Never Love a Scoundrel (14 page)

Which only brought her anxiety back to the fore. He hadn’t exactly been welcoming during their last encounter, and now she was going to march right into the beast’s lair and put her reputation at risk. She was counting on being unrecognizable in her borrowed maid’s costume. Perhaps borrowed wasn’t the right word. Aunt Margaret’s maid, Coxley, had no idea Lydia had pilfered her extra uniform—she was closest to Lydia’s size. Hopefully Lydia would be able to return it before its absence was noted.

Obtaining the maid’s clothing and escaping her aunt’s town house had been challenging enough, but the true test would be getting back in. She didn’t want to think about that now; it would only heighten her nervousness and she’d likely turn back in fear. Better to focus on her upcoming interview with Lord Lockwood.

Why was he still having vice parties? No, that wasn’t the question she wanted answered most. Why did he have vice parties at all?

She could still hear Aunt Margaret cackling with glee, saying how Lockwood couldn’t possibly improve himself. How his bastard half brother was going to fare better than he.

The bastard half brother who wanted a meeting. That was the second item on her agenda to speak with him about today, right after the vice party discussion. And all the while she supposed she ought to flirt if she wanted to encourage Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s scheme. But did she? There was no easy answer. She wanted out of Aunt Margaret’s house, but there had to be a better option than shackling herself to someone like Lockwood. However, so far her choices were nonexistent. Which made this party doubly important. If she could help Lockwood regain his footing in Society, she would change people’s perceptions about her, and maybe then she’d finally attract a husband.

Fifteen minutes later, after traveling at a brisk pace, she arrived at Lockwood House. Though the afternoon was cool and overcast, she was quite warm due to the exercise. She slowed as she passed the massive house, trying to determine how to enter. There was no visible servants’ entrance, so she turned into a narrow alley that ran along the side. Where the house terminated, a stone wall started and encircled the back garden. She didn’t spy a gate and frowned. Now what?

She walked back to the street and decided she had no other choice than to approach by the front door. She couldn’t very well loiter outside any longer and risk being recognized. Although, she rather hoped she was unrecognizable in her maid’s attire.

A few moments later, she rapped on the ebony door—a fitting color for Lockwood House. The door cracked open to reveal a tall, dark-haired butler garbed in black and gold livery.

His gaze swept over her quickly and settled on her face. “I regret to say we do not have any open positions at present.”

She affixed a sunny smile on her face. “Oh, no, I’m not here for employment. I’m here to see his lordship.”

The butler’s dark brow arched almost imperceptibly, the only reaction he displayed. “I’m afraid I couldn’t bother his lordship with your . . . trifles.” His tone wasn’t arrogant or condescending, but matter-of-fact. She appreciated that.

“Tell him Lady Lydia Prewitt is here to see him. And please, for the love of my reputation, let me inside.”

The door swung wide, and she stepped into a massive marble-tiled foyer. She felt a moment’s panic as she realized she was inside the storied Lockwood House. But it was too late now. She was here. What’s more, she had business to conduct.

He inclined his head for her to follow him. “Come with me.”

He led her across the impeccably clean marble floor to a doorway and ushered her into a sitting room with a wide window facing the street. The door closed behind her and she moved farther into the room. It was tastefully decorated in ivory and gold, though the styles and fabrics were probably two decades old.

She wandered the room looking for clues about this house, this man, but there were no portraits or interesting décor that might reveal something. Maybe the ceramic figurines of a shepherd and his flock on the mantel were dear family artifacts. She somehow doubted that. What had she expected? Portraits of naked women? A shiver danced along her flesh as she again realized she was
inside
Lockwood House. What happened in this very room during one of his infamous parties?

The door clicked and she swung around. Lord Lockwood entered and closed the door behind him. He didn’t advance, just stood and studied her thoroughly.

He was dressed in flawless attire—buff breeches and a blue coat. A rich brown waistcoat peeked from beneath his lapels, and a pristine cravat encircled his throat. His features were relaxed, his scar standing in stark relief, a potent reminder that he might look amenable, but that beneath the surface lurked a man of strong passion.

