Never Love a Scoundrel (36 page)

Aunt Margaret nodded approvingly. “I’m quite proud of how you handled yourself this evening, though you shouldn’t have disappeared for so long. You’ve more than won your freedom to stay with me. I’ll write your father first thing in the morning.”

Oh no;
she thought Lydia had humiliated Jason on purpose. “No, you won’t. I’ll write to him to inform him of my upcoming nuptials. Provided Jason will still have me.”

Aunt Margaret gaped at her. “You’ve lost your mind. You’ll be a pariah.”

“Perhaps.” Lydia shrugged. “Perhaps not. Philippa came through her marriage to Sevrin all right.”

The coach stopped in front of Aunt Margaret’s townhouse. Aunt Margaret scooted forward in her seat. “Not according to everyone. I’m shocked Lady Holborn would deign to include one such as him, but I suppose she did so to satisfy her son. Though look at what
Saxton
married.” She rolled her eyes. “He could’ve had any young woman, and he chose that nobody.” She returned her dark, malicious gaze to Lydia. “You’ll be utterly ruined if you marry Lockwood.”

“
When
I marry Lockwood.” Lydia refused to consider the alternative. “And I don’t care. Though I’m sure you’ll do everything in your power to make us miserable.”

The door of the coach opened, and the footman offered his hand to Aunt Margaret. “I won’t have to. Lockwood solidified his exclusion from Polite Society tonight and if you’re foolish enough to wed him, you’ll join him in perdition,” she said, taking the proffered hand and stepping down to the sidewalk.

Lydia followed her from the coach and trailed her to the front door. Now that she’d decided to embrace what she really wanted—Jason—she saw no reason to mince words with Aunt Margaret anymore. “Stop directing your hate at Jason and his mother. They aren’t the ones who hurt you.”

Aunt Margaret stopped short of the door and spun around. Her dark eyes were furious in the light cast from the street lamp. “Who told you?” Her voice had dropped in tone and volume.

Lydia moved closer to her aunt. She didn’t want to battle anymore, not when she was hopefully about to start a very happy life. Gently, Lydia touched her arm. “Wolverton explained everything, but he only wanted me to understand. I wish you’d told me. Maybe I could have helped you let it go.”

“Let what go?” Aunt Margaret snapped as she drew her arm away from Lydia. “I can’t believe Wolverton exposed my past to you, but I suppose I should be thankful he’s remained quiet all these years.”

Only she didn’t sound appreciative. She sounded bitter. “Is that why you spread gossip?” Lydia asked. “So that people will fear you, and you’ll never have to suffer it yourself?”

Aunt Margaret’s eyes widened briefly, but then her face shuttered. “It doesn’t matter why I do it. And I don’t want your pity.” With a grunt, she turned around. “Where’s Tate? Why hasn’t he opened the door?”

The footman who’d ridden on the coach rushed forward and opened the door. The foyer was empty. Eerily so.

Lydia stepped inside behind Aunt Margaret. “Something must be amiss.”

Aunt Margaret turned to the footman. “Go and find Tate.”

He nodded and took himself off.

“I’m going up to bed,” Aunt Margaret said crossing to the stairs. “I hope to heaven Coxley is there waiting for me.” She was halfway up the stairs when they heard running footsteps.

“Lady Margaret!” the footman called before his feet carried him into the small foyer. “You’ve been robbed! A group of men came into the house and tied everyone together downstairs.”

Aunt Margaret paled, and Lydia rushed up to steady her lest she fall down the staircase. As she patted her aunt’s shoulder, she turned to the footman. “Please send the coachman to Bow Street to fetch a Runner.” It was all she could think to do. Lydia realized she was trembling. She stopped the footman just before he reached the front door. “Is everyone all right?”

He nodded briskly. “I think so, your ladyship. Just scared.” He departed, and Lydia turned her attention back to Aunt Margaret.

“Let me help you up to bed, then I’ll send Coxley up.” Lydia guided Aunt Margaret slowly up the stairs.

“No, I prefer you sit with me. For a bit.” She sounded small, frightened.

