Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set]

by Gentle Warrior:Honor's Splendour:Lion's Lady

  “Christina’s aunt doesn’t find me suitable,” Lyon announced.

  “The Marquess of Lyonwood isn’t suitable?” Diana looked horrified. “Lyon, you have more titles than most men in England. You can’t be serious.”

  “By the way, don’t tell Christina I’ll be here. Let her think it will be just the two of you.”

  “What if she requests that I come to her home instead?”

  “She won’t,” Lyon advised.

  “You seem very certain.”

  “I don’t think she has enough money to entertain,” Lyon said. “Keep this a secret, Diana, but I believe the Princess is in dire financial straits. The townhouse is a bit shabby—so are the furnishings—and I’ve heard the Countess had denied everyone who has requested entrance.”

  “Oh, the poor dear,” Diana announced, shaking her head. “But why don’t you want her to know you’ll be here?”

  “Never mind.”

  “I see,” Diana said.

  Lyon could tell from her expression she didn’t see at all. “I do like the Princess,” Diana gushed when Lyon glared at her.

  “You didn’t come away confused?”

  “I don’t understand,” Diana said. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “When you spoke to her,” Lyon explained. “Did she make sense with her answers?”

  “Well, of course she made sense.”

  Lyon hid his exasperation. It had been a foolish question to put to someone as scatterbrained as his little sister. Diana’s disposition had always been as flighty as the wind. He loved her, yet knew he’d go to his grave without having any understanding of what went on inside her mind. “I imagine you two will become fast friends,” Lyon predicted.

  “Would that upset you?”

  “Of course not,” Lyon answered. He gave Diana a curt nod, then started out the door.

  “Well, why are you frowning again?” Diana called after him.

  Lyon didn’t bother to answer his sister. He mounted his black steed and went riding in the countryside. The brisk exercise was just what he needed to clear his mind. He was usually able to dispatch all unnecessary information and target in on the pertinent facts. Once he’d thrown out the insignificant, he was certain he’d be able to figure out his attraction to the most unusual woman in all of England. He was going to use cold reason to come to terms with his unreasonable affliction.

  And it was an affliction, Lyon decided. To let Christina affect his every thought, his every action, was simply unacceptable. Confusing, too.

  As confusing as being told he made her as nervous as a buffalo.

  And where in God’s name had she seen buffaloes?

  The Earl of Rhone paced the carpet in front of his desk. His library was in shambles, but Rhone wouldn’t let any of the servants inside to clean. Since being wounded, he’d been in too much discomfort to think about such mundane matters as household chores.

  The injury was healing. Rhone had poured hot water over the opening, then wrapped his wrist in clean white gauze. Even though he, wore an oversized jacket from his father’s closet so that he could conceal the bandage, he was determined to stay hidden inside his townhouse until the wound was completely healed. He wasn’t about to take any chances of being found out. There was too much work still to be done.

  Rhone’s primary concern was Princess Christina. He thought she might have recognized him. The way she’d stared at him and the funny, surprised look on her face did suggest she had known who was behind the mask.

  Did Lyon know? Rhone mulled over that worry a long while, then concluded his friend had been too occupied with protecting the little Princess to take a good look at him.

  And just who in God’s name had thrown the knife at him? Why, he’d been so surprised, he’d dropped his pistol. Whoever it was had a lousy aim, Rhone decided, and he’d thank God for that small blessing. Damn, he could have been killed.

  He was going to have to be more careful. Rhone had no intention of quitting his activity. There were four names on his list, and every one of them was going to be tormented. It was the least he could do to ease his father’s humiliation.

  A servant’s hesitant knock on the door broke Rhone’s pacing. “Yes?” he bellowed, letting his irritation carry through the door. He had specifically ordered his staff not to interrupt him.

  “The Marquess of Lyonwood is here to see you, my lord.”

  Rhone rushed over to take his seat behind the desk. He rested his good arm on a stack of papers, hid his injured hand in his lap, then called out in a surly voice, “Send him in.”

