Never Trust a Rogue

by Olivia Drake

  “They were women who worked hard for a living. Like anyone else, they had hopes and dreams. You robbed them of their life. Why?”

  He shrugged. “It’s tiresome to be chasing after petty thieves, year after year. If ever I hoped to advance in my profession, I needed to work on a much bigger case.” His mouth tightened. “Lord Mansfield should never have interfered. They were my murders, not his.”

  Bott had committed the crimes for the glory of solving them. It all made a hideous sort of sense. He had romanced the maids, lured them to their deaths, and then planted the forged entry in the diary to implicate Mansfield.

  “I see,” she murmured, stalling for time.

  Where was Wrayford? She needed him or Buttery or both of them to come charging down the stairs right now. At the moment, she would welcome either buffoon so they could help her ward off this madman.

  Bott frowned at her. “You’re going to tell on me, aren’t you,” he stated.

  “No! I wouldn’t do that. It will be our secret.”

  “Lying whore. You’ll tattle to protect Mansfield.”

  In a flash, his face took on the look of a snarling beast. He lunged at Lindsey, spinning her around so that she faced away from him. She cried out, but his hand clamped over her mouth and muffled the sound. With his foot, he kicked the door shut.

  She struggled with all her might, trying to jam her elbow into his side and stomp on his instep, but he reacted with wiry quickness. Thrusting her facedown on the floor, he held her in place with his body.

  Lindsey could scarcely breathe. He had a sinewy strength that belied his slight appearance. And he seemed to possess an uncanny knowledge of where she would attempt to hit him next.

  She could feel him tugging one-handed at his cravat, cursing as the cloth caught on Miss Valentine’s stickpin. In a panic, she realized he intended to strangle her.

  She bucked and fought to no avail. A moment later, the stickpin went bouncing across the rug, landing under a chair in front of her.

  He shoved the cravat beneath her chin to encircle her neck. To do so, he had to release her mouth, but it was too late for her to scream. The cloth tightened, cutting off her air. Black dots swirled before her eyes.

  Somehow, in the midst of her terror, she managed to free one arm. She scrabbled desperately for the pin. Her fingers closed around it, the tiny stones of the heart digging into her palm. A swirling fog threatened to swamp her senses. With the last of her strength, she thrust her arm back, the sharp pin aimed straight at his face.

  Bott howled, releasing her at once. His weight left her, and the deadly tension around her throat vanished.

  Gasping for air, she rolled over to see him rocking on his knees, moaning. His hands covered his eyes. Blood seeped through his fingers.

  A commotion sounded out in the entrance hall. Scrambling to her feet, Lindsey hurried to wrench open the door that Bott had shut. She expected to see Wrayford or Buttery but instead found three other men who were fanning out to search the house.

  “Thane,” she cried out.

  He pivoted on his heel, the grimness of his expression transforming into joy. He half-ran across the foyer to haul her close in a fierce embrace. “Thank God, you’re safe. Thank God.”

  She clung to him, shaky and weak in the aftermath. “It was Cyrus Bott all along,” she said. “He’s the Strangler. He killed those women.”

  “I know. He forged a portion of the diary to point the blame at me.” Thane gently tilted her chin up, his gaze scouring her. His jaw hardened as his gaze met hers again. “Your neck is red. The bastard tried to strangle you just now.”

  “Yes.”

  The horror of it washed over her anew. From the safety of Thane’s arms, she saw the other two men, both burly officers, go into the sitting room to take hold of Bott. He was moaning and crying, his hand cupping his eye. She averted her face, sickened by his pain in spite of herself.

  Thane tucked her face in the crook of his neck while the men escorted Bott out of the house. Thane’s hand rubbed soothingly up and down her back. “You did what was necessary. Evil reaps its own reward.”

  Lindsey took a shuddering breath. “He . . . had Miss Valentine’s stickpin. He was wearing it in his cravat. That’s when I knew.”

  Thane’s arms tightened. “If only I could have been here sooner, I could have spared you.”

  “He wanted you dead, too.” She swallowed, her throat a little sore from the noose. “Oh, Thane, he committed the murders in order to gain fame by solving them. But when you offered to help, your rank overshadowed him. He would have stopped at nothing to implicate you.”

  Thane smoothed her hair. “Shh. It’s all over now. You’re safe; we’re both safe—”

  “What’s all the hubbub down here?”

  Lord Wrayford came shambling down the staircase. Barefoot, he wore the same yellow coat and dark breeches as he had on the picnic, although now the garments were muddied and wrinkled. With his sandy hair in wild disarray, he resembled a drowned rat.

  “I heard caterwauling,” he went on, glowering at Lindsey. “Why did you roust me out of bed, anyway? ’Tis I who should be demanding a word with you. Pushing me out of my own carriage indeed! Leaving me out in a rainstorm! Why, I had to take refuge under a tree until dawn, then ride a farmer’s hayrack back into the city.”

  The ridiculous image lightened Lindsey’s spirits. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I’m ever so sorry.”

  “I’m not,” Thane said, staring at Wrayford. “You deserve my fist in your face for attempting to steal my woman.”

  Wrayford froze on the bottom step. “I meant her no harm, I swear it—”

  “You wanted her dowry in order to pay back that IOU. Well, you may consider the debt forgiven, so long as you go back to bed this instant.”

  Slack-jawed, Wrayford gaped at him. “What? A thousand guineas . . . and you won’t hold me to it?”

  “One more word from you and I’ll change my mind.”

  Wrayford instantly reversed course and scuttled back up the stairs. A moment later, the distant sound of a door slamming echoed through the entrance hall.

  “That’s an enormous sum to absolve,” Lindsey marveled. “Why on earth did you do that?”

  Thane shrugged. “If I didn’t, the fool would prey on some other heiress. Besides, I never wanted the money. I played cards with him a few times merely to gain his confidence for the purpose of my investigation.”

  She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Then you aren’t really an unprincipled rogue.”

  He flashed her a crooked grin. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the thoughts in my mind right now.”

  His hands roved down her body, lifting her to him so there was no mistaking his meaning. Her blood quickened in response. “Mmm,” she said, undulating her hips. “That sounds enticing, my lord. I would vastly enjoy another night of sin.”

  “This time we’ll be married,” he said sternly. “I’ve a special license in my pocket. We could be wed by nightfall.”

  She caught her breath, her eyes searching his. “Truly?”

  “Truly. So long as you think your family will forgive us.”

  The vulnerable look on his face proved he would willingly defer to her wishes. He knew the pain of being denied the close bonds of family. She felt a fierce longing to give him the happiness he had never known.

  “They’ll come around,” she said. “Blythe will be excited, of course. Papa will be thrilled to see me happily settled. And Mama will be in a snit, but she’ll recover, especially when she’s allowed to throw a huge celebration for all of society.”

  “Then you’ll soon be my wife.” Thane leaned his brow to hers briefly before he drew back to look deep into her eyes. “I love you, Lindsey Crompton. You’re my heart and soul. Forever.”

  Giddy with joy, she traced his lips with her fingertip. “So you really were destined to find your one true love, after all. To think you scoffed when Kasi read it in your palm.”


  “What a blind fool I was.”

  “I more so than you.” Lindsey brushed a kiss across his smiling mouth. “Allow me to make one more prediction. You’ll forever be my dearest Lord Mansfield.”