gloom while tracking a dangerous murderer. But reality had its drawbacks. The murky darkness beneath the trees made it difficult to see. Once, she bumped her knee against a stone bench alongside the path. Brambles snagged her hem several times, forcing her to stop and carefully unhook herself lest she face awkward questions later from Mama about her ruined skirt.
Reaching the rear door at last, Lindsey cupped her hands and peered through the glass. A long, dim corridor stretched out before her. About midway down, candlelight shone from a room.
Had Mansfield gone in there?
Hoping to peek into a window, she made a detour around to the side of the house. But the pitch-darkness meant the draperies must be drawn.
Blast! She simply had to find out what he was doing. If he was up to no good, then by the heavens, she must find some way to stop him—or at least to send word to Bow Street Station. If it turned out to be nothing, she could retreat from the house and return to the party with no one the wiser.
She eased open the back door and stepped inside, standing in the darkness a moment to get her bearings. The corridor ahead was deserted, but voices and laughter emanated from somewhere. There seemed to be several people present.
She took that as an encouraging sign. Surely Mansfield wouldn’t murder a maidservant in the midst of a group of witnesses. Perhaps finding out who he’d come here to join would give her a clue as to his purpose.
Lindsey crept closer, thankful for the dancing slippers with their soft kid soles. She hugged the wall, staying to the shadows in case someone suddenly ambled out into the corridor.
The closer she drew, however, the more she realized the voices were coming from elsewhere. From upstairs?
She peeked into the room. A fire burned low in the grate. On a table, a lamp cast pale illumination over a sitting room. No one occupied the chamber.
Lindsey walked onward, following the echo of distant revelry. She kept alert for any sign of Mansfield’s dark figure. But the entire ground floor appeared to be deserted.
Arriving at the gloomy foyer, she took a quick glance around and then started up the staircase. Her heart thudded against her ribs. If she was caught here, she might be taken for a thief. A scandal would ensue, one that would land her in hot water with her parents. Yet she couldn’t stop now, not until she discovered Mansfield’s reason for coming here.
He must know the person who lived in this house, else why would he have walked right inside? Was it possible he had arranged to meet his paramours here? She’d heard whispered gossip of gentlemen keeping such a place for their mistresses. They certainly couldn’t bring fallen women home and still maintain their respectability.
Upon reaching the next floor, she found herself in a corridor lit by an occasional candle in a wall sconce. A patch of light radiated from the room nearest the staircase. So did the voices, which were louder now.
She tiptoed closer to see who was present. At the doorway, she moved her head slightly forward and risked a look inside.
A foursome sat playing cards at a table by the fire, three gentlemen and a dark-haired lady whose back was to the door. Lindsey recognized two of the men as disreputable scapegraces known for their gambling debts. Her eyes widened on the third one—Lord Wrayford.
Lindsey shrank back out of sight and flattened herself against the wall. Good heavens! If he saw her here, she’d be in trouble for certain.
And where was Mansfield? Was he sitting out of sight, an observer to the card game? Surely so, because where else would he have gone?
“Aha!” Wrayford declared from inside the room. “Now there’s the winning card.”
A burst of male laughter rang out. “Go on, m’lady,” one of the other men said. “You lost the wager fair and square, and now ’tis time to pay the piper.”
“Oh, I’ll pay with pleasure,” came her dulcet tones. “And by the end of it, all three of you will be begging for mercy.”
Chortles and hoots followed her declaration.
Taking advantage of the noise, Lindsey eased herself to the edge of the doorway again. The brunette had risen from the table and draped herself across Lord Wrayford’s lap. She was playfully unbuttoning his coat to much raucous encouragement from the other two gentlemen.
Her identity hit Lindsey at once. Lady Entwhistle!
No wonder Lindsey had had the vague sense that she ought to know this place. Upon learning that the first murdered maid had been employed by the widow, Lindsey had obtained Lady Entwhistle’s address. She would have known the house at once had she approached it from the street instead of the mews.
