A Lyon in her Bed: The Lyon's Den

by Amanda Mariel

  A Lyon in

  Her Bed

  The Lyon’s Den Connected World

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Amanda Mariel

  © Copyright 2020 by Amanda Mariel

  Text by Amanda Mariel

  Cover by Wicked Smart Designs

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  ceo@dragonbladepublishing.com

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition July 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Dearest Reader;

  Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.

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  CEO, Dragonblade Publishing

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Amanda Mariel

  The Lyon’s Den Connected World

  A Lyon in Her Bed

  Wolfbane Books

  Love’s Legacy

  One Wanton Wager

  Forever in Your Arms

  Other Lyon’s Den Books

  Into the Lyon’s Den by Jade Lee

  The Scandalous Lyon by Maggi Andersen

  Fed to the Lyon by Mary Lancaster

  The Lyon’s Lady Love by Alexa Aston

  The Lyon’s Laird by Hildie McQueen

  The Lyon Sleeps Tonight by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Amanda Mariel

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  About Amanda Mariel

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  London, 1814

  Leonard, Leo Quinton, sixth Earl of Morton, needed an heir. Since one could not beget an heir without a wife, he devised a plan.

  His plan was a sure way to secure a wife without the need for courtship, false promises, and betrayal. It was perfect, for it would keep his heart unattached.

  He’d had more than his fill of tender feelings, and he’d not subject himself again. Not for any reason. He could not, would not, ever give his heart away as he had once before.

  The pains of his past gnawed at him as he made his way into the Lyon’s Den for an audience with the infamous Black Widow of Whitehall, Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon.

  If anyone could find him a wife quickly, she could. The widow would undoubtedly have several candidates with slightly scandalous backgrounds but excellent bloodlines for him to choose from.

  A perfect solution to be sure.

  A simple arrangement to benefit them both. She gives him an heir, and he gives her his title and protection—the end.

  No one gets hurt, no one gets betrayed, and everyone gets what they want.

  He entered the blue building at the end of Cleveland Row, then strode across the gentlemen’s entry and up the stairs leading to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s private parlor.

  His confidence never waned. He was doing the right thing. This was the fastest, most straightforward way to secure what he needed.

  And he would get what he sought.

  One of Dove-Lyon’s men stepped in front of her parlor door, blocking Leo’s entrance, as he approached. A hulking man who now scowled at Leo. “State your business,” the man demanded.

  Leo gave a relaxed grin. “I am here to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

  “She is presently occupied.”

  Leo leaned his shoulder against the wall outside of the office. “I’ll wait,” he said with cool defiance.

  “Perhaps you would like to enjoy a game of faro? Kindly give me your name, and when she is available, I will send for you.” He wasn’t really making a suggestion and took a menacing step toward Leo.

  Leo did not flinch. His business here was too important, and the gaming tables held no appeal. He’d come for one reason, to secure a wife. He’d not find his future countess at the tables. “My name is Lord Morton, and I will remain where I am.”

  Before the guard could do anything, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s door swung open.

  A tiny woman with unremarkable brown hair and eyes strode into the hallway before drawing to a stop to stare at the men blocking her path. She met Leo’s gaze and said, “Excuse me.”

  He ought to have moved aside and allowed her passage. Instead, he studied her, trailing his gaze over her oval-shaped face, slender shoulders, and small breasts.

  She was no beauty. Still, she was pleasant enough. “What is your name?” he asked.

  Her gaze turned curious, and she said, “Miss Hawthorne. Miss Emeline Hawthorn, to be precise.”

  “And your sire?” Leo continued.

  The woman narrowed her eyes. “Was a physician.”

  “Then, you have good breeding.”

  She gave a slow nod.

  Caution, mixed with something else entirely, shone in her eyes. A spark of something more lively. Could it be hope? Had this woman come here searching for a spouse, too?

  Leo stepped closer to her. She could be the answer to his quest.

  Just then, Mrs. Dove-Lyon stepped into the doorway of her parlor to gaze out at them. “If you wish an audience, you may enter. Otherwise, allow the woman to pass. She hasn’t the coin to pay for my services.”

  This was bloody perfect! The woman had indeed come seeking a match. What’s more, she was desperate and met his requirements.

  This was a woman of good breeding, one who undoubtedly faced ruin over a lack of finances. Best of all, he had what she sought.

  Leo turned back to Miss Hawthorne. “You will do nicely.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Do for what, exactly?”

