Never Love a Scoundrel (28 page)

“It was lovely, my lady,” the maid answered. “The cook gave me some of the cakes for the party. They were delicious.” She smiled beatifically, and Lydia wondered if it was possible that she didn’t know what had transpired. Lydia would likely never know for certain and would simply have to pray for the best.

And try very, very hard to make sure nothing like this happened again.

THE DOOR
closed behind Lydia. North turned to face Jason. “Was it a productive visit, my lord?”

As usual, North was unreadable. He had to be aware of their activities in the fantasy room. Though, he behaved as if he didn’t.

“Yes. I do believe Lady Lydia got what she came for.” Oh, that sounded quite sinful. God, he really was a scoundrel if he couldn’t even summon a sliver of regret. And he couldn’t. She’d met him more than halfway, and he’d long ago made a conscious decision to ignore Society’s rules.

North clasped his hands behind his back. “It seems, however, that she should have had enough time to make her list of decorations while she was here. I could’ve started on those arrangements right away.”

Jason frowned at his butler. It seemed he wasn’t going to simply ignore what had transpired. “Why don’t you just say what you want to say?”

“Very well. Do you think it wise that you took Lady Lydia to the prop room?”

He gave North a thoroughly sardonic stare. “Clearly you don’t. Though, I daresay it’s none of your business.”

North’s lips pursed very briefly, but it was enough for Jason to register that he was offended—or at least pretending to be. On exceptionally rare occasions, North could be a bit dramatic like his twin. “Just so, my lord.” He continued to look at Jason as if he wanted to say more.

“Well, what else?” Jason said, surrendering.

“You’ll forgive me for being bold.”

Jason grimaced, fearing what would come next. “I’ll consider it.”

North’s nod was stiff and exceedingly deferential. “Is there any reason you couldn’t court Lady Lydia? She might make you a lovely wife.”

One very perturbing reason. “Margaret Rutherford.”

A pained expression flashed very briefly over North’s features. “There’s no way you could overlook their relation?”

Margaret’s vengeful streak was endless, and to go with it, she had patience. It was a ruthless combination, and Jason would spend his life looking over his shoulder, waiting for the viper to strike. Despite that, he recognized that he ought to offer for Lydia. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t recognize that. But he couldn’t. Just as he couldn’t bring himself to regret their time together, he couldn’t consign himself to marriage, especially to Margaret’s niece.

“Not another word, or I may have to rethink whether I want to tolerate your insubordination.” It was an empty threat, and North knew it.

North’s eyebrow climbed very high before he nodded deferentially.

“What the hell?” Scot called as he entered the foyer from the back corridor. “I go to the pub for a pint and I come back to his lordship reminding you of your place?” He chuckled gleefully, utterly unaware of any tension, but maybe that was because the only tension was in Jason’s mind.
Christ, what had he just done?

“I wasn’t taking your brother to task,” Jason told Scot. “He’s trying to be . . . helpful.”

Scot looked between them, his gaze settling on Jason. He opened his mouth, snapped it shut as if he’d decided silence was the better part of valor in this instance, and then dipped his head. When he looked up once more, there was a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “I’ll wager I’m more helpful than he is. Would you care to hear what I learned down the pub this afternoon?”

Jason crossed his arms, grateful for a subject to occupy his mind other than the colossal mess he’d just made with Lydia. “Please.”

“Ran into a former footman of Lady Aldridge’s. He left his post a fortnight or so ago. Said he couldn’t stand to work for the underbutler—he’d been Lord Aldridge’s valet and they gave him the position after his lordship passed.”

“He just offered this information?” Jason asked.

Scot shrugged. “Eh, you know how I am. We got to talking over an ale, and pretty soon he was spilling his life story.”

Yes, Jason knew how that happened. Scot made everyone as comfortable as if they’d known him all their lives. And this footman was no exception, evidently. “What else did he tell you?”

“He said the underbutler was haughty and inserted himself into every part of the household. He was very involved with caring for Lady Aldridge, which the footman found odd. He personally sent the orders for her laudanum and made sure her maid gave it to her regularly.”

Was the underbutler perhaps working with Ethan’s man, Oak? Jason wondered whether Bow Street was aware of this information regarding Aldridge’s former valet. He ought to share it, particularly since he’d told Teague he would. However, Jason was reluctant to add fuel to the fire building around Ethan.

Compassion for his half brother? Seducing innocents? What in the bloody hell was
wrong
with him?

“My lord?” North asked, breaking into Jason’s thoughts. “Will you be informing Bow Street?”

“I don’t know.” With a frustrated scowl, he turned and marched toward his office, expecting North and Scot to follow, which they did.

Once inside, he poured a glass of whisky and dropped into his chair behind the desk. When he’d finished taking a sip, Scot was seated in another chair while North continued to stand, as was his wont.

“If I tell Bow Street, this only adds to what they already have against Ethan.”

“The list?” North asked.

Jason had told them both about the paper he’d found after he’d returned home from the Bevelstoke yesterday.

Scot settled back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. “Sounds like you don’t want Jagger to be guilty.”

Jason didn’t know what he wanted, but he kept hearing his half brother asking him to trust him. He had a sudden thought. North was quite familiar with the city, Mayfair in particular, as he’d come south from the lowlands of Scotland to find work in a grand London house. “North, your memory for details is remarkable. Do you by chance recall whether the Chaunceys live at number nineteen Curzon Street?”

