Vanessa felt certain Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled behind her veil. She’d wager half her fortune it wasn’t a benevolent, upward sweep of her mouth.
“I own the Lyon’s Den,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon reminded him icily. “I do what I wish. Your title has no bearing whatsoever on my decision. You are a cheat, and even so, you owe the house thousands of pounds, which I expect you intend to pay promptly.”
That most definitely held an unspoken threat.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon gravitated her attention to Owen. “And you, Mr. Elligon, are a sniveling mushroom, always hanging on the coat sleeves of others. I’ve only tolerated your presence this past fortnight because you lose profusely, and so regularly, I’d be a fool not to take advantage of your ineptitude. And unlike Pimbleton, you’ve paid your gambling debts thus far.”
Vanessa had never met such a coldly calculating woman.
“See what you’ve done, Vanessa?” Owen sneered, hatred stamped upon his perspiring features. “A match between you and Pimbleton would’ve benefited everyone. You’ll pay for this, you selfish, ungrateful bitch. Just see if you don’t. I’m not done with you yet.”
“Come near her again, Elligon, and you’ll have me to answer to.” Kingston’s lethal tone and flinty gaze would’ve intimidated a man far braver than her spineless stepbrother.
Owen blanched but remained arrogantly defiant. He’d never been one to exercise common sense. “Barclay, this is none of your affair.”
“Ah, but I’ve made it my affair.” Another smile cocked Kingston’s strong mouth. “I promised Gabriel I’d look after his mother and sister.”
Vanessa’s regard snapped to his face, and she knitted her forehead in puzzlement.
He had?
So why had he never called or written all these months?
Did he even know Mama had died?
“Well, since my stepmother had the grace to die shortly after Gabriel did, you won’t have that burden foisted on you as well, as I did.”
Pain and outrage stalled Vanessa’s breathing for a heartbeat.
How dare he, the ungrateful wretch?
He’d been a burden to them, practically since his father had been laid to rest. Always needing funds and sending his overdue bills to Mama to pay. Requiring certain foods to be prepared and harassing the servants to no end with his trivial demands.
“You were never responsible for us, you loathsome piece of human excrement,” Vanessa said with as much composure as she could marshal. “Nor did you do a single thing to make our lives easier or provide for us. Both of which, I’ll remind you, were done for you for years without a word of thanks or appreciation.”
“When my father married your mother, everything she possessed should’ve rightfully become his,” he seethed, leaning toward her. “But the goddamn fool man was in love and permitted your mother to keep her monies and properties. Just as he did you.”
Ah, so that was what had chaffed his bum all of these years. Envy.
She angled her head. “No, the women of my family are intelligent and intrepid and have used those qualities to assure their possessions remain theirs.” Slanting a glance to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, she found the woman studying her with what might have been approval. “I’m sure Mrs. Dove-Lyon can appreciate that sentiment.”
“Indeed, I can,” the proprietress acquiesced. “Well done, you and the females of your line.”
“We’ll see, Vanessa,” Owen jeered, a drop of spittle at the corner of his mouth. “There are ways.”
The asylum. Bedlam.
He’d have her declared insane and lock her away to suffer God only knew what horrors.
Vanessa shrank into Kingston, and he wrapped an arm around her waist in a protective gesture.
A feral sound vibrated in his throat as if he sensed her fear and would like to rip Owen limb from limb for causing it.
“Egeus, remove Mr. Elligon and Lord Pimbleton,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon snapped. “My patience is at an end with that rabble.”
Owen pulled and twisted, but was no match for the Egeus who held his arm in a beefy fist and hauled him along. The other burly man followed close behind while the fourth guard remained near his employer.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon turned and began moving again as if the whole thing hadn’t occurred or was of so little import, she couldn’t waste another moment on it. The train of her elegant gown swished softly on the floor as she glided away.
Vanessa had come to reclaim her brooch, and she wasn’t leaving without it.
“Where is my diamond and sapphire brooch, Owen? You stole it from me today.”
