Into The Lyon's Den: The Lyon's Den Connected World (Book 1)

by Jade Lee

  He lifted his hands in surrender. “I shall merely advise you. I have every expectation that you will select an excellent husband. But if you are to be a respectable woman, I should get you home to my sister’s immediately. We cannot risk you being seen here. Miss Amber Gohar and Thisbe Gold cannot be connected.”

  She looked around the cramped room. “And if I want to return here? To see my family or sculpt something new?”

  He blew out a breath. “If you are careful, I can arrange for it.” After all, many of his sister’s new footmen worked here. They could be trusted to bring her safely. Though that thought made his gut tighten. He did not like the idea of any man other than himself escorting her.

  “Good,” she said as she gathered the broken pieces of her carving and threw them into a bag half filled with broken wax. “Let me get my cloak, and we can go.”

  He was there before her, shaking out the fabric before draping it gently around her. She pulled it about her neck, but when she would have stepped away from him, he tightened his hold on her shoulders.

  “Your father was right,” he said softly. “You are an artist. You must find a husband who will allow you to do this work.”

  She turned slightly in his hold, lifting her face to his. “Do you think that likely?” she asked, hope in her voice. “Is there a man among the ton who would want his wife in trade?”

  “Ladies paint, Amber. And stitch and—”

  “Pour molten gold into a flask and fire it in a kiln?” She lifted her bare hands such that he could see every bump and ridge. “I have cut myself a thousand times and burned myself as well. Aren’t ladies supposed to have hands as soft as down?”

  Yes, they were. He caught her hand, feeling every scar and callous that marred her skin. “Pick a husband who knows your value beneath your skin.” Then he pulled her hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. If there were scars beneath his lips, he didn’t feel them. He only knew her scent and the way her hand cupped his face.

  She leaned against him, stroking his chin as he pressed his mouth to her hand. He felt his body tighten in reaction, and he struggled to keep himself from wrapping his arms around her. The worktable was right beside them. He could do so many things to her right here, right now. And she seemed willing, her body pliable as her fingertips stroked across his cheek.

  He pulled back. “You tempt me,” he accused softly.

  “You confuse me.”

  He drew back. “How so?”

  “My father believes you to be a gentleman. I do, as well.”

  She didn’t sound like that was a compliment. “Thank you?”

  “You have arranged for my dowry and mean to help me select a husband.”

  That was true, though the knowledge gave him no pleasure.

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And yet, I think about what we did in the carriage, and I want it again.” Her gaze caught his. “Will there be no more of that?”

  “I was a cad,” he said harshly. “You are not a woman to be handled so crudely. I am ashamed of my actions.” But he didn’t regret them.

  She blew out a breath that skated across his chin. “I wanted what happened. I begged for it.”

  Of course, she had, because she was an innocent. He knew better. He knew that he had created the desire in her because he wanted to experience it. Because he wanted her. And now again, he knew he should step away, but instead, he breathed her scent, he stood close enough to feel her heat, and he allowed it to stoke the need in both of them.

  “You will not kiss me again?” Her voice was so quiet as to be near silent. But he read the words off her lips. And he felt her desire like a sweet shiver that he could stroke into a great quake.

  He lowered his head until his lips touched her ear. When he spoke, he kept his words as quiet as hers had been. “Can you feel and keep silent? You have a protector right beyond the door.”

  She nodded.

  And now the more important question. “Can you let me kiss you and not dream of more between us? Nothing has changed for me. I cannot marry for love. To do so would give up all my hopes in politics. Only men with the right wives influence the Crown.” He said the words by rote because he had been saying that to himself ever since that first night in the carriage with her.

  He had such plans for the country, ideas he wanted to implement, things that would steer the nation away from disaster. But that only came with great money or the right connections. He did not have a nabob’s wealth. Thanks to Lord Dunnamore’s mismanagement, their money was barely adequate. That left him working constantly to recover their finances, all while looking for connections in the evening, discussing resolutions and laws with the influential lords as he paid respect to their daughters.

  It was what he’d been doing at Almack’s this night. Whenever he hadn’t been looking at Amber, that is. And it was the litany he repeated to himself when he wanted to spread her thighs and watch her come apart in his arms again.

  “I cannot have you,” he said. “But I could show you more if you want it.”

  She shifted in his arms, but she did not pull away. Neither forward nor back, and the movement showed she was as undecided as he. “For a man who is ashamed, you sound very unrepentant.”

  He closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers. He felt the throb in his body, and his hands tightened reflexively around her waist. How easy it would be to slide his hands upward to her breasts. How wonderful it would be to ease her backward onto the worktable and feast upon her body.

  “I want you, Amber,” he said honestly. “More than I have ever wanted any woman before. I watch you when you dance, I dream of you when I sleep, and when I lie in bed and close my eyes, I have done such things with you. Such beautiful, wonderful, lustful things.”

  He heard her breath catch and felt her body soften against him. She wanted him, too.

  “You do not understand the weight I feel every day,” he continued. “What I owe my name, my family, and my country. It is not a vague thing to me, Amber, but a responsibility bred into me with my first breath. It is a factor in everything I do. Sometimes I hate it, but other times…” His voice trailed away.

