Never Love a Scoundrel (25 page)

He hated that she’d gone the better part of the week thinking he was perhaps angry with her. He’d been so focused on whatever Ethan was doing that it had never occurred to him to send a note of confirmation. He definitely hadn’t intended for Lydia to think he judged her for the things her aunt said and did. “There’s no need to apologize for your aunt. In fact,” he injected his tone with a light sarcasm hoping to convince her that he didn’t blame her, “you could apologize until you drew your last breath, and there would still be no way to forgive her. You, on the other hand, did nothing that requires forgiveness. Indeed, I should thank you for saving me from making the situation worse.”

Lydia smiled warmly, and he relaxed. “I’m glad you feel that way. I was disappointed the evening was ruined by her comments.”

“Nothing could have ruined that evening.” Damn, why had he said that? As if the memory of his unfinished seduction weren’t already something he had to work hard to forget. He should probably send her on her way right this minute, but he didn’t. Apparently he wasn’t a scoundrel for nothing.

Before Jason could adequately gauge her reaction, North appeared in the doorway with a tray of food. He set it on a table near the center of the room. A table that was usually adorned with a barely-clad Cyprian during vice parties.
Do not think of Lydia in that position.

“A selection of food that Cook is suggesting for the party.” North executed a bow and then departed. Jason noted the bounder left the door open. What the hell use was propriety at this juncture? She was a young, unmarried woman who was secretly visiting Lockwood House without a proper chaperone. An open door was utterly pointless.

Lydia went to the tray and perused the items, her gaze landing on the pair of oysters. “These look splendid for the buffet. I love oysters.”

Jason couldn’t help but think of Casanova’s diet of fifty oysters a day. He resisted the urge to eat even one, because really, his lust didn’t require any assistance at the present moment. He directed his attention to the pheasant and the blood pudding and the sliced ham. “The food will do?”

“It looks excellent, and I’m sure it tastes divine.” She glanced around the drawing room. “Will this be our main room for entertaining?”

“Yes.”

She did a half-circuit before pausing to ask, “And what is this chamber’s function during your vice parties?”

“Lydia.” He stared at her as he fought to expel images of Lydia attending one of his vice parties from his mind. “Why on earth would you need to know that?”

Her face lit with a guilty smile. “Sorry. I’m naturally curious. Anyone would be.”

“Everyone is.” He prowled toward her. “Have you come here today to discover all the answers and then share them with London’s finest?” As soon as he said it, he wanted to bite the question back. “And now I’m sorry. I was teasing you and it wasn’t well done of me.”

She fixed him with an ardent look. “I shall keep everything you tell me today inviolate.”

He shouldn’t spoil her naiveté and reveal any of the details of his parties, but he was enjoying their time together more than he thought possible and couldn’t seem to stop himself. He moved to walk beside her as she completed her circuit. “This is where guests come when they first arrive. We keep the illumination somewhat dim.”

“Everyone wears a mask, do they not?” she asked, sounding a trifle breathless, which only served to heighten his infernal desire.

“Yes, unless they go directly to the gaming room. Several gentlemen come here just for the cards or billiards and don’t care who knows it.”

She flicked him an inquisitive glance. “The Marquess of Wolverton sometimes attends for those purposes, or so I’ve heard.”

Jason nodded, his mind wavering on what to share and what to keep from her, to preserve her delightful air of innocence. “I invite only certain gentlemen, and they must present their invitation to gain entrance.”

She paused and turned her upper body toward him, rapt. “What about women?”

“I would never risk a lady’s reputation by inviting her directly, but if one chooses to attend—or if she isn’t a lady at all—we don’t typically turn her away. My retainers are instructed to use their judgment regarding whom to admit.”

“So if I appeared in a mask without an invitation, I’d be welcome?” she asked.

He pressed his lips together. “I don’t recommend you try it. You recall what happened to Lady Philippa.”

She inclined her head. “Lord Sevrin did try to rescue her.”

While that was true, they’d been discovered nonetheless. “And you see how well that turned out.”

She gave him a small smile. “Actually, it turned out perfectly for them. They’re quite happy.”