  “I
think it safe to assume that you came here to procure a husband.” He laid his hand on his chest, his fingers fanned out over his cravat. “As it happens, I have come for a wife.”

  Miss Hawthorne stared at him, her eyes wide. “Are you proposing marriage?”

  “I am,” Leo smoothed his jacket.

  “This is not how it works,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon protested.

  Leo turned a charming smile on the widow. “I’ll pay your fee.”

  She nodded, then stepped to the side to allow entrance into her parlor. “Come in,” her gaze went from Leo to Miss Hawthorne, “both of you. There is no need to air your laundry in the hall.”

  Leo waited several long moments for Miss Hawthorne to move. Just when he thought she might bolt, the woman nodded, then strolled into the parlor.

  He followed, and once inside, turned to face her. As the door clicked shut, he said, “We can wed at once.”

  “Why?” Emeline asked, her brows drawing together as she tried to understand what was happening. Perhaps he was a madman? Something had to be amiss.

  She wet her lips, then asked, “Why should you wish to marry me? A stranger. And so soon at that?”

  “I know what I need to know.” He held one finger up. “You are in want of a wealthy husband.” He held up another finger. “I happen to be exceedingly wealthy and titled.”

  Could fate be smiling on her? She cared not about titles. However, she did need a financially stable husband. That is precisely why she’d come to the Lyon’s Den.

  Mother meant to marry her off to a baron nearly three times her age in order to save them. Her stomach turned at the thought, disgust rising in her. Madman or not, the gentleman standing before her was far closer to her age and quite handsome, too.

  If she must marry for necessity, she saw no reason why she shouldn’t at least have a husband around her own age. One who she could bed without revulsion.

  Still… She nibbled her lip, bringing her gaze back to his. “And what would you stand to gain from me?”

  “A legitimate heir.” He stepped closer, still smiling. “I am the Earl of Morton. As my wife, you will be a countess. I’ll give you a generous allowance and run of my estates. In return, I want unrestricted access to your bed.”

  She could not stifle the cynical laughter that bubbled up in her. This man was just too much. Her shoulders shook as her laugh rang out, filling the hall. “And once you have finished with me? What then?”

  “You will have your freedom. You can live in whichever of my homes you choose, your allowance will remain, and you will continue to enjoy your position as my countess. I will bother you no more. All I ask is that you use discretion if you take a lover.”

  Dare she accept? Emeline wasn’t sure. It seemed too good to be true. Yet, here he stood, a flesh and blood earl, offering her precisely what she sought. All he asked in return was the same thing any husband would expect of her.

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon pressed a teacup into her hand. “Drink,” she ordered.

  Emeline took a sip of the brew, then cringed. “What is in this drink?”

  “Whisky-laced tea, my dear. Just enough to settle your nerves.”

  Emeline set the cup on a nearby table. She turned back to the earl and squared her shoulders. “I will agree, with one additional condition.”

  Curiosity filled his grey eyes. “Go on.”

  “You must agree to provide for my mother, too.”

  “Consider it done.” He turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, then reached into his jacket and retrieved a velvet pouch. “Your fee.”

  She nodded as she accepted the pouch. Turning her gaze back on Emeline, she said, “You have made a wise choice.”

  Despite Dove-Lyon’s assurance, Emeline could not help but wonder if she had indeed made the right choice. Regardless, marriage to this man would suit her exceedingly better than the elderly man Mother had chosen for her. She forced a smile. “Thank you.”

  “We will marry today at my residence. Bring your mother if you would like.” Lord Morton moved to the door. “Number twenty-six, Grosvenor Square. Be there by five of the clock.”

  Emeline swallowed back the uncertainty welling within her. If she would be sold like chattel, she might as well be the one in charge of the auction. She nodded. “As you wish.”

  Those three simple words—as you wish—sealed her fate.

  Pray, let it be for the better.

  Chapter 2

  “Mother, I am to wed the Earl of Morton,” Emeline announced the moment she returned home.

  Mother looked up from her needlepoint and scowled. “What game is this? You are to marry the baron.”

  “It is not a game, I assure you. Lord Morton has offered for me, and I have accepted.” She averted her gaze to the worn floorboards. They’d sold the rugs that once covered them last week. They had sold the paintings a week earlier and their jewelry two weeks prior to that. Her stomach clenched at just how far they had fallen since Father’s death.

  “No,” Mother said, her voice stern.