  Lyon strolled into the room with a bottle of brandy tucked under his arm. He placed the gift on the desk, then sat down in a leather chair in front of Rhone. After casually propping his feet on the desktop, he said, “You look like hell.”

  Rhone shrugged. “You never were a diplomat,” he remarked. “What’s the brandy for?”

  “Our wager,” Lyon reminded him.

  “Oh, yes. Princess Christina,” Rhone grinned. “She never did answer any of your questions, did she?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ve already found out quite enough about her. She was raised somewhere in France, or thereabouts,” he stated. “There are a few little nagging inconsistences, but I’ll have them worked out in short time.”

  “Why the interest, Lyon?”

  “I’m not sure anymore. In the beginning I thought it was just curiosity, but now—”

  “In the beginning. Lyon, you sound as though you’d known the woman for months.”

  Lyon shrugged. He reached over to the sideboard, extracted two glasses, and poured each of them a drink. Lyon waited until Rhone was in the process of swallowing a hefty portion before asking his question. “How’s the hand, Jack?”

  Needless to say, Lyon was immensely satisfied with his friend’s reaction. Rhone started choking and coughing and trying to effect a denial all at the same time. It was laughable. Damning, too, Lyon thought with a sigh.

  He waited until his friend had regained some control before speaking again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in such financial trouble? Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “Financial trouble? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rhone protested. It was a weak lie. “Hell,” he muttered. “It’s always been impossible to lie to you.”

  “Have you lost your mind? Do you have a passion to live in Newgate prison, Rhone? You know it’s only a matter of time before you’re found out.”

  “Lyon, let me explain,” Rhone stammered. “My father has lost everything. I’ve used my own estates, put them up as promise against the rest of the notes, but…”

  “You and your father are free of debt as of yesterday eve,” Lyon said. “Get angry and then get over it, Rhone,” Lyon demanded, his voice edged with steel. “I paid off the moneylenders. In your name, by the way.”

  “How dare you involve—” Rhone bellowed. His face was flushed a bright red.

  “Someone sure as hell had to intervene,” Lyon announced. “Your father means as much to me as he does to you, Rhone. God only knows the number of times he put himself in front of my father to protect me when I was young.”

  Rhone nodded. Some of the fight went out of him. “I’ll pay you back, Lyon, just as soon—”

  “You will not pay me back,” Lyon roared. He was suddenly furious with his friend. He took a deep, settling breath before continuing. “Do you remember what I was like when Lettie died?” he asked.

  Rhone was surprised by the change in topic. He slowly nodded. “I remember.”

  “You stood by me then, Rhone. You’re the only one who knows about James. Have I ever asked to pay you back for your friendship?”

  “Of course not. I would have been insulted.”

  A long moment stretched between the two men. Then Rhone actually grinned. “May I at least tell my father that you—”

  “No,” Lyon interrupted, his voice soft. “I don’t want him to realize I know what happened to him. Let him think
his son is the only one who knows, that you came to his assistance.”

  “But Lyon, surely—”

  “Let it rest, Rhone. Your father is a proud man. Don’t take that away from him.”

  Rhone nodded again. “Tell me what you know about my father’s problems.”

  “I recognized you at Baker’s, of course,” Lyon began, smiling over the start that statement gave his friend. “It was foolish of you to—”

  “You weren’t supposed to be there,” Rhone muttered. “Why did you attend his party? You can’t stand Baker any more than I can.”

  Lyon chuckled. “The most carefully laid plans,” he drawled. “For all his good points, your father is still a little naive, isn’t he, Rhone? Baker and his cohorts took advantage, of course. Baker would have been the one to set up the games. Let’s see if I have this straight. He would have included Buckley, Stanton, and Wellingham in the farce, too. They’re all bastards. Did I get all the names, Rhone?”

  His friend was astonished. “How did you learn all this?”

  “Do you honestly think I wouldn’t know about their little club? Your father isn’t the only one to fall victim to their scheme.”

  “Does everyone know?”

  “No,” Lyon answered. “There isn’t a hint of a scandal about your father. I would have heard of it.”

  “You’ve been out of circulation, Lyon. How can you be so sure?”