“Prove it, Vanessa,” Owen taunted, teeth bared like a rabid wolf.
“You’ve been sneaking into my house, stealing my jewelry, and pawning it for months.”
“Christ on the cross,” Kingston muttered, his tone as harsh as broken glass. “Bloody whoremonger.”
Vanessa cast him a startled glance at the ferocity in his voice. He appeared as if he wanted to punch Owen into next Sunday. His hands were fisted, and sheer wrath sparked from his light blue eyes.
Owen slid his shifty gaze sideways, no doubt trying to contrive another taradiddle to cover his worthless, lying behind.
She squared her shoulders and jutted her chin up. “I’ve reported your thievery to the authorities and intend to press charges if you ever approach me or my home again.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon paused and half-turned back toward them. “Please describe your brooch, Miss Becket.”
Owen went pale again. A sickly shade of old dough. Quite unbecoming.
Likely the lout knew full well if the gem was located in the gaming hell, he was done for. Mrs. Dove-Lyon didn’t seem the sort to consort with thieves. At least not openly. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.
“It’s quite old and diamond-shaped,” Vanessa said, fully aware of the venom-filled gaze Owen stabbed her with. He’d always been jealous and petulant. “The perimeter and a cross-section are studded with small diamonds. Six large sapphires run vertically down the center.”
“Titan, locate Miss Becket’s brooch and bring it to my salon.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon motioned toward her remaining henchmen. “Oh, and do notify the constable about the stolen gem.”
Chapter Six
Vanessa couldn’t help but shoot the woman a flabbergasted glance. Mrs. Dove-Lyon must, indeed, want to keep on the favorable side of the law.
Owen made a strangling noise as he clawed ineffectually at Egeus’s hand, which gripped his arm as easily as if it were a fragile flower stem.
Titan gave a short, deferential nod. “At once, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
Then, moving surprisingly swiftly and with an agility, which Vanessa wouldn’t have expected from someone with such a large frame, Titan took his leave.
Egeus brusquely hauled Owen down the corridor. Her stepbrother protested and issued dire threats toward Vanessa and Kingston with each dragging step. He wasn’t rash enough to do so against The Black Widow of Whitehall.
Perhaps he possessed a modicum of common sense, after all.
Muttering filthy slurs the whole while, Lord Pimbleton followed of his own accord.
What horrid, vulgar, offensive creatures.
How could Owen have ever thought she’d agree to marry such a foul man?
“Mr. Barclay, you’re already twenty minutes late for your appointment. Do not keep me waiting any longer, lest I change my mind about assisting you with your…”
Vanessa swore the woman slid a considering gaze toward her once more.
“Your…situation.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon fell into step once more.
“What situation?” Vanessa whispered as Kingston, the chiseled angles of his face strained, towed her along after the proprietress. He was thinner than she’d remembered, hollows accenting his pronounced cheekbones and purplish half-moon arcs shadowing his eyes. But then, he had been at war, and God only knew what horrors he’d witnessed and suffered.
Or mayhap, he’d been ill.
Precisely why was he here tonight anyw
ay?
He glanced down at her, his features grim and white lines bracketing his mouth. Something undefinable shone in his eyes the color of a clear spring sky first thing in the morning. “She’s meant to find me a wife. An heiress who will marry me, provide a substantial fortune, and in turn, will become a duchess when I inherit the dukedom.”
He hadn’t said, “My duchess,” and Vanessa somehow thought that significant.
Nonetheless, she couldn’t keep her jaw from sagging, and she pulled on his arm to slow his progress.
“Kingston!” Vanessa tugged harder. “You simply cannot do something so awful. Marry someone you don’t care for purely for money? It’s untenable. If you are short of funds, I come into my full fortune in eight days. I’d be happy to loan you, interest-free, of course, whatever you need for as long as you like.”
She instinctively knew he’d never accept a gift of money. His manly pride wouldn’t permit it. But he’d been such a loyal friend to Gabriel, how could she not offer to help him? His circumstances must indeed be dire to resort to such extreme tactics.
