Never Love a Scoundrel (16 page)

What could he possibly want from her? She was a marriageable young woman and since he had no interest in marriage, he should be steering clear of her. Why, then, was he planning the precise opposite?

Because, as he’d told her, he made his own rules. He could indulge their mutual flirtation without overstepping. And once he’d determined what the hell Ethan was up to, he’d part ways with the alluring Lady Lydia and return to his existence on the perimeter.

THE HACK
dropped Lydia off on the corner. She kept her face averted, as Lord Lockwood had recommended and made it to the servant’s entrance of her aunt’s home. Exhaling with relief, she mentally braced herself for the last little bit of luck she needed. But it was not to be.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Erickson, stood near the door to the scullery into the kitchen. Her concerned gaze fixed on Lydia and swept over her gown.

Lydia closed her eyes briefly. She’d have to tell Aunt Margaret everything. Not because Mrs. Erickson would tell her, but because Lydia didn’t want to put any of the servants in the position of having to lie for her. She wouldn’t allow any of them to lose their positions on account of her folly.

She put on her sunniest smile, which was completely at odds with the foreboding swirling in her belly. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Erickson. Has my aunt returned from her calls?”

Worry lines creased the housekeeper’s kind face. “You know she hasn’t.” Her gaze dropped to Lydia’s attire. “Is that Coxley’s dress?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t know.”

Mrs. Erickson nodded. “Let’s get it back quickly then.” She held her arm out and gestured for Lydia to hurry up the back stairs.

Lydia didn’t move. “You must tell Aunt Margaret. She won’t hesitate to—”

Mrs. Erickson put up her hand to cut Lydia off. “I didn’t see anything.”

Lydia forced her heavy feet across the bricked floor. “For now. But if I think for a moment she’s figured anything out, I’ll tell her I threatened you.”

On occasion, Aunt Margaret was more than verbally abusive. She’d raised a hand to Lydia more than a few times, though not in the past couple of years. Once, a servant had intervened on Lydia’s behalf and had been summarily dismissed without reference. Lydia had vowed that no one would suffer because of her again.

Mrs. Erickson clearly remembered the same occurrence, for her eyes turned sad. “Go.”

Lydia hurried up the stairs and changed out of the maid’s costume as quickly as possible. She’d replaced the garments in Coxley’s room and was just coming down from the topmost floor when she heard her aunt’s voice coming from her sitting room.

“Where is Lydia?” Her voice climbed to a near-shriek, and Lydia knew it wasn’t the first time she’d posed the question.

She hurriedly went to the sitting room and forced herself to remain composed despite her frantic emotions. “I’m here, Aunt Margaret. I was upstairs.”

Aunt Margaret’s cheeks were flushed and she was yanking her gloves off with violent tugs. “Looking through your mother’s things again?”

There was a small trunk of items that had belonged to Lydia’s mother in a room upstairs. Lydia had brought it with her from Northumberland as a means to keep the memory of her mother close. When Lydia sought solitude, she went up and spent time with her mother the only way she could—by touching things that had belonged to her. Aunt Margaret never ventured to the top floor, and the servants never intruded on Lydia when she was up there.

Today, it was a blessed excuse. “Yes.” She smiled and tried to look as cheerful as possible. “Did you have a nice afternoon?”

“I did not.” The dark glint in her narrowed eyes studied Lydia as if she could discern her secrets.

The butler backed out of the sitting room and closed the door without a word. Lydia hovered near the doorway, her legs wobbling. She didn’t like the flush in her aunt’s face or the shadows in her gaze. Had she somehow learned that Lydia had gone to Lockwood House?

Aunt Margaret slapped her gloves against her palm. “Mrs. Lloyd-Jones was at Lady Dunthorpe’s this afternoon. I overheard her saying the most outrageous thing.”

Lydia tensed, but she tried to act nonchalant. “Indeed?”

“She was talking to Mrs. Horwatt about available bachelors and had the audacity to include Lockwood in her accounting.” Her voice dropped to a deceptively soft tone. “And do you know what she said next?”

Fear gathered in Lydia’s chest. She shook her head.

“She said she hoped
you
would catch his eye.” She skirted the furniture, stalking toward Lydia with heavy steps. “Have you any idea why she would say such a thing?”

Lydia forced herself to exhale. Talking to Aunt Margaret about helping Lockwood was certainly out of the question now.

Aunt Margaret came to stand in front of her. She smacked her gloves against her palm again. “You’ll disabuse Mrs. Lloyd-Jones of this folly. Lockwood isn’t fit to be anyone’s husband. He belongs in an institution or under the care of a physician like his demented mother.”

How Lydia longed to defend him. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Lloyd-Jones.”

“Good, but it’s not enough. I want him gone. For good.” She tipped her head to the side and stared at Lydia. “You agree, don’t you? His presence isn’t to be borne.”

Lydia gritted her teeth before saying, “Of course. But what can we do? It’s not as if we can force him to behave a certain way or—”

Aunt Margaret’s gloves slapped against Lydia’s face with a force that shouldn’t have been possible from a woman of her age and stature. “You stupid girl. We can manipulate anything we like. How in the world do you think I got rid of his mother?”

Lydia’s jaw dropped before she could help herself. The gloves hit her face again, and this time the buttons smacked her jaw, stinging her flesh. Aunt Margaret hadn’t raised her hand to her in years, why now?

Because of Lockwood. She’d said Harmony Lockwood hated her, but clearly the feeling was more than mutual, and it extended to Lady Lockwood’s son. So much so, that Aunt Margaret was completely irrational about him.

“Close your mouth and listen to me.” Aunt Margaret’s eyes were overbright, and Lydia wondered if
she
hadn’t gone mad. “You will do precisely as I say and nothing else.”