  Lyon gave Rhone a look of exasperation. “With my line of work, you can seriously ask me that question?”

  Rhone grinned. “I thought you might have gotten a little rusty,” he said. “Father is still hiding in his country home. He’s so ashamed of his own gullibility he won’t show his face. He’ll be relieved to learn no one is the wiser.”

  “Yes, he can come out of hiding now. And you can give up this foolish plan of yours. You’ll eventually get caught.”

  “You’d never turn me in.” Rhone’s voice was filled with conviction.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Lyon acknowledged. “How was it done, Rhone? Did Baker mark the cards?”

  “Yes. They are all blatant cheats, which of course is all the more humiliating for my father. He’s feeling duped.”

  “He was duped,” Lyon said. “Will you give it up, Rhone?”

  Rhone let out a harsh groan. “Damn it all, Lyon. I’m itching to get even.”

  Lyon took a drink of his brandy. “Ah,” he drawled. “Now you’ve touched on my area of expertise. Perhaps, Rhone, a game of chance is what is needed.”

  Lyon grinned when Rhone finally caught his meaning. “You mean to give them a dose of their own medicine, to cheat the cheaters?”

  “It would be easy enough to accomplish.”

  Rhone slapped his hand on the tabletop, then let out a groan. “I keep forgetting about this injury,” he excused. “Count me in, Lyon. I’ll leave the details to you. As you just admitted, you’re better versed in trickery than I am.”

  Lyon laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Another knock sounded at the door, interrupting their conversation. “Now what is it?” Rhone shouted.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord, but Princess Christina is here to see you,” the servant shouted back.

  The announcement gave Rhone a start. Lyon didn’t look too happy with the news either. He glared at Rhone. “Have you been after Christina, Rhone? Did you invite her here?”

  “No,” Rhone answered. “My charms must have impressed her after all, Lyon.” He grinned when Lyon’s scowl increased. “So it is as I guessed. You’re more than mildly interested in our little Princess.”

  “She isn’t our little Princess,” Lyon snapped. “She belongs to me. Understood?”

  Rhone nodded. “I was only jesting,” he said with a sigh. “Send her in,” he bellowed to his servant.

  Lyon didn’t move from his position. Christina hurried into the library as soon as the door was opened for her. She spotted Lyon immediately and came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt your conference, sir. I shall come back later, Rhone.”

  Christina frowned at Lyon, turned, and started back out the door.

  Lyon let out a long, controlled sigh. He carefully put his glass down on the desk, then stood up. Christina saw him out of the corner of her eye. She ignored Rhone’s pleas for her to stay and continued to move toward the front door.

  Lyon trapped her just as she reached for the handle. His hands settled on the door on either side of Christina’s face. Her back touched his chest. Lyon smiled when he saw how rigid her shoulders became. “I really must insist you stay,” he whispered against her ear.

  A tremor of warmth shook Christina. She slowly edged around until she was facing Lyon. “And I really must insist upon leaving, sir,” she whispered.

  She pushed one hand against his chest, hoping to dislodge him.

  He didn’t budge. He gave her a rascal’s grin, then leaned down and kissed her.

  Rhone’s deep chuckle interrupted his desire to continue.

  Christina immediately blushed over the intimacy. Didn’t the man realize he wasn’t supposed to show affection in front of others? She guessed he didn’t. Lyon winked at her before grabbing hold of her hand and dragging her back inside the library.

  She was wearing a light blue gown. Lyon deliberately checked to see if she’d remembered to put her shoes on. He wasn’t disappointed to see she had.

  Rhone hurried back to his chair. He hid his bandaged arm in his lap.

  Christina refused to sit down. She stood beside Lyon, trying to ignore him altogether. He put his booted feet back up on the edge of Rhone’s desk and reached for his glass. She gave him a disgruntled look. If the man was any more relaxed, he’d fall asleep.

  It soon became awkward. Rhone was looking at her expectantly. Christina clutched the blue receptacle in her left hand and kept trying to pull her other hand out of Lyon’s hold. He’d forgotten to let go of her.