  Emeline sucked in a breath. The sharp edge in her tone cut like a blade. She came further into the drawing room, her back stiff and chin notched. “I am three and twenty. Nearly a spinster, and certainly of an age to make my own choice.” She stared into Mother’s deep brown eyes, so much like her own. “I will marry Lord Morton at five of the clock. Should you wish to be present, you will need to hurry. We must look our best.”

  She pivoted, then strode toward the hallway, intent to go to her room and make ready.

  “Wait. Emeline, come back here,” her mother demanded.

  Emeline turned to find her striding after her. Before her mother could say anything else, Emeline spoke, “I will marry him. There is nothing you can do to change my mind.”

  She seemed to soften. “How can you be sure his offer is true? Where did you meet this Lord Morton? I’ve not heard his name before.”

  Emeline’s pulse thrummed as she considered how to answer the barrage of questions. It would displease her mother to learn Emeline had gone to the Lyon’s Den, but she could not hide the fact.

  Not even for the sake of her feelings.

  Emeline would have to be honest. “I went to the Lyon’s Den to call upon Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

  “You didn’t!” She brought her hand to her chest. “You’re ruined! No one will have you now. Not after you set foot in such an unsavory place.”

  “No, you are wrong. Lord Morton will have me. I will be a countess.”

  “Rubbish! You have no funds to pay the matchmaking fee.” Mother stared at her, her concern deepening as evidenced by the deep lines etching her face. “Our name will be drug through the mud.”

  Emeline grinned, for she now had the upper hand. “Lord Morton paid the fee,” she said.

  “You do not find that peculiar? What do you know of this lord?” She rested her hand on Emeline’s upper arm. “He could be scandalous, a wastrel given to drink. A rake or criminal. Marrying him could make our situation far worse.”

  Emeline gave a slight shake of her head. “He wants an heir without having to engage his heart or his time in properly wooing a wife. He’s offered me a generous allowance and the run of his houses.” She stared deep into her mother’s eyes, hoping she’d understand. “He has also agreed to provide for you. He is wealthy and titled. Our problems are over.”

  “The baron is wealthy and titled, too. What’s more, we know him. He’s an upstanding gentleman and fond of you.” Mother twisted her hands together. “What will he think? I’ve already promised you to him.”

  “He is older than Father was. Nearly three times my age. I cannot…will not marry him.”

  “Be sensible. The baron would give you a pleasant life.”

  She squeezed her mother’s hands. “I am being reasonable.” As she made haste for the stairs, she called over her shoulder, “Be ready by three, or I will go alone. I shan’t be late for my own wedding.”

  Emeline did not bother to look back. She hoped her mother would accompa
ny her, but in the end, it mattered not. She would marry Lord Morton. He was the perfect solution.

  Well, maybe not perfect, but he was her choice. The earl was a man who would not betray her. One who was forthcoming with what he desired. A man of her own age.

  Yes, it would be a marriage of convenience—a business arrangement where they both stood to gain what they wanted without risking their hearts. Emeline had once hoped for love, but that was long ago. Her current circumstances called for a practical match. Love did not matter, and she’d stopped wishing for it when reality taught her how fleeting the sentiment could be.

  That wish had been before her heart was torn asunder. It was before her soul had been shredded to ribbons by a smooth-talking rogue.

  Emeline shook the thoughts away. She could do without love. She’d have to, for it was not part of the agreement she’d made with the earl.

  Give him an heir, then move into a different residence and take up a separate life from her husband, just as he wished.

  She would live out the rest of her days without fear of poverty. What’s more, she’d live those years on her own terms.

  She’d have her child for company, and make friends with nearby neighbors. Lord Morton would have to come around occasionally. He’d have an interest in his son and his property. God willing, she and her husband would develop a friendship. But if they did not, she would carry on despite it.

  Surely, Emeline made the right choice. If nothing else, she’d made the only choice she could tolerate. After all, no gentlemen were calling save for the baron. There most certainly weren’t any princes coming to whisk her away.

  She had to save herself.

  And so, she would.

  The carriage ride to Mayfair passed in silence. Though Emeline turned her attention to her mother from time to time, neither spoke.

  When they arrived at Lord Morton’s impressive residence, Mother turned to Emeline, her eyes wide. “It is a stately home. Perhaps you have done well.”

  Emeline smiled as the butler admitted them to the grand home. As a footman took their cloaks, the earl appeared in the entry hall. His gaze met hers, and he nodded. “I will send a footman for your trunks.”