“You’re correct. I only meant their road to happiness wasn’t easy—it was paved with secrets and scandal.”

She glanced away from him, her voice growing soft. “I shouldn’t care if my road to happiness was rife with disaster and heartache, just so long as it led to happiness.”

Not for the first time, he wondered at the cause of her sadness. He sensed it there, just beneath the surface. To all appearances she was lively and confident, but maybe it was because he was on the outside looking in that he saw a young woman fighting for her place.

She turned to face him with a bright smile. “I hope it’s all right that we use this room as a congregation point as well. Then we’ll have the music and dancing here later in the evening. What other rooms should we plan to use?”

He held out his arm. “Next door is a smaller drawing room. I thought we would use it for the dinner.” He led her into the room where his guests typically engaged in illicit embraces. “We’ll move this furniture out and set up a buffet.”

“We’ll need some tables and chairs for people to sit and enjoy the food if they choose,” she said, surveying the room.

“Of course, North will take care of that.” He knew she would ask about the function of this room during a vice party and sought to head her off. “Don’t ask me for specifics about this room. Guests come here when they wish for a modicum of privacy.”

She turned her questioning gaze on him. “Don’t you offer rooms upstairs for that sort of thing?”

A rush of heat flooded his lower half. “
Bloody hell
. Pardon me, Lydia. How on earth do you know all of this?”

“I’m a dreadfully good listener.” Her gaze caught his, and she imparted this information as if they were bosom friends. In that moment he knew he absolutely did want to know her. “If you position yourself next to the right people at certain events, you can overhear some very interesting things.”

He was rapt. “Such as?”

“Such as Lord Compton took Mrs. Horwatt upstairs at one of your parties last year.”

He blinked. “But people are masked. How do they know?” He could only imagine Compton’s friends had spread the tale. Who else would’ve known? He recalled that Mrs. Horwatt’s face had been entirely covered.

Lydia’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “If Lord Compton is the one imparting the information, it’s safe to say it’s accurate, is it not?”

“The blighter!” But then he was hardly shocked by Compton boasting of his sexual prowess. It’s what men—most men—did. “So you have more than a vague idea of what happens here?”

“Yes, though I don’t suppose you’d take me upstairs to see what all the fuss is about—since you’ve warned me against sneaking into one of your parties.”

The scoundrel in him wanted to. The scoundrel in him wanted to carry her upstairs right this instant to the very first room he found and finish what he’d started the other night. But even he acknowledged that he wasn’t a
complete
blackguard, and so he led her into the next room.

He tried very hard not to focus on the heat of her gloved fingers burning through his sleeve or the sound of her skirts rustling against her legs. He took a deep breath to calm his lust and immediately regretted the action for now his senses were full of her spicy floral scent. What was that flower?
Hyacinths.

“The billiards room?” she asked, her gaze landing on the baize-covered table at the opposite end of the room.

“Yes, this is where gentlemen gamble away their fortunes.”

She peered up at him. “Do you gamble?”

“Infrequently. And when I do, I prefer to wager on fights.”

“Pugilism? Did you watch Lord Sevrin fight?”

“I did.” Though, he’d spent more time watching Ethan in his elevated seating area and wondering why in the hell Sevrin had agreed to fight for him.

She shuddered delicately. “Such a brutal sport. I admit I don’t see the appeal.”

“Women rarely do. Which is not to denigrate your sex. I only mean that men seem to derive pleasure from watching others physically triumph over others.”

“While women—some women—enjoy emotional victory over others,” she murmured. She shook her head then shot him a deeply curious look. “Why do you watch?”

He shrugged, his memory traveling back to his youth when his father had started taking him to fights when he was maybe nine years old. They had been wonderful evenings, the only times he’d felt truly close with his father. He’d take Jason to eat at a pub and then they’d watch the fight. Jason had felt like such a man next to his father. But then he’d drop Jason at Lockwood House and continue on to his mistress’s, ruining what had been a perfect night. Still, Jason had longed for the next time. In fact, he’d lived for it.

