Loved by the Lyon

by Cameron, Collette

  Vanessa tapped her chin as she squinted across the room, her vision focused on nothing in particular. Her mind whirled dizzily as she considered the possibilities, discarding useless conjectures with alacrity until she settled on a suitable scheme.

  “Vanessa, you cannot possibly be considering her suggestion,” Kingston said, aghast, alarm crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be amused, affronted, or bewildered.

  “Don’t you want to marry me, Kingston?”

  “I…” Staring at her, he raked a hand through his golden mane. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you, Vanessa. I don’t want an arranged marriage, a union of convenience with you. We’re friends, and I shouldn’t want to ruin that.”

  Her heart flipped over at him, calling them friends.

  They weren’t, of course.

  Friends stayed in touch. Corresponded. Spent time together. Were there for one another to assist in the difficult times and celebrate the happy ones.

  He’d been Gabriel’s most trusted friend, but never hers.

  “I think we should discuss the advantages and disadvantages for each of us,” Vanessa insisted. Surely she could make him see reason. “A temporary union between us would solve a dire dilemma for me, too.”

  “Temporary?” A scowl stitched Kingston’s brow together, and the appalled look he gave her suggested she might’ve just eaten a handful of grubs. Large, wriggling grubs.

  “Yes, temporary. As in short-term. Nonpermanent. Lasting for only a limited period of time.” She grinned cheekily and swore Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled behind that infuriating veil.

  “A temporary union between you and I?” he reiterated, parroting her words as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea. Or that the suggestion was so absurd, he couldn’t countenance it.

  Vanessa experienced a stab of disquiet.

  Was the concept of wedding her the cause of his reticence or the suggestion of an annulment? It didn’t matter. She’d been gifted an unexpectedly pleasant solution to a prickly situation, and by George, she meant to seize it.

  She must make him see the benefits and advantages of a union between them.

  “I advise you to listen to what Miss Becket has to say, Mr. Barclay.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon set her drink aside then sailed to the door. “I’ll give you a few moments alone to discuss the situation. Naturally, should you decide to marry, even if the marriage is eventually annulled, I still collect my usual fee,” she announced before sweeping from the room.

  Of course, she would.

  Did the mercenary woman ever do anything out of the goodness of her heart?

  Did she have a heart?

  “Vanessa, Are you utterly mad?” Kingston exploded, jumping to his feet the moment the door snicked closed behind the woman.

  A peculiar calm settled over her.

  Yes. This was the answer she’d sought. She’d never imagined such a thing, but it was the perfect solution. She needed to wed Kingston every bit as much as he needed to marry her.

  “Listen to me, Kingston. It makes absolute sense. We wed. I provide you with the funds you need to do whatever it is you need to do. And I am safe from Owen’s attempts to marry me off or have me committed to an asylum.”

  A dangerous growl reverberated in Kingston’s chest.

  “He wouldn’t dare commit you,” he said with such menace, she shivered despite the roaring fire blazing behind the intricate screen.

  She shook her head. “I believe he would. He’s already threatened to do so. You heard him imply as much tonight too.”

  “I’ll kill him,” he stated flatly. Emotionlessly.

  That was another solution—and a tempting one, if she were wholly honest—but one that would see Kingston hanged and his brothers and sisters in the poor house. Well, of course, she’d never let them be sent to the poor house.

  She wasn’t like Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, for pity’s sake.

  “No need for anything quite so dramatic, though I am flattered you’d champion me,” she demurred with a pleased upward sweep of her mouth. “A bloodied nose should suffice for the rutting bastard.”

  He made a sound somewhere between a cough and a choke before slipping once more into the composed, flippant flirt she knew so well. “I wasn’t aware your mother had died too, Nessa. Please accept my condolences. I’m sure these months have been most difficult for you.”

  Emotion clogged her throat, and looking down, she nodded and smoothed a hand over her black skirts. “They have been.”

  Vanessa wouldn’t pretend otherwise. She had plenty to eat, a very comfortable home, but the grief and loneliness had taken their toll. Not to mention Owen’s harping on about her getting married.