  “Yes?” she pressed. “Other times what?”

  He sighed. “Other times, it is an honor I bear proudly. My title means something to the people I serve, to my forebearers, and to my future children. Your father changed his name from Gohar to Gold, maybe not as easy as changing his coat, but he did it nonetheless.”

  He felt her shoulders stiffen, then release as she absorbed the words he spoke.

  “I cannot do the same. To be a Byrn means—”

  “That you cannot marry a Gohar or a Gold.” She gently moved out of his arms. “But you can take your pleasure with one?”

  He nodded. It was the way things were done. Mistresses were common, marriages were sacred, though not in the way the priests would have one believe. Marriages were holy connections of power and privilege. And as fascinating and talented as Amber was, she had neither.

  “I won’t be your mistress,” she said firmly.

  “I understand.”

  “I won’t let you touch me like…”

  “Like I did in the carriage.”

  For the third time this night, he saw tears glittering in her eyes. Before they were meant for her father, but this time, they were for him and her. For what they might have been together if only things were different.

  “But I want it,” she whispered, her voice desperate. “I want to feel those things with you. Is that wrong?”

  “Of course not. Because if it is, then we are both damned.”

  She turned away. “It’s not fair,” she murmured, and he agreed.

  And then he had an idea. A scandalous, horrible idea, but one that might serve. At least for her.

  “What if I teach you?” he offered.

  She blinked as she looked up at him. “What?”

  “What if I teach you how to feel that way without me? Without anyone. You can
do it yourself in your own bed.”

  She frowned. “It cannot be the same.”

  It wasn’t. It wasn’t even close. “It might feel the same. You would have to try.”

  “How?”

  He glanced at the door. This was not something to be done with a guard ten feet away. “I will tell you—”

  “In the carriage?”

  He felt his lips twist in a rueful smile. “The basics can be learned quickly. We need not take a long ride around Hyde Park.”

  She nodded slowly. “And if I want more than the basics?”

  He shook his head, though the motion felt stiff with his muscles clenched tight. “I would be tempted too much.”

  “Very well,” she said. “The basics.”

  He nearly took her then. He could pin her against the wall and devour her until she screamed with desire. His belly tightened, and his groin throbbed along with his pounding heart.

  But he was a man of his word. And though he struggled with it, he was also a gentleman who would not betray her father or his own family name. He held back. He gestured for her to precede him out the door. And he waited until he could adequately hide his state before stepping with her along the street.

  Eventually, they came to his carriage. He handed her in and sat beside her, feeling her pliant body and smelling the musk of her desire. He told his coachman to drive directly to his sister’s home, so he would not be tempted to stray into dishonor. But he did hold her tight. He spoke clear and low into her ear. And once, he allowed himself to touch her breast by way of demonstration. He pinched her nipple and whispered of what she could do between her thighs.

  And when he was nearly bursting with his own need, he opened the carriage door and stepped out while the air cooled his overheated body. He walked her to the front door, just as a gentleman ought. He handed her to his sister’s butler and bowed before he withdrew.

  Then he retreated to the dark interior of his carriage where the scent of her still lingered. He opened his breeches, took himself in hand, and beat out his pleasure. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t close to the same, but it was all he had.

  He’d never hated his title more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Amber hadn’t realized it was possible to feel so many things all at once. After leaving Elliott's side, she had expected this hot, uncomfortable feeling to go away. It did not. She lie in bed in a nightrail that covered her from neck to ankle and couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. Not just the dark whispers in the carriage about where to touch herself and how, but the rest. The admiration he had for her jewelry designs. The laughter he’d shared with her father when discussing politics. And those horrible, horrible words, “Nothing has changed for me.”

  Nothing? Nothing at all? Her entire life had turned on its ear. She wasn’t even sleeping in the same bed, and even her daydreams had deserted her. A week ago, she’d sat in the cage and dreamed of dancing with a prince. Now she had danced with…well, not the prince. The Regent was fat and married. But she’d danced with eligible bachelors who might very well offer for her hand. How could she dream about something that was actually happening? Most of her waking thoughts were occupied with the very real idea of living the rest of her life with someone who talked constantly about his horses. Or who had a mouth shaped like a frog’s.

  She couldn’t imagine kissing most of them, let alone the things she’d already done with Elliott. How would she share a marriage bed with them? How would she share lunch with them? At least three ate like they were starving animals. They’d barely managed to fist their utensils.

  And even if she could ignore all of that, who among them would allow her to still sculpt jewelry? To spend hours in the back shop carving wax?

  The questions were exhausting. It was a relief to focus on Elliott’s instructions as she lifted her nightrail up to her neck. She trailed her fingers slowly up her sides until she cupped her own breasts. It felt odd to do so and yet also a relief. It was nice to imagine his hands there instead of her own. She tried to mimic the way he had touched her, including the pinch to her nipple.