Lydia had never heard her like that. She put her arm more firmly around her aunt’s shoulders. “I’ll sit with you as long as you like.”

“Thank you. I do hope they didn’t steal my jewelry—or yours.” She flicked Lydia a glance.

Lydia thought of the pieces that had belonged to her mother and felt a pang of sorrow. “I hope so, too.” But more importantly she was glad no one had been hurt. Now more than ever she realized the importance of living her life to be happy, and she hoped Aunt Margaret finally saw it too.

Chapter Twenty-two

“MY LORD
, my lord!” Scot burst into Jason’s bedchamber with North on his heels, fully rousing Jason from the slumber he’d been half-enjoying. Only half because it had taken him all bloody night to get there.

“Is the house on fire?” Jason asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he sat up.

Scot looked at his brother. “Do you want to tell him?”

“No, you do it,” North said, his expression foreboding.

Jason looked between his retainers with mounting frustration. “I don’t care who does it, but one of you better—and fast.”

“There was a robbery last night,” Scot said darkly.

His tone set off an alarm in Jason’s mind. That, and the fact that they’d charged into his room, which they’d never done.

“Who?” Jason asked with more than a bit of trepidation.

“Lady Lydia.”

Jason had almost been expecting her name. Who else would have caused these meddlesome servants to behave in such a fashion? What he hadn’t expected was the fear that settled deep into his chest. Particularly after the manner in which she’d thoroughly denied him last night. He ought to despise her, oughtn’t he? No, because regardless of their non-future together, he still cared about her. “How do you know this?”

“Mr. Teague is downstairs,” North said.

“You couldn’t have started with that information?” Jason threw the coverlet off and went straight to his dressing chamber. He knew Scot and North followed him and so continued the conversation. “What else do you know?

North paused in the doorway while Scot immediately went to gather Jason’s clothing. “Nothing.”

Jason turned to Scot. “Then get me the hell dressed.”

Scarcely ten minutes later, Jason appeared downstairs in the front sitting room where Teague was standing before the windows. He turned when Jason greeted him.

“I’m sorry to bother you so early, my lord, but I wanted to inform you of last night’s robbery. Your butler told you?”

Jason nodded. “He did. How is Lady Lydia?”

“She and her aunt are anxious, but they weren’t home when it happened. They returned from a party to find their retainers bound together in the scullery.” Teague frowned. “That makes it different from the past few robberies, which were perpetrated without the residents being disturbed. Those thieves went in, took what they wanted, and no one realized until after the fact.”

Jason was relieved Lydia hadn’t been there when the theft occurred. “Why was this one done differently?”

Teague’s expression was grim. “I don’t know, but it’s notable because we haven’t seen a robbery like this in Mayfair since Aldridge died. Whoever planned it knew things about the house and staff and knew Lady Margaret and Lady Lydia would not be at home.”

Jason’s blood ran cold. He knew what Teague was going to say. “You think Ethan—Jagger—is involved.”

“We have his man, Oak. He told us Jagger did in fact take over Aldridge’s gang and that they’re responsible for the recent thefts. He also said the list you found was coded.”

Jason didn’t want to believe Ethan had lied to him or that he’d been foolish enough to succumb to Ethan’s treachery. And he really couldn’t believe Ethan would target Lydia’s house. Not the Ethan he’d come to know. If he’d had anything to do with robbing Lydia, scaring her . . . Jason would make sure he hanged.

Jason tried to think rationally over the blood roaring in his ears. “But you said this theft was different. Couldn’t someone else be responsible? Ethan told me there was another person.”

“
He
told you that?” Teague sounded skeptical. “I think it probable that he lied to you.”

Jason felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Repeatedly. Especially when he thought of things Ethan had said—that he’d spoken to Lydia several times. It was logical to think he’d had opportunity to learn about her household. And he’d been more than aware that Lydia wouldn’t be home last night. He’d ensured she would be at the Holborn soirée. Jason’s veins felt as if they’d turned to ice.