  “I should warn you, Kingston. I’m given to cursing on occasion.” She lifted what she hoped was a properly repentant gaze to his. “Typically, only when I’m distraught,” she murmured.

  In turn, he blinked rapidly and shook his head. “My God, you are a phenomenon. A rarity.”

  She wasn’t sure that was a compliment.

  However, Kingston was an answer to her prayers.

  A husband she could trust not to attempt to wrest control of her fortune from her. She liked him well enough. After all, they’d known each other for decades, and he’d been Gabriel’s closest confidant. He was practically family already.

  A short marriage to him would resolve her issues and his, as well.

  Why, it was a positively brilliant idea if she didn’t say so herself.

  Her imprudent foray into the Lyon’s Den had proved exceptionally fruitful, indeed.

  He hadn’t said no yet, and Vanessa pressed home her advantage before he could, not quite believing her good fortune. “Once we’re married, Kingston, Owen cannot bother me any longer. Then after a few months, we’ll have the marriage annulled.”

  “Why?” Hands on his narrow hips, Kingston gazed down at her.

  She knitted her forehead. “I’ve just explained why.”

  Quite thoroughly too.

  “No. That’s not what I mean. Why would you make such a sacrifice? You aren’t like the other women who seek The Black Widow of Whitehall’s’ services. Desperate women. Ruined women. Women who’ve been passed over time and again. Women who have no other remedy.”

  He’d have saddled himself with such a woman to protect his brothers and sisters, and something warm and heavy and poignant made her heart swell.

  Kingston Barclay was a good, good man.

  “You’re young, Vanessa. Beautiful. Accomplished.”

  He thinks I’m beautiful?

  More delicious, warmth wound through her. At this rate, she’d be half in love with him before the night ended. Would that be so bad?

  Assuredly if the marriage ended in a few months.

  He chopped the air with his hand. “You don’t have a tarnished reputation to hinder your prospects, and you’re gently-bred. And soon you’ll be quite wealthy, too. You could have any man. Why me?”

  “Why? Because I’ve known you almost my entire life. I trust you, Kingston, and I do not trust easily.”

  You haven’t seen him in almost a decade, and he didn’t even call after Gabriel’s death, an unpleasant little voice dared to remind her.

  She slammed the door on the annoying, unsolicited advice and turned the key in the lock.

  “We can make this work,” she assured him, aware of the pleading tone seeping into her speech.

  “I likely shan’t come into the duchy in the next few months,” he informed her without compunction. “To be perfectly candid, it may be years after the dissolution of our marriage. And the gossip after the annulment will be horrendous. A shroud that will haunt you always. You’ll not be accepted into society afterward,” he warned, his tone compassionate.

  “Pish posh. I’ve never cared about titles. You should know that.” Vanessa gave a little roll of her shoulder and a flip of her hand. “As for society, my friends will understand, and those who don’t aren’t
really my friends, are they?”

  Many of the upper ten thousand had looked down their noses at her family. Their wealth had been attained through hard work and investments. They smelled of the shop, as she’d been informed at finishing school.

  Better to smell of the shop than reek of arrogance, unkindness, and conceit. And old cheese.

  Sighing, his sculpted mouth drawn into a terse strip, Kingston cupped his nape. His hair shone gold in the candlelight, his eyes chips of blue ice. “Six months? We’d only be married six months, and then we’re free to file for an annulment and go our own way? You’d agree to those terms?”

  Sitting straighter, her heart climbing to her throat, Vanessa leaned forward and nodded.

  Was he actually going to agree?

  Saints above, please let him agree.

  “Yes,” she said. “Though, I’d hate for us to become distant or estranged. Mightn’t we stay in touch afterward?”

  He was her last link to Gabriel. The last person she had any attachment to in any manner except her devoted servants.

  Was she mad for asking such a preposterous thing?

  Wouldn’t that have the tattlemongers tongues flapping wildly? They’d give themselves black eyes in short order.