  “Was there something in particular you wished to speak to me about?” Rhone prodded gently. He tried to put Christina at ease. The poor woman looked terribly worried.

  “I’d hoped to find you alone,” Christina announced. She gave Lyon a meaningful look. “Were you about to take your leave, Lyon?”

  “No.”

  His abrupt answer was given in such a cheerful voice, Christina smiled. “I would like to speak to Rhone in private, if you don’t mind.”

  “Ah, sweet, but I do mind,” Lyon drawled out. He increased his grip on her hand, then suddenly jerked her off balance.

  She landed right where he wanted her. Christina immediately started to struggle out of his lap. Lyon circled her waist with one arm, anchoring her to him.

  Rhone was amazed. He’d never seen Lyon act in such a spontaneous manner. To show such open possessiveness was certainly out of character. “Princess Christina? You may speak freely in front of Lyon,” Rhone advised.

  “I may?” Christina asked. “Then he knows?”

  When Christina hesitated, Rhone announced, “Lyon is privy to all my secrets, my dear. Now what is it you wanted to say to me?”

  “Well, I was wondering, sir, how you’re feeling.”

  Rhone blinked several times. “Why, I’m feeling very well,” he replied awkwardly. “That is all you wanted to ask me?”

  The two of them were dancing around the real issue, to Lyon’s way of thinking. “Rhone, Christina wants to know how your injury is doing. Isn’t that right, Christina?”

  “Oh, then you do know?” Christina asked, turning to look at Lyon.

  “You know?” Rhone’s voice cracked.

  “She knows,” Lyon confirmed, chuckling over the flabbergasted look on Rhone’s face.

  “Well, hell, who doesn’t know?”

  “You sound pathetic,” Lyon told his friend.

  “It was the color of your eyes, Rhone,” Christina explained, giving him her attention again. “They’re an unusual shade of green, and very easy to remember.” She paused to giv
e him a sympathetic look. “And you did look right at me. I really didn’t mean to recognize you. It just happened,” she ended with a delicate shrug.

  “Are we putting all our cards on the table?” Rhone asked, leaning forward to give Christina an intent look.

  “I don’t understand,” Christina said. “I don’t have any cards with me.”

  “Christina takes everything you say in its literal sense, Rhone. It’s a trait guaranteed to make you daft. Believe me, I know.”

  “That is most uncharitable of you, Lyon,” Christina announced, glaring at him. “I don’t know what you mean when you say I’m literal. Is it yet another insult I should take exception to, perchance?”

  “Rhone is asking you if he may speak freely,” Lyon told Christina. “Hell, I feel like an interpreter.”

  “Of course you may speak freely to me,” Christina announced. “No one’s holding a knife to your neck, Rhone. I’ve some medicine with me. I’d like to tend your injury, Rhone. You probably haven’t had proper care.”

  “I couldn’t very well call upon my physician, now could I?” Rhone said.

  “Oh, no, you’d be found out,” Christina said. She scooted off Lyon’s lap and went to Rhone’s side. Rhone didn’t protest when she began to unwrap his badly fashioned bandage.

  Both men watched as Christina opened a small jar of horrid-smelling salve. “My God, what’s in there? Dead leaves?”

  “Yes,” Christina answered. “Among other things.”

  “I was jesting,” Rhone said.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “The smell will keep me hidden,” Rhone muttered. “What else is in there?” he asked, taking another sniff of the foul medicine.

  “You don’t want to know,” Christina answered.

  “It’s best not to ask Christina questions, Rhone. The answers will only confuse you.”

  Rhone took Lyon’s advice. He watched Christina pat a large amount of the brown-colored salve on the cut, then rewrap the arm. “You have a nice scent, Rhone. Of course, the salve will soon remove it.”

  “I have a nice scent?” Rhone looked as though he’d just been handed England’s crown. He thought he should return her compliment. “You smell like flowers,” he told her, then promptly laughed over saying such a thing. It was the truth, but certainly ungentlemanly of him to comment upon. “You’re the one with the unusual eyes, Christina. They’re the most wonderful color of blue.”