Never Love a Scoundrel (17 page)

But no, he was considerate and witty and he made her heart sing. And if Aunt Margaret had her way, she would end up crushing him.

JASON WATCHED
Lydia talking to Miss Cheswick. He returned his attention to Sevrin, with whom he’d been hoping to speak. “Though you’ve only just returned to Town, I’m sure you’ve heard about my half brother.”

“Mr. Ethan Locke? Yes, I’ve heard about him, though I haven’t made his acquaintance, and you’ll understand when I say gossip doesn’t interest me much.” His smile was droll. If anyone knew about the pitfalls of rumor and innuendo, it was Sevrin.

“This is not rumor and something only you will fully understand: Locke is better known as Ethan
Jagger
.”

Sevrin’s eyes widened and he moved closer to the wall, drawing Jason with him. “
He’s
your brother?”

“
Half
brother.” If nothing else, Sevrin was acquainted with him as Jagger the pugilistic sponsor, but what else did he know? “How much do you know about him? And do be honest. I suspect he’s a criminal.”

Sevrin kept his voice low. “You’d be right. He coerced me into fighting for him by threatening to expose Philippa as the woman I was seen with that night at your party.” So, in addition to being a criminal, his half brother was a right prick. Sevrin continued, “I’d agreed to find him a permanent fighter, but when I took too long, he brought Philippa to the fight in Dirty Lane.”

Jason had watched that bout, and he’d seen the masked woman seated beside Ethan. He hadn’t realized she was Lady Philippa. “Wait, didn’t you fight for him again in Cornwall? I’m surprised you didn’t use your considerable pugilistic skills on
him
.”

Sevrin’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t entirely hold back. But I must admit there is something about him that soothed my anger. He understood my need to fight, appreciated it even as he exploited it. It’s why I fought for him in Cornwall.” He paused a moment, then lowered his voice even further. “There’s something else. One of his men—a nasty brute—kidnapped Philippa in Cornwall. I was able to stop him before things got . . . ugly.” The way he said the word and the intangible aura of menace Sevrin elicited gave Jason an idea of what precisely that meant.

Jason continued to wonder how Sevrin hadn’t beat Ethan to within an inch of his life. “What role did Ethan play in all of that?”

“That’s just it: none.” Sevrin frowned. “He was actually rather upset to learn what his man had done. He went so far as to apologize. What’s more, the kidnapper was killed in prison. I have no proof, but I wonder if Jagger was behind it.”

Once again, his half brother was at the center of some evil. It didn’t make sense that Ethan
wasn’t
involved, regardless of what Sevrin believed. Perhaps Ethan had simply convinced him otherwise by using his infamous charm—something he’d always employed to gain his own ends. The servants at Lockwood House had adored him when their father had brought him for visits. It seemed even a man like Sevrin wasn’t completely immune. “I pray you aren’t being naïve.”

“I didn’t say we were bosom friends,” Sevrin said wryly. “No one knows what happened in Cornwall, and for Philippa’s sake, I’d like it to stay that way.”

Jason’s gaze flicked to Lady Sevrin, who was now engaged in conversation with Lydia and Miss Cheswick. “Of course. But you said Ethan was a criminal. Are you aware of any other criminal activity beyond kidnapping and coercion?”

“He works for Gin Jimmy.” Sevrin shrugged. “I couldn’t say what Jagger does, but when Philippa and I were brought to him, he certainly seemed a prince lording over his subjects. He had quite a gang of brutes.”

Now Jason had firsthand testimony of his brother’s crimes, even if it wasn’t anything he could take to Bow Street. “Thank you for telling me.”

Jason must have let his animosity show, for Sevrin cocked his head to the side and said, “There’s no love lost between you, is there?” When Jason failed to respond, Sevrin’s voice grew soft. “That’s unfortunate. I’d give anything to have my brother back.”

Unable to share that sentiment, and strangely discomfited by it, Jason completely changed the subject. He looked toward Lydia again. She was still talking with Lady Sevrin, but Miss Cheswick was no longer with them. “Speaking of your wife, it’s past time we were properly introduced.”

