Never Trust a Rogue (24 page)

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 the 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!

“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.”

Mansfield’s arms tensed around Lindsey. In a flash, she found herself towed up the staircase and hauled through the nearest doorway. The oil lamp that burned on a table revealed a large canopied bed and various pieces of dainty white furniture. From the collection of perfume and cosmetic bottles on a dressing table, Lindsey realized this must be Lady Entwhistle’s chamber.

Mansfield must have come to that conclusion at the same time as she did because he cursed under his breath and brought her to a crashing halt, his hand still over her mouth.

Pivoting on his heel, he made a move to leave. But it was too late.

The tramp of running footsteps drew nearer, along with Lady Entwhistle’s squeals of sham alarm.

Lindsey didn’t need any urging to hide. In unison, she and Mansfield dashed into the safety of the adjoining dressing room. She had a quick view of several wardrobes, one with a myriad of gowns spilling out. Then he shouldered the door shut and plunged the room into total darkness.

They stood there, breathing hard. Relieved at their close escape, Lindsey ceased fighting. There was no purpose, since they were stuck in here together. Oddly enough, they had become comrades against a common enemy.

The constriction of his hold eased. His lips close to her ear, he murmured, “I trust you won’t scream for help.”

When she shook her head, he withdrew his hand from her mouth. She turned in his arms to face him, but his expression was lost to the gloom.

Her voice low, she hissed, “What were you thinking, to grab me like that?”

“The more pertinent question is: why did you follow me here?”

“I . . .” Lindsey had no ready excuse. He couldn’t possibly guess that she suspected him of murder. Or that she’d reported him to the authorities. “I was curious to know where you were going, that’s all.”

“Indeed?” He gripped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Did no one ever warn you about the danger of venturing out alone at night? Or going uninvited into strange houses?”

“
You
certainly let yourself in here. Why were
you
hiding in the stairwell without Lady Entwhistle’s knowledge?”

He hesitated. “I was returning something I’d borrowed from her. Other than that, the matter is of no concern to you.”

He was lying; Lindsey could sense it in her bones. So what
was
his true purpose here?

She was distracted by the patter of footsteps outside the door to the dressing room. The sounds of a mock chase came from the bedchamber, with Lord Wrayford barking out commands and Lady Entwhistle playing the coyly virtuous maid.

Despite the peril of discovery and the embarrassing
romp going on out there, the situation struck Lindsey as humorous. Her governess, Miss Underhill, had never tutored her in the proper etiquette of how to behave when trapped in a closet with a man while a tryst ensued in the next room. A giggle escaped her, and she had to clap her hand to her mouth. Luckily, the clamor those two were making drowned her out.

An answering chuckle rumbled from Mansfield. She could feel it vibrate in his chest as he held her loosely in his arms. They stood close for a few minutes, listening to the silly scuffle outside and struggling to contain their laughter.

Bending closer, he spoke softly into her hair: “There’s no other way out of here, you know. This dressing room has only the one door. We shall have to wait until they’re finished.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.”

They were imprisoned here together in the pitch-darkness. Why wasn’t she terrified?

Mansfield could very well be the Serpentine Strangler, yet for some peculiar reason she felt safe in his arms. She tried to reason it out. Perhaps he had this reassuring effect on all women. Perhaps that was how he had lured those maidservants to their death.

However, that line of argument now struck her as nonsensical. Maybe it was their shared laughter, or the fact that they were cellmates in this luxurious prison, but for whatever cause, her mistrust of him had eased.

At least for the moment.

“Since we may be here for a while,” Mansfield whispered, “we might as well sit.”

He guided her down to the floor and settled her against him, his arm looped around her waist. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Lindsey to rest her head in the crook of his shoulder. It occurred to her that he hadn’t
known the location of Lady Entwhistle’s bedchamber. Had she been mistaken, then, to assume they were lovers?

The sounds of revelry continued, muted by the closed door. It was a lucky thing she couldn’t make out their conversation. The situation was awkward enough already.

Mansfield found her hand in the darkness and stroked it. “There’s one good outcome to this,” he whispered. “You’ve discovered what a cad Wrayford is. He’s only pursuing you for your money.”

“Hmm. That’s quite a compliment.”

He squeezed her fingers. “This is no jest,” he muttered urgently. “You cannot allow him to court you any longer. Promise me you’ll refuse all his invitations. Don’t go anywhere alone with him.”

Lindsey had learned that lesson all too well. But there was no way she could tell Mansfield about the incident in Wrayford’s house. He might take it into his mind to confront Wrayford. And then Mansfield might discover that she’d stolen the phaeton. If he ever learned where she’d gone . . .

“You’ll have to convince my mother of that,” she said lightly. “Mama has her mind set on making a match between me and Wrayford.”

“I know. She told me so herself.”

Surprised, Lindsey angled her head back and tried to see him, but the shadows were too thick. “What do you mean? When?”

“The day Jocelyn and I were to take you out for a drive. Your mother made it quite clear that I was to stay far away from you.” He paused, then added in a softly calculating tone, “Which leads me to wonder if you asked her to do so.”

There was an underlying accusation in his voice that set her heart to beating faster. A thread of fear stitched her lungs, squeezing her of air.

How much did he guess? Was he aware, after all, that she suspected him of murder?

Wrayford’s triumphant hoot penetrated the door. He must have caught Lady Entwhistle, for she uttered a mock cry of surrender. The bed ropes squeaked loudly from the force of their activities.

Lindsey blessed the darkness for hiding her blush. She certainly didn’t want to picture what those two were doing, so she focused on her whispered conversation with Mansfield. “I never told my mother any such thing. Although if I may add, I’d rather remain a spinster than marry you—or any other nobleman.”

She braced herself for his anger. But he merely continued to stroke her hand. “Why?” he asked. “Why are you so dead set against a future that most other ladies aspire to gain?”

Because she yearned to fly free of the gilded cage where she’d been locked since childhood. Because she wanted to be independent, unencumbered by the expectations of society. Because she dreamed of setting up a discreet agency where she could devote herself to solving mysteries for genteel clients.

“I don’t wish to spend my days shopping, planning menus, and calling on gossips and snobs.”

“Fair enough. When you’re my wife, I’ll absolve you of those duties.”

The prospect of marriage to Mansfield plunged her into a quagmire of longing, and she grabbed desperately for the safety of resistance. “I never agreed to wed you.”

“You agreed to a betrothal. May I remind you, our month is rapidly drawing to a close.”

“And may I remind
you,
my promise was made under threat of blackmail.”