Lydia ignored the pounding of her heart and forced herself to recall her errand. “Good afternoon, my lord. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

He cocked his head to the side, regarding her as if she had sprouted an extra arm. “Lady Lydia, you’ve arrived at Lockwood House dressed in a maid’s costume. Nothing about your visit
isn’t
disturbing. I’ve asked North—my butler—to call a hack, and a footman will see you home.”

She refused to be deterred. “I realize how this may seem, but I assure you my reasons for coming here are sound. But you’re right, I don’t have a lot of time before I will be missed at home, so I appreciate the hack.”

His eyes widened a fraction. “Before you will be missed? Did you sneak out?”

Now it was her turn to look at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Do you think I simply announced to my aunt that I was going for tea at Lockwood House?” His mouth quirked the barest amount, but it was enough to make her smile. “No, of course not. Hence my costume.” She gestured to her maid’s gown. “I’ve come to offer my assistance.”

He blinked at her. “Your assistance? Why am I suddenly filled with trepidation?”

“Oh, you needn’t be. Do you mind if I sit? I walked over here rather quickly and I’m a bit tired.”

“Certainly, please excuse my boorishness.” He indicated an ivory settee with slender stripes the color of burnished gold.

She took a seat. “Thank you.” When he continued to linger near the door, she said, “Won’t you join me?”

He eyed the space beside her with a wary gaze. Then he walked to a burgundy chair situated across a table from her and took that instead. He didn’t want to sit by her, but then she supposed that would be scandalous given that they were unsupervised in his home. Good Lord, what had she been thinking? Why did she assume this man—this notorious purveyor of vice—would be harmless?

She had to stop letting her mind wander. “My lord, I’ve come to speak with you about your, er, parties.”

He blinked once. Twice. “You’ve come to talk about my parties? I begin to see why this meeting is clandestine—aside from your sheer brazen lunacy in coming here.”

“And that’s precisely the problem. We must remove the stigma surrounding your home.”

“‘We’?” he repeated. He shook his head. “Let’s assume for a moment that Lockwood House is simply a gentleman’s residence—no vice parties. Your calling here unchaperoned is still the height of impropriety.”

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully, vaguely aware that she was still flirting with him and probably oughtn’t. “You’re not really going to lecture me about impropriety, are you?”

He smiled fully then. “Point taken. What do you want to say about my parties? And don’t ask if you can secretly attend. I’ve never allowed another young lady to do so, and I won’t start now.”

She leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Other young ladies have asked?”

His eyes shuttered and his features darkened. “If you’ve come to accumulate gossip, you may as well wait in the foyer for your hack. I have no patience for such nonsense.”

She felt the heat rushing to her cheeks and wished she could stop it. She settled back against the settee, hating that was always what people expected from her. She would need to work harder to change that assumption, and wasn’t that the reason she was trying to help him? “That’s not why I came. Please be assured that anything I learn today will be kept strictly between us.”

“Forgive me if I don’t quite trust you completely.” His eyes were still guarded. “I’m afraid my experience with your aunt makes me skeptical.”

Understandably so,
given Aunt Margaret’s clear dislike of him. Lydia wanted to know the details of that experience from his perspective, but she didn’t have time to ask for specifics. If her errand proved successful, there would be plenty of opportunity to ask him in the coming days.

She offered him a smile to try and set him at ease. “Fine, I shall have to demonstrate that you can trust me. As I said, I’m here to help you. You seem to want to reestablish your place in Society, but you can’t if you continue to have vice parties. Indeed, I’m shocked you had one the other night after your success at the Whitmore Ball.”

“It’s what I do.” He leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “And anyway, what success? I left early. I barely spoke to anyone. I only danced with one person.”

Her.
She tried not to think of his strong hand fanning over her back or of the arousing way in which he’d glided her across the floor. “But surely you understand that you won’t be invited anywhere if you continue to host these parties?”

“Really, why?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested.

He wasn’t that obtuse, was he? “Because they’re unseemly!”

