Never Trust a Rogue (21 page)

Now, in the light of day, troubling questions nagged at her: Didn’t his skill at seduction enhance his likelihood as the murder suspect? Could he have had the same effect on other women . . . like those maidservants? Had he romanced them with sweet lies, enticed them into sin, and then lured them to their death?

The very real possibility of that scenario made Lindsey shudder. Her hand strayed to her throat. It would have been so simple for him in the heat of the moment to untie his cravat and then wrap it around the neck of his victim . . . or to wrap it around
her
own neck.

“Aha! I’ve found you!”

The sudden boom of Wrayford’s voice gave Lindsey a start. She whirled around to see him grinning in the doorway. She’d been so lost in thought that the approach of his footsteps had failed to register on her consciousness.

His presence here boded ill for both her investigation and her reputation.

“Go back outside,” she ordered. “If any of the neighbors are watching, they’ll spread gossip about me and ruin my good name.”

He made a dismissing gesture with his hand. “Let the small-minded busybodies say what they will. If there is the slightest smear to your character, I shall gladly protect your honor.”

Wrayford swaggered toward her. In his dandified yellow coat and elaborate neck cloth, he more closely resembled a deceitful scapegrace rather than the guardian of a lady’s virtue. The calculating look in those pale blue eyes alarmed Lindsey.

She deemed it prudent to retreat behind a wing chair. “The best way for you to protect me is to return to the carriage in accordance with my wishes.”

“Nonsense. It’s quite rude of me to stand by idly when I could be here, offering my assistance. Have you found the earbob that you lost?”

“Not yet. I’ve summoned your housekeeper to help me. She should arrive at any moment.”

Instead of being discouraged, Wrayford came right up to Lindsey, stopping so close she could smell the cloying odor of his cologne. “Confess the truth now, my dear. There isn’t really a missing jewel, is there?”

His question threw her off kilter. How could he possibly know it was a ruse? Was he merely guessing because her fib had been transparent? Or had he somehow figured out that she suspected Lord Mansfield of murder?

“I . . . don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do, my darling.” Reaching out, he fingered a curl of her hair that had escaped her feathered bonnet. “You knew all along that I would follow you inside here. Because you
wanted
me to come to you. It was all part of your plan.”

“Plan?”

“Yes, you intend to trap me into wedlock. I’ve enough experience with women to know false modesty when I see it. In truth, you aspire to be Duchess of Sylvester as soon as my grandpapa takes to his deathbed.”

Wrayford made a grab for her. Lindsey escaped him by moving to the other side of the chair.

“That may be my mother’s wish, but it certainly isn’t mine. I’ve no interest whatsoever in becoming your wife.”

He took a step closer, and again she eluded him, keeping the chair between them. “Don’t be coy,” he said. “I recognize a come-hither look when I see one.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong. I want no part of you. Now stay back or I’ll scream.”

He thrust out his lower lip in a pout. “Please, Miss
Crompton, you mustn’t deny me. Pray, fulfill my heart’s desire. Give me a kiss, now there’s a good girl.”

He lunged again, this time catching hold of her sleeve. As she jumped back, Lindsey’s heel caught the hem of her skirt and caused her to stumble. Wrayford took instant advantage by clamping his arms around her from the side so that her shoulder was jammed into his chest. The awkward position made it more difficult for her to wrench free.

Though her arms were locked at her sides, she managed to drive her elbow into his stomach. “Beast! Let me go!”

Wrayford grunted but held on. Despite his soft appearance, he proved to be as strong and tenacious as a bulldog.

He loosed a nasty chuckle. “You’re a feisty one. Exactly the way I like my females.”

His mouth swooped down toward hers. She quickly turned her head, so that his slobbery lips met the back of her neck. Disgusted and alarmed, she glanced around but could spy no handy weapon like a letter opener anywhere in sight. Perhaps, if she were facing him, she might be able to manage the trick that Kasi had taught her—

The jingle of keys in the doorway caught her attention. A fleshy woman peeked inside, a mobcap perched on her head and her dark eyes like currants in a doughy face.