  She felt the burst of sensation from that, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t his hands on her, and it was hard to imagine the heat of his breath and the span of his hands. Then she tried to envision any of her suitors doing the same to her. Their hands, their mouths…

  That felt so wrong that she took her hands away and rolled over in bed. She wanted Elliott, and no amount of fantasy would change that. But what if she thought simply of what was here and now? Maybe her own hands could make her feel good?

  She rolled over to stare grumpily at the ceiling. In truth, she didn’t want it to feel as good by herself. She wanted Elliott’s body on hers. She wanted what he’d said would never happen unless she became his mistress. That was not a smart choice for her, not when eligible men were interested in her. Well, not her specifically. They wanted her dowry, which put them on the same level as Lysander and Demetrius. Those were the Wolf Pack men who flirted with her while eyeing the store. If she wouldn’t consider marrying them, then why was she considering the titled men who acted in the exact same manner?

  Because the titled gentlemen brought something to the bargain. They offered her a way into the ton and a future for her children beyond working endless nights at the Lyon’s Den. Was that a bargain she should make?

  The questions were crushing her again. They took away all the pleasure that she felt in touching herself. Which meant she either had to stop and go to sleep or…

  Or dive into what she really wanted to fantasize. After all, she knew quite a lot about what happened between men and women from the upstairs ladies. And now, with some personal experience, her imagination had a great number of remembered details to make the experience more real. Elliott kissing her hard as she backed against the worktable. Elliott on his knees between her thighs as he pushed his fingers inside her.

  He’d told her where to touch herself between her thighs. He’d told her to look for a place of extra sensation. He’d told her, and she remembered. While one hand squeezed her nipple, her other went between her thighs to mimic what Elliott had done to her. Except when that wasn’t enough, she imagined his mouth there. The upstairs ladies had talked often about that. And when that wasn’t enough, she thought about his manhood. She’d seen improper sketches. A great deal of improper things went through the Lyon’s Den.

  Her breath came short, and her back arched. It was still a pale comparison to the real man. She persevered in any event, focusing instead on the memory of his whispers next to her ear in the dark carriage. What he’d said to do. How his body had pressed so close to hers. And how she’d wanted him right then to slip his hands between her thighs and—

  She quickened with a gasp. Pleasure burst through her cells, and she rocked in startled joy. But the sensations faded quickly. No man held her. No words were whispered into her ear. And though she felt a languor spread through her body, it wasn’t the same.

  Disappointed, she rolled onto her side and stared glumly into the darkness. Why couldn’t dreams come true be exactly like the dreams?

  ***

  Morning came with a fitful sky that kept trying to rain but didn’t do more than spit. She would have slept longer, but Diana woke her with a firm knock. Then before Amber did more than crack her eyes, the woman bustled in carrying a couple more gowns that her maid had altered to fit her.

  “I know it’s early, but we need to capitalize on the interest created by your dowry. I’ve gotten us invitations to a luncheon, then a stroll around the shops, afternoon tea, followed by Hyde Park. We’ll have to choose between ball invitations tonight unless you’d prefer a night at the theater.”

  “Why are you doing this?” If Amber had been more awake, she would have phrased the question more delicately.

  Diana’s eyes widened, and she set the dresses at the base of the bed. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Amber sighed and sat up. “I’m very grateful, but you
don’t owe me anything. Your brother doesn’t need me to go to any more parties.” He’d probably prefer she stay completely unknown. It would be easier to make her his mistress. “You’re giving up your time and your dresses, not to mention risking your reputation by sponsoring a jeweler’s daughter. Why would you do that?”

  Diana stared at her a long moment, then she gingerly settled down on the bed. When she spoke, it was quiet and with a great deal of candor. “I never got my own season. I’d been planning it for years, but…well, you know I married against my choice. There were a few years after the wedding to do the fashionable rounds, but Richard became sick soon after that. He was better at home this winter. Strong enough to promise me treats this Season, but he grew sick the day after we arrived.”

  “I am so sorry, my lady,” Amber said. And she was. Diana did not have an easy life. Amber hadn’t even met her husband. The man kept to his sickbed, but she had overheard enough from the staff. He was wasting away, and Diana had no choice but to wither with him.

  Unless, of course, she had a girl to sponsor.

  “I have accepted my life,” she said as she patted Amber’s hand. “But it is lovely to have a reason to go through it all with someone else.”

  “Isn’t there a family member—” Amber began, but Diana rolled her eyes.

  “Gwen would rather cut off her own legs than go dancing. And as for our other sister, Lilah, well she’s a by-blow, and everyone knows it. We can’t sponsor her. It just isn’t done.”

  “Neither is sponsoring me.”

  Diana nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Well, no one knows about you, so there’s that. Maybe I can find a way.” Then she abruptly brightened. “But that’s thoughts for next Season. I’m interested in this one. Are you ready to discuss the men?”

  Amber frowned. “What men? Which men?”

  “Well,” Diana said as she waggled her eyebrows. “I’ve created a list.” She pulled several sheets of foolscap from her pocket and set them on the coverlet between them. “I hope that wasn’t presumptuous of me. This has to be overwhelming, and I thought I’d help you sort the wheat from the chaff.”