North considered a moment and then firmly answered, “They do not, my lord.”

“That was the address on the list I found at Ethan’s.”

“Perhaps there was another address on Curzon Street?” North asked.

Jason searched his brain—he’d been quite particular about memorizing the list. “No, the only address on Curzon Street was number nineteen.” He looked up at North. “What number was the South Audley Street robbery?”

Once again, North provided the necessary detail. “The newspaper said it was number sixty-three.”

Jason’s felt a triumphant surge. “That wasn’t the address on the paper. I don’t know what his list was for, but it doesn’t seem to be related to the robberies.”

That still didn’t explain Ethan’s manservant’s potential role in Lady Aldridge’s death. Jason hoped the laudanum deliveries were simply what they seemed: a retainer delivering medicine. Though, the fact that it wasn’t
her
retainer didn’t instill confidence. And what did the underbutler’s behavior have to do with the matter—if anything? He ought to let Bow Street sort things out—they’d presumably come to the same conclusion regarding the list that Jason had and had perhaps already stopped their investigation of Ethan. However, Jason somehow doubted his half brother would get off so easily.

Scot leaned forward and leaned his elbow on Jason’s desk. Then he set his chin in his palm. “Both Curzon and South Audley Streets being on the list seems rather coincidental.”

Jason didn’t like Scot’s train of thought, because he didn’t believe in coincidence.

“Well,” Scot said thoughtfully, “what if the list
is
to do with the robberies and the addresses on it are some sort of code?”

North frowned at his brother. “That’s a bit fanciful, even for you.”

“No, I don’t think it is. My criminal history is thankfully brief,” he shot North an appreciative glance, “but I remember getting directions in code once.”

So, the list might be incriminating after all. Damn. It was time to talk to Ethan—and time for him to be forthcoming.

“Why don’t we let Bow Street do their job?” North suggested.

Scot gave a little shrug and leaned back in his chair. He regarded Jason with a knowing smile. “How did you and Lady Lydia fare with party planning this afternoon?”

Damn, and he was just putting her from his mind. “Fine.”

Scot arched a brow, looking more like his twin than he would’ve liked to know. As he’d done earlier, he opened his mouth and snapped it closed. He dropped his chin to his chest and remained quiet.

Jason seized his silence to redirect the conversation. “Are we set on how to protect Lockwood House’s more . . . interesting aspects?” He’d told them both about Margaret’s unknown plan to try to ruin the party.

North inclined his head. “The doors to the prop room will be locked, and two footmen will be stationed outside. Additional footmen will stand guard at the top of the stairs and at the top of the servants’ staircase.”

Jason’s “vice-free” party, as Lydia had called it, was going to require nearly as much security as his vice parties. “Excellent.”

Scot sat up and rubbed his hands together. “Any chance we can cook something up that would satisfy Lady Margaret’s curiosity? Mayhap we can launch an offensive instead of waiting for her to make her move.”

Jason was shocked to discover he didn’t want to stoop to her despicable level. “The additional security will be enough.”

Scot exhaled his disappointment.

North coughed. “Might I make a suggestion, my lord?”

Both Jason and Scot turned their heads to look at him.

“I could have Sarah follow Lady Margaret at the party—at a discreet distance, of course. She could ensure nothing unfortunate occurs by Lady Margaret’s design.”

Another brilliant idea from his ever-reliable butler. Jason gave him a look that said he forgave him for his earlier cheek, but really there was nothing to forgive. North was merely playing the part of Jason’s conscience—to an annoyingly excellent degree. “A sound notion, North.”

Scot rolled his eyes as he threw his head back against the chair and looked up at the ceiling. “Pray, don’t inflate his ego any more than you already do.”

“Your jealousy is unattractive, brother.” North elevated his chin and left the office.

Scot leapt to his feet and sent Jason a faux glare. “Thank you. He’ll be insufferable at dinner.”

Jason shook his head as Scot followed his brother’s departure. He’d long envied their brotherly relationship, and it was, he acknowledged, why he liked them so much, why he considered them as close as his own family, and why he tolerated—no,
encouraged
—their familiarity.

But they weren’t family, and Jason’s was woefully small. Only his mother, an odd cousin or two . . . and Ethan. And just like that, he opened himself, if only a little bit, to the idea of having a brother. 

Chapter Seventeen

LYDIA TRUDGED
up the stairs toward her bedroom. Maybe she needed a nap. The brisk walk she’d just taken hadn’t helped to improve her mood, but she suspected nothing could until she heard from Jason.

Three days had passed since their tryst, and she hadn’t received a bit of communication from him. She was frightfully worried that he utterly regretted their encounter and she had settled into a state of despondence because of it. She didn’t expect him to profess his undying love—she wasn’t even sure she wanted that—but his cold disregard was more painful than she could’ve imagined.

“Lydia!” Aunt Margaret’s voice halted Lydia as she was passing the open door of the upstairs sitting room. “Come in here!”

Feeling as if her feet were encased in bricks, Lydia turned. She wasn’t in the mood to suffer Aunt Margaret, but she was unfortunately at the woman’s mercy. “Yes, Aunt?”

Margaret didn’t look up from the stack of missives in her lap. “Come here. There are letters for you.”

Letters! Maybe one was from Jason. The bricks evaporated from her feet and her lungs swelled up as excitement jolted her into the sitting room. She eagerly went to Aunt Margaret, who thrust a piece of paper at her, again without looking up.