Until Father had started bringing Ethan along. Then those special nights had turned into torture. Eventually, Jason had stopped going with them. But he’d still gone to fights. It was a torment of which he couldn’t seem to deprive himself. He’d wanted to recall and relive the only blissful memories he had of his father.

“Jason?”

Her softly spoken use of his name jarred him—pleasantly—back to the present. He liked watching her lips say his name. Almost as much as he liked tasting them.

“I heard you got into fights when you were young, that you broke someone’s arm at Eton and were sent down for it.” There was a gentle inquisition in her voice. She didn’t sound like the scandalmonger she was purported to be. She sounded like someone who genuinely cared.

He’d almost forgotten there was a host of stories and rumors she’d likely heard about him. Yet, she was here anyway. Was it because she didn’t believe he was the mad, violent, promiscuous lord he was painted as?

“Not to sound defensive, but the other boy started it and was also sent down. I think he hit me because he thought I’d tripped him. But it was really just his own clumsiness. We were young and foolish and got quite carried away.” He grimaced. “I’m sure the characterization you heard was far worse than the reality.”

She looked at him unflinchingly. “I knew there was an explanation for it. Regardless of what I’ve heard, you’ve yet to display a violent nature to me. But you were going to tell me why you liked watching fights.”

“I was?” He wasn’t, but now he wanted to tell her. “I used to attend fights with my father. They’re good memories.”

She nodded, then looked away. “I understand.”

He thought she just might. He wasn’t certain, but he knew her father was still alive and somehow inexplicably absent from her life. And since she lived with Margaret, he’d deduced her mother was no longer with her. “Your mother died long ago, didn’t she?”

“She passed when I was nine.”

So young to lose her mother, but presumably she’d had a strong feminine presence in her life—even if it wasn’t a very good one. “And did your aunt raise you?”

She seemed weary, sad. “I’m sure it seems that way, but no. I went to live with her for my first Season and since I’m still unmarried, my father allows me to remain with her.”

Her father was Lord Prewitt. Jason suddenly recalled that he spent most of his time at his country seat. “Your father is in Northumberland?”

“Yes.” Clear lines of distaste fanned from her pursed mouth. “He loves it there.”

“You don’t?”

“It’s the middle of nowhere,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s nothing for an unmarried lady to do save milk cows or embroider. Visiting the nearest neighbor requires an overnight stay.”

He thought of her dressed as a milkmaid sitting on a stool in the barn and couldn’t reconcile the elegant Society miss at his side with such a provincial image. “Surely you didn’t milk cows?”

“I did.” She surprised him with a smile. “I liked doing it when I was a girl. My mother taught me, actually.”

He glimpsed the pure young girl she’d been and sensed her aunt had changed her, perhaps in ways she didn’t like. But maybe he was projecting his own opinions on her. “Have you been happy with your aunt?”

She removed her hand from his arm and walked to the billiards table, keeping her gaze averted from his. “Happy enough. What other games will you offer at the party besides billiards?”

He wanted to press her for a truer answer, but her abrupt change in topic told him she was done discussing it. And since he didn’t enjoy talking about his father, he understood.

He followed her toward the billiards table, but stopped short, giving her space. “The usual card games. And hazard. However, I won’t allow the wagering to go as deeply as at my other parties.”

She turned from the table. “We don’t want anyone losing a fortune.”

And then, because he wanted to see the vivacious young woman he’d come to like—and he liked her even more after today—he held out his arm again. “Come, I’ll take you upstairs.”

Her eyes widened. “You will?”

“If you wish.”

She hesitated the briefest moment and Jason held his breath. Then she nodded once and took his arm. He led her from the billiards room and back the way they’d come. In the foyer, he guided her up the wide staircase.

She peered up at him in blatant curiosity. “Where are we going first?”

He chuckled at her blatant interest. “You swear you’re not here to collect information for nefarious purposes?” He didn’t really believe she was, but wanted to hear her say it one more time.

“I swear.” She paused on the stairs, and he turned to look down at her. “Once upon a time, I would have, but not any longer. I truly only want to help you succeed.”