It was Lyon’s driver who saved her from disgrace. His shout that they’d gained their destination penetrated her sensual haze. “Dear God, we are home!” Her announcement came out in a strained voice.
Lyon wasn’t as quick to recover. It took a moment for her announcement to settle in his mind. His breathing was harsh, ragged. He leaned back against the cushion and took a deep breath while he fought to regain some semblance of control.
Christina had adjusted her gown to cover her breasts and moved to sit beside him. She dropped her hand on his thigh. Lyon reacted as though she’d just stabbed him. He pushed her hand away. “Are you angry with me?” she whispered.
His eyes were closed now. The muscle was flexing in the side of his cheek, though, and she thought he really was angry with her. She clasped her hands together in her lap, trying to stop herself from trembling. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“Damn it, Christina. Give me a minute to calm down,” Lyon snapped.
Christina bowed her head in shame. “I’m so sorry, Lyon. I didn’t mean for our kisses to go so far, but you made me weak and I forgot all about stopping.”
“It was my fault, not yours.” Lyon muttered his roundabout apology. He finally opened his eyes and glanced down at her. Hell, she looked so dejected. Lyon tried to put his arm around her again, but she scooted over into the corner. “Sweetheart, it’s all right.” He forced a smile when she looked up at him. “Do you want me to come inside with you?”
She shook her head. “No, the Countess is a light sleeper. She’d know,” Christina whispered.
Lyon didn’t want to leave her. Not yet … not like this. He was feeling extremely guilty because she was looking so ashamed. If she started to cry, he didn’t know how he’d be able to comfort her.
“Hell,” he muttered to himself. Every time he touched her he went a little crazy. If he tried to offer her solace, he’d probably make it worse.
Lyon threw open the door and helped Christina to the ground. “When will I see you again?” he asked her. They were in the midst of a struggle, and he wasn’t certain she heard him. Christina was trying to push his hands away, and he was trying to hug her. “Christina, when will I see you again?”
She refused to answer him until he let go of her.
Lyon refused to let go of her until she answered him. “We’ll stand here all night,” he told her when she kept pushing against his shoulders.
Christina suddenly threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I blame myself, Lyon. It was wrong of me to ask you to marry with me. I was being very selfish.”
Her words so surprised him, he let go of her. Christina kept her head bowed so he couldn’t see her distress, yet was powerless to keep her voice from trembling. “Please forgive me.
“Let me explain,” Lyon whispered. He tried to pull her back into his arms. Christina evaded him again by taking a quick step back. “Marriage changes a person. It isn’t a rejection of you, Christina, but I—”
She shook her head. “Do not say another word. You might have fallen in love with me, Lyon. When the time came for me to go home, you would have had a broken heart. It is better for me to choose someone else, someone I don’t care about.”
“Christina, you are home. You aren’t going anywhere,” Lyon said. “Why can’t we go along the way we—”
“You’re very like Rhone, do you know that?”
Her question confused him. Christina hurried up the steps to her townhouse. When she turned back to look at Lyon, he could see how upset she was. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Your friend only steals jewels, Lyon. Your sin is greater. If I let you, you’d steal my heart. I cannot allow that to happen. Goodbye, Lyon. I must never see you again.”
With those parting words, Christina went inside the house. The door closed softly behind her.
Lyon was left standing on the stoop. “The hell you will forget me,” he bellowed.
Lyon was furious. He thought he had to be the most frustrated man in England. How in God’s name had he ever allowed himself to get involved with such a confusing woman?
She’d had the audacity to tell him he might fall in love with her.
Lyon knew the truth. Heaven help him, he was already in love with her.
Needless to say, that admission didn’t sit well. Lyon almost ripped the door off the carriage when he climbed back inside. He shouted the order to his driver to take him home, then began to list all the reasons he should stay away from Christina.
The woman was a blatant liar.
He despised liars.
God only knew how many hearts she’d broken.
Destiny … he decided he hated that word.