Lydia blinked through the pain in her cheek and jaw. “Yes, Aunt Margaret, but I wonder if I might make a suggestion?”

Aunt Margaret’s breathing had become rapid with her anger. “What? And this had better be worthwhile.”

It was a bold risk, but Lydia had to do something. “What if I assisted Lord Lockwood with a party?” Aunt Margaret’s nostrils flared, she sucked in air and then lifted her hand.

Lydia couldn’t help herself from moving back to avoid the coming blow. “Just listen, please! Only think of it—the best of Society inside Lockwood House. His secrets there exposed. It’s precisely what you want.”

Even as she offered this scheme, she tried to think of how she could preserve him from humiliation and degradation.

Aunt Margaret’s eyes narrowed and she stared at Lydia, though she didn’t seem to be seeing her as she weighed her proposal. “I would have to be invited.”

“Of course.” Lydia hadn’t told him that, but he was rational and would understand.

Aunt Margaret’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “What would ‘assisting’ him entail? You can’t be going to Lockwood House and acting like you’re his wife.” She sneered as if that were the most distasteful thing she’d ever heard, and maybe it was.

“No, Aunt. I would give him a guest list. I would tell him how to decorate, what food to serve, what musicians to hire.”

“And once we’re inside?” Aunt Margaret sniped. “What exactly do you hope to expose—and you’d better have specifics.”

She didn’t, and so she frantically came up with something and strove to make it sound
specific
. “He keeps a guest list of attendees for his vice parties. I might even be able to find it before the party, actually, if you allow me to visit Lockwood House.” She had no idea if such a list even existed, and even if it did, she wouldn’t want to actually find or reveal it.

“No, you can’t be seen at Lockwood House before this party. That would be a disaster.” She shot Lydia a suspicious glare. “Besides, I don’t want you spending time with that scoundrel.”

“But—” She regretted the utterance as soon as the gloves smacked her face again. She’d been about to argue that helping him plan a party—a regular, non-vice party—would put her, and by extension Aunt Margaret, in a favorable light. However, Lydia ought to have realized that Aunt Margaret wouldn’t agree, because in her experience, one only achieved notoriety by tearing other people down.

“You may provide him with guidance by letter. I will read each one before they are delivered, as well as his responses. You will have no secrets from me, Lydia.”

Of course not. Lydia’s only privacy was in her mind. She forced a placid smile to mask her bitter disappointment. “As you wish, Aunt Margaret.”

Aunt Margaret turned from her. “Go on. The Comptons’ musicale is tonight. Make sure you cover that mark on your face.”

Lydia brushed her fingers over the throbbing pain along her jaw and felt a tiny welt. “Yes, Aunt.” She sounded defeated, but that would please her aunt. A broken spirit was the most malleable kind.

Chapter Ten

LYDIA TRAILED
her aunt into the Comptons’ drawing room with her head held high. Inside, she was in turmoil, but she would never let it show. Society had no idea of the despair darkening her soul, and they never would.

Lady Compton welcomed them with a broad smile. After exchanging the necessary pleasantries, Lydia left her aunt as quickly as possible. She searched for Audrey, but was waylaid by a pair of young ladies, Miss Rowe and Miss Bryant.

“Lady Lydia!” Miss Rowe exclaimed. “You must tell us about Lord Lockwood. I can’t believe you danced with him. Is he horribly clumsy?”

Lydia stifled the urge to scowl. Instead, she leaned close as if imparting a secret. “Actually, he’s quite graceful for such a large man. I was most impressed.”

Miss Bryant’s eyes widened. “Never say so! He’s just so . . . frightening!”

“Nonsense,” Lydia said with just a touch of venom.

“Oh, but that ghastly scar.” Miss Rowe shuddered. “Did you have to keep your gaze averted?”

Lydia’s patience was thinning. “No.”

Miss Bryant gave a tiny shriek. “There he is!”

Lydia resisted the urge to turn and look at him. She was actually hoping to avoid him. Things would be smoother with Aunt Margaret if she stayed away from him—at least publicly.

At last, she caught sight of Audrey in the corner. “Please excuse me.”

Audrey smiled as Lydia arrived at her side. “I love your new gown, Lydia. That amber looks wonderful with your coloring.”

“Thank you, I’m quite pleased with how it turned out.” Lydia said, glad for something to take her mind off Lockwood and her aunt.

Audrey lowered her voice. “Lord Lockwood is staring this way.”

Apparently, he wasn’t going to make avoidance easy. Lydia didn’t turn to look. “He’s not coming over here, is he?”

“He’s talking to Lord Sevrin of all people.”

Of course; they were friends. Sevrin had frequented Lockwood’s parties before he’d married. “Good. Will you let me know if Lockwood moves in our direction?”

Audrey darted a glance toward Lockwood. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like Lord Lockwood?”

“Yes, but I don’t need to be seen with him at every event, do I?” Lydia
had
to increase the distance between them. If Aunt Margaret had been furious about Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s comments, she would be positively enraged if she thought there was a consensus building that somehow linked her to Lockwood—which was asinine, as they’d only danced a single waltz.

Nights like this almost made her wish she could be happy in Northumberland married to a miller or a farmer whilst raising children and cats. But no, she had to appease Aunt Margaret, which meant going about her usual business. She pasted a smile on her face. “I can’t adorn the corner tonight. Let’s go find someone to talk to.”

She caught Lockwood out of the corner of her eye. He was looking in her direction, but she didn’t return his regard. Though her neck prickled, she kept moving. Why did she have to like him? Her life would be so much easier if he was the scary beast everyone assumed him to be.