  She nearly giggled at the image her musing conjured.

  Kingston stared at her for so long, and with such all-pervading concentration, she began to squirm on the settee.

  What did he seek with that inscrutable, probing gaze?

  It felt as if he peered into her very soul, touching her spirit with that honest, frank blue-eyed gaze.

  “What if the annulment isn’t granted, Vanessa?” he ventured softly, after another several tick-tocks of the clock. “It’s probable it wouldn’t be.”

  “But why shouldn’t it be? We’ll keep separate residences.” She waved a hand in his direction. “You, wherever it is you’ll live, and me at my Berkeley Square house.”

  Hands clasped behind his back, his mouth a flat line, Kingston shook his head. “That won’t protect you from Elligon, and my siblings will expect to see my wife.”

  He was correct about the former, and she hadn’t considered the latter.

  “Must they know?”

  A short, bark of laughter slipped from between his lips. “How innocent you are, my dear. I assure you when we hastily wed, the gossip rags will print some unsavory, fabricated twaddle, and the other, more respectable news sheets will carry word of our nuptials. They will find out either by one means or another.”

  That was only too true.

  “I’d prefer to do the telling. Besides, I shan’t deceive my sisters and brothers.” His humor evaporated as swiftly as it has appeared. “I have much to atone for already where they are concerned.”

  “I only thought to spare them pain at our eventual parting.” Vanessa filled her lungs with air, holding it for several heartbeats before exhaling with a puff of her cheeks. “I don’t suppose you have a solution?”

  He smiled then, and the room lit up like someone had set a torch to a thousand candles. Blinded by the beauty of that smile, Vanessa blinked rather stupidly, convinced she looked like a startled deer she’d come upon once in Canterbury.

  “I might. Let me ponder it and consider all of the intricacies.” He came to stand before her, and she couldn’t help but once more appreciate what a virile specimen of manhood he was. His legs appeared all corded muscle as they flexed beneath his trousers. “May I see you home and then call upon you tomorrow?”

  “Of course.” The merest sliver of unease brushed across Vanessa’s shoulders.

  Was she making a colossal mistake?

  What did she really know of this Kingston Barclay? The young, cheerful lad with a penchant for mischief and laughter she knew well. But his somber, somewhat altered version she knew not at all.

  Had the war done that to him, combined with the deaths of his parents and near financial ruin? The mélange was enough to strain the comportment of even the most robust person.

  Forcing her apprehensions into a fusty corner, Vanessa rose as he stepped near, so close his trousers brushed her skirts. Scandalously close and yet, she made no move to rebuke him nor put space between them. Once more, his scent wafted past her nostrils, and she was certain she caught faint whiffs of musk, sandalwood, and pine.

  “Thank you, Vanessa.” Kingston took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. His gaze ensnared hers as he pressed his firm mouth to her knuckles.

  An electric shock bolted to every extremity and caused the most peculiar aching, heaviness in her womb. And lower still.

  “For what?” she managed, her voice a husky, breathy thing she scarcely recognized.

  “For so selflessly and generously offering my family and me a chance for a happy future. For giving me hope.” Genuine gratitude warmed his eyes, and yet, there was the merest hint of something unidentifiable in their liquid blue depths too. Something private and guarded.

  Well, it was far too soon to expect him to open up to her entirely, and the same was true of her.

  “Vanessa?”

  She peered up at Kingston, rather liking how delicate and feminine he made her feel. The merest hint of a beard stubbled his granite jaw, hinting at just how late the hour had grown. She had the oddest urge to run her fingertips over the roughness. To press her lips there, as well. With some effort, she collected her wayward thoughts.

  “Yes?”

  “Shall I take a knee and formally propose?” He still held her hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

  Now she knew why animals so enjoyed being petted.

  A wave of hilarity bubbled up from her middle at the absurd notion.

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she denied amid her laughter. “Ours isn’t a love-match, so there’s no need for that frilly nonsense. We’ll have our solicitors draw up a settlement that is satisfactory to both of us. When I claim my inheritance in eight days”—a glance to the mantel clock revealed the hour twelve minutes past midnight—“that is, in seven days, we’ll be wed by special license.”