By the time he arrived home, he’d accepted the fact that none of his reasonable arguments made any difference. He was stuck with Christina whether he wanted to be or not.
Chapter Eight
Mylala wouldn’t leave her homeland. She wouldn’t leave her family. While I understood her reasons, I was afraid for her. She promised me she’d take every precaution. My maid planned to hide in the hills until Edward was unseated from power or fled the country. Her family would look after her. I gave her all my own treasury, though it was a pittance by England’s standards. We wept together before we parted, like true sisters who knew they’d never see each other again.
Yes, she was my sister, in spirit and heart. I’d never had a confidant. My own sister, Patricia, could never be trusted. Be warned, child. If Patricia is still alive when you’ve grown up, and you meet up with her one day, protect yourself. Don’t put your faith in her, Christina. My sister loves deception. She feeds on others’ pain.
Do you know, she really should have married Edward. They would have been very compatible. They are so very much alike.
Journal entry
September 3, 1795
Lyon spent most of Friday afternoon sitting in the Bleak Bryan tavern, located in a particularly seedy section of the city. Lyon wasn’t there to drink, of course, but to glean information from the captains and shipmates who favored the tavern.
He moved easily in and out of such a setting. Though dressed in quality buckskins and riding jacket, he didn’t need to worry about being set upon. Lyon was always given a wide berth. Everyone in this area knew his reputation well. They feared him, yet respected him, and entered into conversation only when he motioned to them for an audience.
Lyon sat with his back against the wall. Bryan, a retired shipmate from the moment he lost his hand in a knife fight, sat beside him. Lyon had purchased the tavern and set Bryan up in business as a reward for past loyalty.
He questioned one man after another, refusing to become impatient when the hours stretched or the shipmates lied in order to get another free glass of ale. A newcomer strutted over to the table and demanded his share of the bounty. The big man lifted the seaman Lyon was questioning by his neck and carelessly threw him to the side.
Bryan smiled. He still enjoyed a good fight. “Have you never met the Marquess of Lyonwood, then?” he asked the stranger.
The seaman shook his head, took his seat, and then reached for the pitcher of ale. “Don’t give a belch who he be,” the man muttered menacingly. “I’m wanting my due.”
Bryan’s eyes sparkled with amusement. He turned to Lyon and said, “He’s wanting his due.”
Lyon shrugged. He knew what was expected of him. Every face in the tavern was looking at him. There were appearances to keep up, and if he wanted a peaceful afternoon, he’d have to take care of this little matter.
He waited until the seaman had put the pitcher back on the table, then slammed the heel of his boot into the man’s groin.
It happened too quickly for the seaman to protect himself. Before he could scream in pain, Lyon had him by the throat. He squeezed hard, then flung the big man backwards.
The crowd roared their approval. Lyon ignored them. He tilted his chair back against the wall, never taking his gaze off the man writhing in agony on the floor.
&
nbsp; “You got your due, you horse’s arse. Now crawl on out of here. I run a respectable tavern,” Bryan bellowed between bouts of laughter.
A thin, jittery man drew Lyon’s attention then. “Sir, I hear you’re wanting information about ships from the colonies,” he stammered out.
“Take a seat, Mick,” Bryan instructed. “He’s a good, honest man, Lyon,” Bryan continued, nodding at his friend.
Lyon waited while the seaman exchanged news with Bryan. He continued to watch the man he’d just injured until the door slammed shut behind him.
Then his thoughts returned to Christina and his mission.
Lyon had decided to start over. He was finished forming his own conclusions based on logical assumptions. Logic didn’t work where Christina was concerned. He threw out all her explanations about her past. The only fact he knew to be truthful was that the Countess had returned to England approximately three months ago.
Someone had to remember the old bat. The woman was foul enough to have drawn attention to herself by complaining about something to someone. She wouldn’t have been an appreciative passenger.
Mick, as it turned out, remembered the woman. Rather well. “Captain Curtiss weren’t a fair man with me, sir. I would have chosen to slop the decks or empty the pots rather than fetch and carry for the Cummings woman. Gawd, she kept me legs running day and night.”