The housekeeper.

“Help!” Lindsey called. “He’s attacking me!”

Wrayford snarled over his shoulder, “Go away, Lambkin. You aren’t needed here.”

The woman vanished from sight at once, abandoning Lindsey to Wrayford’s villainous clutches. Clearly, there would be no aid from any of his servants. She was on her own.

Lindsey forced herself to go limp. Her best hope was
to convince him that she had given up the fight, so that he might relax his guard. To enhance the aura of defeat, she let herself quiver a little as if in fear.

“Oh my,” she murmured. “No one is willing to help me. Whatever am I to do now?”

“Give me a little taste of your sweetcakes, that’s what,” Wrayford said, turning her in his arms to face him. “It’s only fair that a man should sample the wares before buying them, eh?”

Lindsey clenched her teeth to keep from retorting that as the heiress,
she
was the one doing the purchasing.

But she needed to play the damsel in distress. “You’re a cad for saying such things to a lady of virtue. My mother warned me never to let any man touch me.”

“Bah, the two of you planned this ruse of the lost earbob. Although I’ll wager your mama never told you that the real jewel lies within my breeches.”

Cackling at his crude jest, Wrayford leered down at her bosom.

While he was distracted, she seized her chance and brought up her knee to connect with his groin. She scored a direct hit despite the hindrance of her skirts.

Wrayford howled and his hold slackened. She gave him a mighty shove so that he fell backward. He stumbled against the bookshelves and dislodged several volumes that crashed to the floor. Moaning, he bent over, his hands cupping the front of his breeches.

“Argh!”

Amazed at how well the trick had worked, Lindsey sprang toward the door of the study. She had no intention of waiting around for Wrayford to recover. “I’m borrowing your carriage,” she said over her shoulder.

His face a mask of agony, he glanced at her. “Wha—?”

“Never fear, I learned how to handle the ribbons in India. Now, do have a pleasant afternoon!”

Thane craned his neck to see the street ahead as the burly coachman drove the landau through the elegant district of Mayfair. The open coach trundled along at a sedate pace that set Thane’s nerves on edge. He despised being relegated to a seat back here like a doddering old uncle. If not for his need to chaperone Jocelyn, he would have leaped up to the front, grabbed the ribbons, and urged the horses to a faster pace.

Where the devil had Wrayford taken Lindsey? The villain’s phaeton had been heading north, rather than west to Hyde Park, which was the usual destination of courting couples out for a drive. On the off chance that the two were calling on a noble household, Thane had instructed the coachman to conduct a methodical sweep of every street in the area.

“How much farther is it to St. James’s Palace?” Jocelyn asked.

Thane flashed a distracted smile at his ward. She was all bundled up against the cool spring day, with a straw bonnet framing her delicate features and a blanket over her useless legs, which were propped on a stool. Pencil in hand, she had been doodling faces in the sketch pad in her lap.

“It’ll be a little while yet,” he said. “I thought you might
enjoy a tour through Mayfair first, to see all the fine houses.”

“Oh, yes, it’s all been very interesting, especially the people. I’m certainly glad I brought paper and pencil. Although I daresay I could draw better if it weren’t so bumpy traveling over the cobblestones. Do you suppose we could slow down?”

“We’ll stop soon enough, I promise you. Then you’ll have plenty of time to sketch.”

They wouldn’t stop until he’d located Wrayford and Lindsey—if indeed the task was even possible. The couple could be any number of places by now. After all, they’d had a good fifteen minutes’ head start.

Worry thrust Thane to the precipice of patience. If Wrayford really was the Serpentine Strangler, Lindsey could be in grave danger. As strong and capable as she was, she could have no notion of how to handle the murderous villain. Even a sharp letter opener might not stop a madman who was bent on killing her.