Kingston touched her cheek with a bent knuckle, and her breathing stuttered once more.
What was wrong with her?
It must be the cumulative shock of the evening’s events taking a toll on her. And having skipped dinner. Yes. That was it.
A melancholy smile played around the edges of his mouth. A mouth Vanessa had noticed far too many times in the past few minutes. That she could not blame on hunger or nerves, and she positively refused to place a name upon whatever the cause was.
“You are so much like Gabriel. He had the same generous, unselfish heart.”
“Mr. Barclay. I am waiting,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s sing-song voice had a steely inflection that made Vanessa’s skin pucker. She’d disappeared like a wraith into a room at the end of the corridor.
“She scares the spit out of me,” Vanessa confessed in an urgent whisper, flapping her free hand around her face. “Especially that veil. Do you think she’s scarred or deformed?”
Kingston chuckled, quite the most delicious masculine rumble Vanessa had ever heard, and her body hummed in a newfound awareness.
“Me too. I think she wears it to be mysterious,” he said, also keeping his voice low. “She’s a veritable dragon.” He glanced around. “Should’ve named this place The Dragon’s Den, if you ask me,” he quipped with a saucy wink.
A giggle slipped past Vanessa’s lips before she abruptly cut it off.
A few minutes ago, she was at her wit’s end, and now she giggled like a schoolgirl.
At the entrance, Kingston glanced down at her. “Shall we advance into her lair together? Present a united front?”
“Indeed, sir knight. I believe we must.” Another giggled tickled her throat, but she squelched it.
The corners of his eyes crinkled in jollity as he made a pretense of looking about again. “Alas, there are no swords or shields for which we might protect ourselves.”
“I trust you to protect me.” She batted her eyelashes and put the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic fashion.
“With my life, fair maiden,” he said with another raffish wink. “Onward.”
They entered the salon to find Mrs. Dove-Lyon holding a glass of umber colored spirits. One elegant arm crossed over her chest, she tapped her fingers impatiently on her other upper arm. Flicking her wrist, she silently waved them to a settee with practiced, imperial indolence.
Her insouciance manner didn’t fool Vanessa.
She wouldn’t be surprised if armed men weren’t hiding behind the draperies, their pistols pointed at her and Kingston this very minute.
“Brandy? Sherry? Champagne?” their hostess offered, sounding the most cordial she had since coming upon Vanessa and Kingston.
Vanessa shook her head as she untied her mask.
She sighed in relief as she lifted the satin from her face. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, but she didn’t like the cloying sensation it created.
Kingston demurred, as well. “No, thank you.”
His gaze caught Vanessa’s, and for several heartbeats, time hung suspended. His compelling gaze probed hers, wonder, and awe in the depths of his crystal-blue eyes. Little golden flecks glittered there, and she found herself never wanting to look away.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon pointedly clearing her throat brought Vanessa crashing back to the present.
“Miss Becket, you’ve thoroughly complicated my plans for Mr. Barclay,” she said, coming directly to the point.
Why did Vanessa have the distinct impression the woman was taking her measure. Again.
“I have?” Vanessa blinked. How could she possibly have done? “May I ask in what way?”
She slid Kingston a sideways, bewildered glance.
He skewed an eyebrow upward a fraction in a, “I haven’t a clue, either,” movement.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said matter of factly. “I’ve concluded you and Mr. Barclay have a history of some sort. I don’t normally arrange matches for gentlemen, and I hadn’t decided whether to do so in his case as yet. I generally perform my matchmaking services exclusively for ladies. We have so little power in a man’s world.”
What could Vanessa say to that?
Good Lord, she certainly wasn’t here to hire the woman for that godawful purpose.
She found the notion revolting in the extreme.
“Let me save you some time, Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” Kingston interjected. “I thought perhaps you might sponsor an auction with me”—he patted his broad chest—“as the—ah—object to be bid upon. The highest bidder becomes my duchess when I inherit the title.”