“Was she traveling alone?” Lyon asked. He didn’t let Mick know how excited he was to finally have real information, thinking the man might lace his answers in order to please him into giving him more ale.
“Of a sort,” Mick announced.
“Of a sort? That don’t make sense, Mick. Tell the man straight,” Bryan advised.
“I mean to say, sir, she came on board with a gentleman and a pretty little lady. I only got a quick glance at the lovey, though. She wore a cape with the hood over her head, but before the Countess pushed her below deck she looked right at me and smiled. Yes, sir, she did.”
“Did you happen to notice the color of her eyes?” Lyon asked.
“Blue they were, as blue as my ocean.”
“Tell me what you remember about the man traveling with the Countess,” Lyon instructed. He motioned for Bryan to refill Mick’s glass.
“He weren’t family,” Mick explained after taking a swig of ale. “A missionary, he told some of the men. Sounded Frenchy to me, but he told us he lived in a wilderness past the colonies. He was going back to France to see his relatives. Even though he was French, I liked him. Because of the way he protected the little lass. He was old enough to be her father—treated her like he was, too. Since the Cummings woman stayed below most of the voyage, the missionary man would take the pretty for a stroll on the decks.”
Mick paused to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “The old woman was a strange bird. She didn’t have nothing to do with the other two. Even demanded to have an extra chain put on the inside of her door. Captain Curtiss tried to calm her fears by telling her none of us would touch her. Gawd almighty, we couldn’t stomach to look at her, and why she’d be thinking we’d want to bother her didn’t make a spit of sense. It took a while, sir, but some of us did finally figure out her scheme. She was bolting her door against the little miss. Yes, sir, she was. The missionary man was overheard telling the little lady not to feel sad ’cause her aunt was afraid of her. Don’t that beat all?”
Lyon smiled at Mick. It was all the encouragement the seaman needed to continue. “She was such a sweet little thing. ’Course, she did throw Louie overboard. Flipped him right over her shoulder, she did. Couldn’t believe it—no, sir, couldn’t believe it. Louie had it coming, though. Why, he snuck up behind her and grabbed her. That’s when I seen the color of her hair. Real light yellow. She’d always been wearing that hood, even in the heat of the afternoons. Must have been mighty uncomfortable.”
“She threw a man overboard?” Bryan asked the question. He knew he shouldn’t interfere in Lyon’s questions, but he was too astonished by Mick’s casually given remark to keep silent. “Enough about the hood, man, tell me more about this girl.”
“Well, it were a good thing for Louie the wind weren’t up. We fished him out of the water without too much backache. He left the miss alone after that surprise. Come to think on it, most o’ the men did.”
“When will Captain Curtiss be returning to London?” Lyon asked.
“Not for another month or two,” Mick said. “Would you be wanting to speak to the missionary man, too?”
“I would,” Lyon answered, keeping his expression impassive. He sounded almost bored.
“He’s coming back to London real soon. He told us he was only going to stay in France a short while, then planned on giving the little miss a nice visit before going back to the colonies. He was real protective toward the girl. Worried about her, too. Don’t blame him none. That old …”
“Bat?” Lyon supplied.
“Yes, she was an old bat,” Mick said with a snicker.
“Do you remember the missionary’s name, Mick? There’s an extra pound for you if you can give me his name.”
“It’s right on the tip of me tongue,” Mick said, frowning intently. “When it comes to me, I’ll tell you, Bryan. You’ll keep the coins safe for me, won’t you?”
“Question some of your shipmates,” Bryan suggested. “Surely one of them will recall the man’s name.”
Mick was in such a hurry to gain his reward, he immediately left the tavern to go search for his companions.
“Is this government business?” Bryan asked when they were once again alone.
“No,” Lyon answered. “A personal concern.”
“It’s the lady, isn’t it? Don’t need to pretend with me, Lyon. I’d be interested in her, too, if I were young enough.”