He realized that Jocelyn was talking. “I do wish Lindsey or Blythe could have come with us today,” she said plaintively. “It would be so much more fun if I had a friend along.”

Thane awkwardly patted her gloved hand. Lindsey was right; he ought to have allowed Jocelyn to associate with others her age. “It’s been rather lonely for you, hasn’t it?”

“Perhaps they’ve changed their minds about liking me,” Jocelyn fretted. “I hope that isn’t the case. Do you suppose they’ll come back to see me sometime?”

“If they don’t,” he teased, “I’ll kidnap them in the dead of night. I’ll bring them to you and stand guard at the door so they can’t escape.”

Jocelyn’s green eyes widened. “Truly?”

She looked as if she didn’t quite know whether or not
to take him seriously. Sometimes he forgot how young and easily influenced his ward could be.

He tweaked her pale cheek. “No, of course not, silly. But I can certainly deliver your invitation to them to visit.”

Just then, the coachman turned the landau onto Bruton Street. Looking ahead, Thane forgot all else as he spied the familiar yellow phaeton far down the street, parked in front of Wrayford’s town house.

Alarm choked Thane. Bloody hell! He should have thought of coming here first. A man as evil as the Serpentine Strangler would suffer no qualms over taking an innocent young lady to his home in the middle of the day.

His mind worked feverishly. Lindsey knew better than to go unchaperoned to a gentleman’s house. How had Wrayford managed to bamboozle her? Whatever it was, he must have thrown all caution to the wind. At this very moment, he might be choking her to death with his cravat as he’d done to those other women. . . .

Thane had one hand on the door of the landau. He was half out of his seat, ready to dash to her rescue, when he spied the object of his thoughts. Lindsey Crompton emerged from Wrayford’s house and hurried forward to unloop the reins of the phaeton. Oblivious to the approach of the landau, she clambered up onto the high seat and drove away from them.

Alone.

Luckily, Jocelyn didn’t appear to notice. She’d bent her head down over her sketch pad, her pencil moving in swift strokes as she drew an old gentleman walking briskly along the foot pavement.

Thane was at a loss for what to make of Lindsey’s actions. He was thankful she appeared unharmed, surprised that she could handle such a fancy rig, and astonished to realize she must be stealing it from Wrayford. What had
happened to make her behave so outrageously? Even more puzzling, she was heading east, away from her home.

Where the devil was she going?

He briefly considered stopping at Wrayford’s house to demand answers from the villain. But first things first.

Thane leaned forward to address the coachman: “Follow that yellow phaeton. And if you value your position, do not let it out of your sight.”

Upon reaching her destination, Lindsey handed a coin from her reticule to a scruffy young urchin on the street. She promised him another if the carriage was still there when she came out. Thieves and pickpockets abounded in the area of Covent Garden. But if she lost courage now, there might never be another opportunity.

Taking a deep breath, Lindsey walked into the stately stone building. She found herself in a large room with long wooden benches and groups of milling people who were waiting to see one of the magistrates. Various officials in white wigs scurried to and fro, and for a moment she stood there, drinking in the hectic scene.

This was Bow Street Station, home to the famous Runners. Lindsey had been fascinated by those valiant detectives ever since the age of fourteen, when she’d happened upon a tattered English book at a stall in the bazaar in Bombay. It had been a lurid adventure story in which a Runner had played a role as the crime-solving hero. The novel had been confiscated by her mother, who’d declared such reading beneath contempt for a lady. But Lindsey had never lost her secret desire to emulate the Runners, no matter how imprudent or impossible that goal might be.

Upon her arrival in London two years ago, she’d made a point to find out the location of Bow Street Station. Once, she had even glimpsed its imposing edifice on her way to Drury Lane Theatre. But this was the first time she’d dared
to venture inside. Mama would have her head on a platter if she knew Lindsey had come here.

And no wonder. All manner of criminals were brought here to stand before one of the magistrates in the courtrooms. There were also witnesses to crimes and people who’d come to visit their loved ones being held for arraignment.