A coquettish smile on her face, Lady Entwhistle licked her forefinger and then trailed it along the edge of her extremely low-cut bodice. Lord Wrayford watched the action with an avid leer.
“Now, there’s my sweetcakes,” he said. “I do believe I shall enjoy a little bite or two.”
Growling, he buried his face in the valley of her breasts while the other men guzzled brandy and cheered.
Lindsey’s stomach curdled with revulsion. What a nasty scoundrel! To think Lord Wrayford had presented himself to her parents as an upstanding suitor. After his attack on her, and now this disgusting display, she would never marry him no matter how much Mama schemed and scolded.
And now Lindsey could see why Lady Entwhistle had a bad reputation. The woman was making a spectacle of herself. Her behavior was far more outrageous than the time when she’d been at that ball with Mansfield a few weeks ago, flirting openly with him, touching his chest and making come-hither eyes at him.
The memory caused an unpleasant wrench inside Lindsey. How unnerving to imagine Mansfield inside that room, watching as Lady Entwhistle and Wrayford engaged in a bout of kissing and caressing. Did these aristocrats have no shame?
Just then, one of the other men jumped up and started to unbutton the back of Lady Entwhistle’s gown. The widow did a sinuous movement of her upper body and her bodice drooped, exposing a portion of her lacy corset. The man began to crudely fondle her breasts, but Lord Wrayford shoved him back.
“Get away with you, Skidmore,” he irritably told the other man. “She’s mine. I won the round and I won’t have you cheating.”
Skidmore shook his fists. “You dare to call me a cheat? I’ll meet you at dawn. Pistols or swords, take your choice.”
Lady Entwhistle gave a throaty laugh. “Patience, gentlemen. You’ll all have your turn. In the meantime, it might be best if Wrayford and I retired to my bedchamber to enjoy our pleasures in private.”
Lindsey ducked back out of sight. They were going to catch her out here!
She beat a hasty retreat, deeming it time to flee the house and return to the ball. Heading toward the stairs, she glanced back over her shoulder. In the same instant, something moved in t
he darkened stairwell that led to the upper floors.
A shadowy figure grabbed her from behind and yanked her hard against his chest. A masculine hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her yelp. She knew him at once from his scent and the strength of his body.
Mansfield!
Chapter 17
“Minx,” he whispered, his voice a mere thread of sound in her ear. “What the devil are you doing here? You’re going back to the party at once.”
Lindsey wanted to retort that she’d meant to do just that. But with his hand over her mouth, she could utter only garbled nonsense. She needed to tell him that Lady Entwhistle and Lord Wrayford were about to walk out into the passageway.
Apparently, Mansfield had not made his presence known to the others. Was he, too, spying on them?
If so, why?
Lindsey wriggled and fought against his hold. But his arms were iron bands enclosing her. He started to urge her toward the downward flight of stairs. Then the tapping of footsteps coming from the card room must have alerted him to the imminent danger.
“Blast,” he muttered.
He hauled Lindsey up a few risers into the shadows of the upper stairwell. Here they were out of sight of the doorway. She squirmed against him, trying to signal that they couldn’t stay here, that Lady Entwhistle and Lord Wrayford would catch them at any moment.
Yet where was there to hide?
The pair had walked out into the corridor. The sounds of their kissing and giggling drifted up the stairwell.
Lady Entwhistle let out a playful squeal. “Please, sir, you mustn’t ravish me! Why, I’ve my reputation to consider.”
Wrayford gave a raspy chuckle. “You know how much I like that game,” he said. “You play the pretty maid. I’ll be your lusty master and chase you into the bedchamber.”
“Mmm.” Her voice took on a high-pitched, beseeching tone: “Me mam raised me to be a good girl. Pray don’t steal my virtue.”
“Disobedient chit! If you refuse to submit, I shall tie you to the bedposts while I have my way with you.”