Sevrin shot him an inquisitive glance. “Did you know who she was that night at Lockwood House?”

“Not precisely, but I didn’t believe for a moment that she was just some paramour you’d brought along.” As had many people, so Jason added, “A supposition I never repeated.”

Sevrin sighed. “She’s too damned elegant, too perfect. No demimondaine could carry herself as she does. Come.” He led Jason to his wife and, more importantly, to her companion, Lydia.

Lydia registered their approach, but quickly averted her eyes to Lady Sevrin. Sevrin took care of the introductions.

“Lord Lockwood, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Lady Sevrin said with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. They had, of course, already met when she’d mistakenly intruded into one of his vice parties. Sevrin had rescued her, and though it had been a bumpy road, things had turned out splendidly for them. If a scoundrel like Sevrin could find redemption, perhaps there was hope for Jason after all.

Jason took her hand and bowed. “The pleasure is mine.”

“You already know Lady Lydia,” Lady Sevrin said, her gaze flicking to Lydia who continued to avoid meeting his eyes. What the devil was wrong with her? Had they not just entered into a partnership that very afternoon?

“Indeed. Good evening, Lady Lydia.” When she didn’t offer her hand, he boldly took it and pressed a kiss to the back of her glove. He felt her muscles tense, and her gaze finally snapped to his. But her brown eyes were flat, lacking their usual sparkle.

“Lord Lockwood.” She pulled her hand from his grasp. “Please excuse me, I see someone I must speak with.” She turned and left.

Jason frowned. Someone stopped her less than ten feet from them. He couldn't hear what was said, but he picked up her response. “Yes, he hosted one of those parties.” She sounded resigned, indifferent.

This time he heard the other woman’s comment. “Judging by the company he keeps, he’s not rehabilitated at all. One must wonder if he should be allowed to mingle with our most impressionable members of Society. Like you, for instance. I should think you’d prefer to keep your distance.”

“I am trying, yes,” Lydia said.

Jason’s insides turned to ice. What game was she playing? Was she setting him up for a humiliating failure? Was she hoping to push him over the edge into madness as her aunt had done to his mother at that dinner party seven years ago? Anger swirled in his gut, and it took every ounce of will he possessed to not stalk over to her, grab her by the arm, and drag her somewhere to get the truth.

He excused himself from the Sevrins and walked around the periphery of the room. As he watched Lydia move from person to person, likely spreading her poison, his mood blackened.

He saw Miss Cheswick in the corner. Perhaps she could provide some insight as to what the hell Lydia was doing. “Miss Cheswick, it’s a pleasure to see you here.”

She smiled. “Lord Lockwood, good evening.”

“Propping up the corner, I see. Do you enjoy attending these events?”

“I know it seems I mustn’t, but I do. I’m more of an observer, and that suits me fine. Do
you
enjoy attending these events? Tell me,” her voice lowered dramatically, “are your parties more entertaining?”

He laughed softly, liking Miss Cheswick. “Naturally. But never say I told you so. Why isn’t Lady Lydia keeping you company?”

Miss Cheswick pressed her lips together and wrinkled her nose. “She’s just being Lydia. She really is harmless.” The look she gave him was serious, and perhaps a bit pleading. She wanted him to believe what she said.

The words he’d overheard stirred his anger once more. “Harmless? I’m certain she’s harmed plenty of people. Isn’t she a gossiping viper just like her aunt?”

Miss Cheswick flinched, and he wished he’d worded things differently. “She isn’t really. If you knew her as I do, you’d see that. But then no one knows her as I do,” she finished sadly.

“Then help me know her.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned toward Miss Cheswick. “When the music starts, send her to the portrait gallery.”

“That’s hardly appropriate,” Miss Cheswick said, sounding scandalized.

“Perhaps not, but I suspect you’ll do it anyway.” He sent her a challenging look, hoping that Miss Cheswick possessed the rebellious spirit he thought she did.