Lyon smiled. “You’ve never even seen her,” he reminded his friend.
“Makes no matter. Mick said she was a slip of a girl with blue eyes and yellow hair. Sounds pretty enough for my tastes, but that isn’t the true reason I’d chase after her skirts. Have you ever met Louie?”
“No.”
“He’s as big as I am, though he weighs a few stones more. Any lady who could toss him overboard has to be mighty interesting. Lord, I wish I’d been there to see it. Never could like Louie. There’s a rank smell coming from him. His mind’s as sour as his body. Damn, I wish I’d seen him hit the water.”
Lyon spent a few more minutes exchanging bits of news with Bryan, then stood to take his leave. “You know where to find me, Bryan.”
The tavern owner walked Lyon to the curb. “How’s Rhone getting on?” he asked. “Up to his usual antics?”
“Afraid so,” Lyon drawled. “That reminds me, Bryan. Would you have the back room ready for Friday after next? Rhone and I are setting up a card game. I’ll give you the details later.”
Bryan gave Lyon a speculative look. “Always trying to outguess me, aren’t you, Bryan?” Lyon asked.
“My thoughts are always on my face,” Bryan answered, with a grin. “It’s why I’d never make it in your line of work,” he added.
Bryan held the door of the carriage open for Lyon. He waited until the Marquess was about to close the door behind him before calling out his ritual farewell. “Guard your back, my friend.” On the spur of the moment, he included another caution. “And your heart, Lyon. Don’t let any pretties throw you overboard.”
That suggestion had come a little too late, to Lyon’s way of thinking. Christina had already caught him off guard. He’d vowed long ago not to get emotionally involved with another woman for as long as he lived. He was going to keep his relationships short and sweet.
So much for that vow, Lyon thought with a sigh. He couldn’t guard his heart now. It already belonged to her.
His mind returned to the puzzle of Christina’s bizarre remarks. He remembered she’d told him that his curiosity could get him killed. Was she lying or was she serious? Lyon couldn’t decide.
Christina had been tru
thful when she announced she wasn’t going to stay in London long, that she meant to return home. At least she looked like she was telling the truth.
He wasn’t about to let her go anywhere. Christina was going to belong to him. But he wasn’t taking any chances. If she did manage to get away from him, his job of hunting her down would be much easier if he knew exactly where her home was.
“She isn’t going anywhere,” Lyon muttered to himself. No, he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight.
With a growl of new frustration, Lyon accepted the truth. There was only one way he could keep Christina by his side.
Hell, he was going to have to marry her.
“Where in God’s name have you been? I’ve been sitting in your library for hours.”
Rhone bellowed the question as soon as Lyon strode into the foyer of his townhouse. “I have messengers searching the town for you, Lyon.”
“I wasn’t aware I had to account to you, Rhone,” Lyon answered. He threw off his jacket and walked into the study. “Shut the door, Rhone. What do you think you’re doing? You shouldn’t be out in public. Someone might notice the bandage. You took a needless chance. Your man would have found me soon enough.”
“Well, where have you been? It’s almost dark outside,” Rhone muttered. He collapsed in the first available chair.
“You’re beginning to sound like a nagging wife,” Lyon said with a chuckle. “What’s the problem? Is your father having more difficulties?”
“No, and you sure as hell won’t be laughing when I tell you why I’ve been looking all over London for you. Better put your jacket back on, my friend. You’ve work to do.”
The seriousness in Rhone’s tone gained Lyon’s complete attention. He leaned against the desk top, folded his arms across his chest, and said, “Explain yourself.”
“It’s Christina, Lyon. She’s in trouble.”
Lyon reacted as though he’d just been hit by lightning. He bounded away from the desk and had Rhone by his shoulders before his friend could take a new breath. “There’s still plenty of time, Lyon. I was just worried you might have taken off for your country home. We’ve got until midnight before they come after her … for God’s sake, man, unhand me.”
Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set] Page 87