“There’s more,” Teague said. As if Jason needed to hear more. He was ready to string Ethan up himself. “Oak was taking orders from Jagger when he brought a particularly strong tincture of laudanum to Aldridge House the week that Lady Aldridge died so that when she took her regular dosage, she was actually overdosing.”

The lying son of a bitch.
He clenched his fists. “Are you going to arrest Ethan?”

“Yes.” Teague grimaced. “But first we have to find him.”

Jason wanted answers. And then he wanted that bastard to suffer. “Allow me to help.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. Carlyle seemed to think the two of you had reconciled.”

He’d spoken to Carlyle? But of course he had when Carlyle had delivered the list. Jason couldn’t summon even a bit of irritation toward the men, not when every fiber of his being was focused on the hatred he currently felt for his half brother. “Not anymore. I’ll find him for you. And then you can ensure he gets exactly what he deserves.”

After seeing Teague out, North returned to the sitting room. “My lord, would you care for breakfast?”

“No, I’m going out.” Jason turned and strode to the foyer. He doubted Ethan would be at the Bevelstoke, but Jason couldn’t just sit at home and do nothing. He was too fraught with furious energy.

As expected, Ethan wasn’t at the Bevelstoke. In fact, he’d scarcely been there at all in the past week, according to the footman at the door.

Frustrated and simmering with unsatisfied anger, Jason directed his coachman to Carlyle’s house. Perhaps he could help run Ethan to ground.

It was still very early—far earlier than Jason or any other gentleman was typically about. London at this hour of the morning was a strange and somewhat beautiful thing. It was quiet, peaceful, and seemed more purposeful, perhaps because of the people bustling about their business instead of carelessly seeking their pleasure. And maybe Jason noticed because he was about business instead of his usual pleasure-seeking.

A short time later, his coach stopped in front of Carlyle House. He had to convince Carlyle’s butler to awaken his lordship, but after a few minutes, he was shown to Carlyle’s office to await the man.

A maid brought a tea tray and after Jason had downed half a cup, Carlyle arrived. He was simply dressed, and Jason imagined he did so by himself. A man with his background likely had no use for a valet. Jason barely did, but only because he relied on him as a person. As a friend.

“To what do I owe this early morning visit?” Carlyle asked, sitting behind his desk. “Moss said you had an urgent matter.”

“Margaret Rutherford’s town house was robbed last night.”

Carlyle grimaced. “Your fiancée lives there. I’m very sorry that happened.” He said the words with an empathy that only one who’d experienced the same sensation could demonstrate, because his wife had been the victim of a similar crime.

Jason didn’t bother correcting him about his betrothal state. “Bow Street has testimony from Ethan’s manservant that ties Ethan to the thefts and to Lady Aldridge’s murder.”

Carlyle’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Why? You’d already begun to suspect him.”

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t hoping to be wrong. Your brother saved my wife’s life—and mine. I hate to see things turn out like this for him.”

Two hours ago, Jason might’ve believed Ethan was capable of a selfless act, but now he couldn’t see past the fact that he’d gone after Lydia. She might not want him, but he couldn’t simply turn off his feelings for her. “Help me find him.”

Carlyle leaned back in his chair. “Jagger’s very good at avoiding detection. He’s skillfully eluded Bow Street for over a week, yet he’s been to Lockwood House and a handful of other places.”

Jason knew how to draw him out. “He’ll come to see me. I just need to get him a message.”

Carlyle tapped his forefinger on the arm of his chair. “He’ll know soon that Bow Street wants to arrest him.”

“Then I’ll offer to help him.” It was nothing he hadn’t already done. Ethan wouldn’t suspect a thing. “Can you find a way to ensure he gets my note?”

“I won’t be able to find him myself, but I know people who are able to communicate with him.” Carlyle pulled a piece of parchment from his drawer and slid it across the desk to Jason along with a pen and ink.

Jason considered what to write and then scratched out a note asking Ethan to come to his party on Thursday evening. He said he’d help him escape Bow Street and even signed it
Your Brother,
which curdled his stomach more than a little.