“It’s ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Do you know how many people from your precious Society attend those parties? You’d be scandalized. And, no, I won’t tell you any of their names.”

Lydia hated that she wanted to know. Hated that her aunt had engendered within her a need to know, if not to wield information that shouldn’t matter a whit to her. “I’m not asking you to,” she said softly. “I’m trying to help you, but perhaps this was a mistake.”

“Why would you want to help?” His gaze was direct, intense, scalding her with a heat she didn’t want to feel in his presence. He didn’t trust her and probably didn’t even like her. Why indeed.

She had trouble thinking of an answer without dredging up everything she’d learned from Mrs. Lloyd-Jones. Perhaps they’d discuss those things, but not today. “Aside from simply wanting to help you, doing so will make me the toast of the
ton
.”

He looked rather skeptical. “So helping me helps you?”

“Yes. People will see that I’m more than a gossip.” She realized she was trying to persuade him as much as anyone. If he didn’t believe she’d changed, she had little hope of convincing anyone else.

“What do you suggest?” he asked, still sounding suspicious.

She folded her hands in her lap and raised her chin. “A vice-
free
party.”

He leaned forward again, his jaw dropping slightly. “A what?”

“Host a regular party. Not a full ball, but a soirée with food and music.” She clapped her hands together to punctuate her offer. “I’ll help you with the arrangements.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You want me to invite Society to Lockwood House for a
soirée
?”

“Precisely.”

“No one would come,” he said incredulously.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” A smile crept over her face as she thought of people’s expressions when they received the invitations. “People will be clamoring to be invited. Lockwood House is a place of mystery, of scandal. It’s dangerous. Exciting. To have the opportunity to see it without risking one’s reputation will have people here in droves. But we won’t invite droves. The guest list will be quite exclusive.”

His mouth twitched with amusement. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“I have.”

“And you mean to keep coming here so we can plan this?” He shook his head. “I’m not comfortable with that. You mustn’t risk your reputation.”

He may not trust her or like her, but that simple statement meant more to her than any of that. He
was
a gentleman—somewhere inside. “I’ll come with a chaperone. And I’ll ensure everyone knows our relationship is above reproach.”

He stared at her, but she sensed his mind working. He didn’t like her aunt and was weighing whether her help was worth putting up with Margaret in some capacity.

“I won’t be chaperoned by my aunt, if that’s what you’re worried about. I believe Mrs. Lloyd-Jones will be pleased to play the part.” Yet, Lydia still had to convince Aunt Margaret to allow it. She had to believe she would get something out of it, that Lydia would obtain some unknown secret of Lockwood’s. She’d promise her aunt whatever she had to. Not only would this scheme get her away from her aunt for a goodly amount of time, the potential for a permanent departure through marriage to an eligible bachelor dangled before her like sweetmeats on a tray.

He still looked skeptical. “You really think people will come to a party here?”

“I’m certain of it. Two weeks hence.” She briefly held up her forefinger. “And no more vice parties.”

“All right,” he said, “but I want to invite Lady Aldridge.”

She snapped her gaze to his. “I believe she’s still ill. At least she was when I last tried to call on her. That was the day I met you as you were getting into your coach.” And he’d all but insulted her.

His gaze drifted off briefly before settling back on her. “Please accept my apology for my behavior that day. I should not have inferred you were like your aunt. That was rude of me.” His voice was soft, his gaze tinged with heat.

“Thank you.” She smoothed her hand over her lap. His gaze followed her movement and lingered on her hand or her lap. Or both.

Now was the time to address the second item on her agenda. “I think you should invite Mr. Locke.”

Lockwood’s mouth tightened, and his entire frame seemed to tense. “Why?”

She needed to tread carefully. “It’s part of the mystique. Until your ill-advised vice party the other night, your encounter with him at the Whitmore Ball was the talk of the town. It still is, but your continued disregard for societal norms has captured people’s interest.”

He exhaled, and his shoulders lost some of their tension. “You may have to repeatedly remind me why I want to do this. I’m content out here on the fringe with my . . . unacceptable proclivities.”