“My God, no!” Vanessa’s objection rang loudly, causing Kingston and Mrs. Dove-Lyon to whip their attention to her. A pregnant silence fell upon the room, punctuated by the tick-tock, tick-tock of the gilded bronze Parisienne mantel clock.
She didn’t care that she was intruding into a private matter.
Kingston couldn’t be sold as if he were a stud stallion. My God. The humiliation and degradation.
“No, I say.” Vanessa slapped a palm upon her knee for emphasis. “You’re not a bloody horse or a bull or a…a hog, Kingston.” Vanessa’s voice rose on the last, and she turned to him, unsure even what to say to dissuade him from this preposterous proposition. “You cannot do it, Kingston. I shan’t let you.”
He arched a dark blond eyebrow in that commanding fashion she remembered.
Dash it to Hades.
She sounded like a fishwife or a harpy.
Swallowing, she composed herself.
“What would Gabriel say?” She touched his arm, imploringly. “You know he’d never let you do such a thing. Surely you understand that I cannot either.”
“I appreciate you championing me, Vanessa.” The smile curving his mouth was sad and tender. His attention sank to her lips for a fraction before he brought it back up to her eyes.
Ah, so she wasn’t the only one obsessed with lips tonight.
“I have no other means to care for my siblings,” he confessed.
Lord, how much that must cost him to admit.
“Mother and father are dead, and unbeknownst to me, Father practically bankrupted the estate. The house and lands are well-nigh in ruins.”
He closed his eyes for a blink, and agony wrenched her heart at his obvious suffering and poignant chagrin. To have to humble himself in such a debasing manner was beyond the pale.
Kingston’s lashes fluttered, and he opened his gorgeous blue eyes. She nearly cried out at the desolation in his gaze.
“There is no other way, Nessa.” Emotion, and perhaps desperation thickened his voice. “Even if I were to find gainful employment, it would take me years to earn the funds I need. My siblings—”
He swallowed hard, and she desperately wanted to ease his pain.
He’d used her nickname. And God above, she believed at that moment, she’d do anything to veer him from the fate he’d set before himself.
&nbs
p; “Oh, Kingston.” Vanessa shook her head, refusing to believe he’d been reduced to this. To groveling. To selling himself. Refusing to let him go through with this ludicrous endeavor. “There must be.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon took a slow sip from her glass.
What was she thinking?
Did she never remove that dratted veil?
“I have what I believe is the perfect solution,” she announced with such conviction, Vanessa and Kingston jerked their heads to look at her.
“You, Mr. Barclay,” she pointed a finger at him, then directed it to Vanessa, “should marry Miss Becket.”
“What?” They exploded in unison.
“Preposterous,” Kingston said, shaking his head. “She’s my best friend’s sister. Not an unsuitable woman desperate for a husband.”
Well, she might not be desperate for one, but…
“She, Mr. Barclay, is a woman alone in the world,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Trust me when I tell you, that is not a comfortable place for any woman, rich or poor.”
That insight rather stunned Vanessa. In that way, she and The Black Widow of Whitehall were similar. In truth, other than her devoted servants, Vanessa had no one. No one to share her thoughts with. No one to laugh with. No one.
She’d actually been contemplating acquiring a pet to ease her persistent, aching loneliness. Her thoughts tumbling over one another, Vanessa sat straighter and bit the inside of her cheek.
She cast Kingston a glance from beneath her lashes.
What if…?
No. Kingston was right in this.
Of course, he was.
The idea Mrs. Dove-Lyon proposed was ludicrous.
Absurd. Ridiculous. Comical, even.
But was it truly?
Vanessa needed a husband to protect her from Owen.
Kingston needed money to provide for his brothers and sisters.
Vanessa tilted her chin and addressed The Black Widow. “Have any of your arranged matches ever been annulled?”
Kingston swiveled to look at her, his astonishment so complete, it was most endearing. “Vanessa…” he warned in a don’t-say-another-word gravelly tenor.
“Very few, in truth.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon slowly nodded. “It’s most challenging to acquire one, as I’m sure you are aware, Miss Becket.”
Loved by the Lyon Page 5