Miss Cheswick shook her head. “I don’t know if she’ll come.”

He gently pressed his fingers to her forearm. “Please ensure that she does.”

Miss Cheswick nodded. He strode away from her, meandering through the drawing room into a smaller room next door where people still mingled. He moved into another room and then at last came to a corridor that led to the portrait gallery where he squandered the next half hour staring at paintings. He paced near the doorway. When he heard the strains of the music start up, he paused. She wasn’t coming.

He leaned against the wall and laid his head back against the plaster. A moment later he heard the whoosh of skirts before a flash of amber entered beside him. He reached out and snatched her hand, spinning her around so that she came to face him. But he pulled harder than he intended—or maybe she was just lighter than he anticipated—and she connected with his chest.

Her brown eyes were wide as she stared up at him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and continued holding her hand.

He meant to assault her with questions and demand she give him the truth, but he was speechless at the look of fear in her eyes. He’d never frightened her before. What had changed in the hours since he’d seen her last?

Her upturned face was pale and beautiful in the soft light of the gallery. “I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered, pulling back.

He held her close, tightening his grip around her waist. “Don’t go. I won’t let you. Not yet.” Letting go of her hand, he stroked his thumb along her jaw. She flinched. “What’s wrong? Did something happen this afternoon after you left Lockwood House?”

She hesitated the barest fraction before she shook her head. He didn’t believe her. In fact, now he
knew
something had occurred. “Tell me what happened this afternoon.”

“Nothing,” she said, but the response came too quickly and with a higher pitch that verified she was lying.

He moved his thumb back, applying a bit more pressure and this time she blinked and pulled away. He gently held her chin and tipped her head to the side and saw a faint red blemish, though it was carefully masked with a cosmetic. Fury shot through him. “What is this?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop saying that,” he said more sharply than he intended, but anger was swirling inside him. “Tell me how this happened.” He looked into her eyes. “And don’t lie.”

She swallowed and his eye was drawn to the gentle column of her throat. “Please, don’t ask me.” The words came out ragged.

He wouldn’t force her. She’d been through enough today. “Was this because you came to see me?” Rage fought against the overwhelming tenderness he felt for the woman in his arms. He’d never been assaulted with such an urge to protect someone other than his mother, who’d always seemed powerless. But Lydia wasn’t the same. She was strong, and he wanted her to remain that way.

“I should go,” she whispered, sounding hollow and broken.

Yes, she should. But he had to know. “If your aunt did this to you, I demand you tell me. I can’t—”

She wrenched her head back from his touch. “You can’t what? You don’t have any say. Please, just let me go.”

He cupped the back of her head and drew her mouth to his. He longed to free her mind from this moment, to give her a sense of joy, of bliss. And maybe he wanted that for himself, too.

He moved his lips over hers. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t kiss him back. He tilted his head and massaged her waist, which served to bring her more firmly against him. She felt like heaven, her body curving into his with an innocence that was as heady as lust. No, headier.

She’d never been kissed before. He’d bet Lockwood House on it. Her mouth relaxed against his, and he ran his tongue along the edge of her lips. She gasped, and he took the opportunity to slip inside her wet heat.

Her hands came up against his chest. He froze for the barest moment, afraid she meant to push away. But then her fingers tangled into his lapel and cravat as if she were hanging on for her life. Perhaps she was.

His fingers dug into the back of her skull as he deepened the kiss. He opened his mouth wider and she followed suit, inviting him to show her what to do. Tentatively, her tongue brushed against his. He nearly groaned with the sweet agony of it. His cock hardened between them, and he hoped she wouldn’t cringe. Christ, if anyone saw him now—seducing an innocent—he’d never recover.

He ought to stop. Not for his sake, but for hers.

Except her hand crept over his collar and cradled the side of his neck. It would be so much better without her bloody gloves on, but he would take what he could get. Her touch was hesitant, but bold. Her hand moved to the back of his neck and copied what he was doing to her, holding him to her as if she never wanted to let go.