  Even as Vanessa spoke so matter of factly, she felt like she was rushing headlong into the unknown.

  Well, wasn’t she?

  “And it shan’t bother you that our union shan’t be a real marriage? You shan’t have regrets?” Kingston prodded. “That it will be a charade? That there’ll be no consummation or children?”

  Vanessa felt the twin paths of heat scorching their way up her cheeks.

  “Will it bother you?” she shot back, not entirely positive why she was so flustered.

  He released her hand and stepped away. “I hope to God not.”

  She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but the door swung open, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon sailed into the room.

  Holding Vanessa’s brooch in her open palm, she fairly trilled, “May I presume congratulations are in order?”

  Chapter Seven

  Near Canterbury

  Ten days later

  From beneath half-closed eyes, Kingston observed his dozing wife of just over eight and forty hours. He’d wed Vanessa Euphemia Samantha Becket the day after her third and twentieth birthday in a simple ceremony at her Berkeley Square house, witnessed by her maid, Daisy Struthers, the Earl of Wainthorpe, and the Duke of Asherford.

  The latter two repeatedly and emphatically vowed he was out of his bloody mind at least a dozen times before Vanessa glided into the drawing room. Mouths gaping, his friends had exchanged astonished glances and said no more to dissuade Kingston from throwing his life away.

  Owen Elligon had not been invited.

  Nonetheless, Kingston made sure to have a letter delivered to the wretch’s residence, making him aware that his stepsister was legally under Kingston’s protection now. And should Elligon be imbecilic enough to venture within ten miles of Vanessa for as long as he drew breath, he’d feel the full power of Kingston’s wrath.

  Let the conniving bugger make of that what he would.

  For
the short ceremony, Vanessa had worn the diamond and sapphire brooch Mrs. Dove-Lyon had returned to her after commenting on the uniqueness of the jewel, pinned at the throat of her ice-blue and white satin gown. Clearly, the brooch held great sentimental value, but she hadn’t explained why.

  Kingston had meant to inquire, but a number of tasks had distracted him from doing so.

  Unfortunately, her other jewels had been sold, and their whereabouts were unknown. Kingston had fleetingly considered hiring an investigator to search for them, but reality had swiftly nixed that idea. Simply put, he didn’t have excess funds to spend on such a venture, particularly when a positive outcome was as likely as Vanessa wanting to stay married to him.

  Stay married?

  Where had that utterly absurd thought come from?

  Is it ridiculous? Really?

  Unable to help himself, he looked his fill, memorizing every delicate sloping angle of her face and lush contour of her body.

  Vanessa had been an ethereal vision descended straight from heaven in her finery on their wedding day. Kingston had made a mental note to purchase earrings to compliment the brooch and give it to her as a belated birthday gift. Except, once she’d transferred a portion of the monies to his account, the irony struck him full force.

  Buying her a gift with her coin was the height of poor taste. Besides, there were many, many things the funds could be better put to use for other than fancy baubles for his stunning new wife. She required no adornment to enhance her beauty.

  Since boarding the coach yesterday morning, they’d chatted about all manner of nonsensical trivialities. However, today, Vanessa’s eyelids had repeatedly drifted low, until, at last, sleep had claimed her. The past few days had no doubt been exhausting for her, as well.

  He’d been tempted to disembark the equipage and ride Tito. Tied to the back of the coach, the gelding had given him a gimlet eye each time the coach had stopped as if to say, “Do spare me further indignity and take your place upon my back rather than sit within the coach like an insipid dandy.”

  Though Kingston loved the faithful horse who’d seen him through adolescence and a bloody war, he couldn’t tear himself from Vanessa’s presence. She sat curled into the comfortable coach’s opposite corner, pretty lips slightly parted, and a pink flush on her ivory cheeks. Her eyelashes, several shades darker than her moon spun hair, kissed her high cheekbones as she slept.