Never Trust a Rogue (14 page)

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 pardon. 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 street, 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.

Enthroned on a blue chair, the Duchess of Milbourne wrapped her gnarled fingers around an ivory-topped cane. She looked up her long nose at the earl. “Ah, Mansfield. How is Hugo these days? Have you been to Oxfordshire yet to visit him?”

Mansfield bowed over her hand. “Indeed I have. My uncle is as cantankerous as ever.”

“His rheumatism, no doubt. You should encourage him to take the mineral waters at Bath.” Her sharp blue eyes pierced Lindsey. “As for you, Miss Crompton, I’m surprised at Edith’s lenience. In my day we never allowed young bucks to escort unmarried ladies on their calls.”

Lindsey dipped the obligatory curtsy. “I’m sure you’re right, Your Grace. But I trust it will be acceptable since our families have become such fast friends.”

“Hmm.” She glared from Lindsey to Mansfield and back again. “Nevertheless, I would have expected Wrayford to accompany you.”

“I outfoxed the poor fellow by arriving earlier than him,” Mansfield said. “As the Bard once wrote, all’s fair in love and war.”

Love?
Lindsey gritted her teeth. Blast him for pretending to be the smitten swain. He was merely using her to provide himself with a semblance of respectability.

In the midst of her incendiary thoughts, he steered her to a chaise, applying subtle pressure to her arm and compelling her to take a place right beside him. She perched rigidly on the edge of the cushion, her hands folded in her lap, a polite smile fixed on her lips. So much for sitting in a chair across the room in the hopes of fostering the illusion that they were
not
a couple.

The three ladies watched avidly. The duchess was the one who had relayed the gossip to Lindsey’s mother about
Lindsey venturing into the garden with him a few nights ago. But had anyone see him kissing her? She certainly hoped not.