Lyon's Prey: The Lyon's Den

by Anna St. Claire

  “Yes, my lady. Right away.” The petite maid curtsied and went to organize the bath.

  She had about thirty minutes while they were heating the water. Charlotte set down her cup of chocolate and grabbed the small package. Untying the twine and unwrapping it, she pulled out a small green velvet case with a folded note.

  Dearest Charlotte,

  Please accept this small token of my esteem. I realize this is not the wedding you desire, but I believe in the vows dictated by marriage and will be a faithful husband. I find myself looking forward to our union.

  Please wear this tomorrow for our ceremony. I saw this and immediately thought of you.

  Truly,

  E

  “How thoughtful and totally unexpected,” she whispered to herself as she gingerly opened the green velvet box. A gold emerald and diamond ring and matching bracelet glittered up at her. The ring had a large oval emerald nestled in a circle of small diamonds set in a delicate gold band. He picked this out for me. Charlotte felt a fluttering in the pit of her stomach. She had never seen a more beautiful combination of stones. She started to place the ring on her finger when she heard Jane’s voice in the hall. Her bath!

  Quickly, she scooped up the paper, box, twine, and jewelry and shoved them in the back of the drawer to her nightstand. Seeing the note had fluttered to the floor, she snatched it up and put it inside, pushing a small book in front of it all and shutting the drawer just as Jane and several servants behind her came into the room with her tub and water. Stepping in front of the small table, she touched the drawer, making sure it was closed, her hands hidden by the folds of her dress.

  “Your bath is ready, my lady,” the diminutive maid said, placing a small cake of jasmine-scented soap and a towel on the table and wiping her hands on her white apron.

  “Thank you, Jane. I would like a few minutes by myself to soak and get rid of the chill I feel. Perhaps you should come back in about twenty minutes to help me with my dress. Thank you for the soap. I love the smell of jasmine in the winter.”

  “Yes, my lady. Allow me a few moments to tend to your fire.” Jane grabbed the poker and stoked the glowing embers in the fireplace into a more robust flame, instantly warming that side of the room. “Shall I hang this dress, my lady?” Jane pointed to the dress she had chosen for the wedding, still laying across the chair.

  Dash it all! I forgot to put the dress away. Charlotte recalled Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s warning. With all the nonchalance she could muster, Charlotte responded. “Yes. I saw it hanging in the wardrobe and could not resist trying it on to see if it still fit, just to recall that wonderful day. However, the mood has passed. Please hang it for me.” She kept her voice steady.

  “Certainly, my lady. It will be nice when you are able to wear more than mourning attire.” Jane picked up the dress, shook out the wrinkles, and hung it in the wardrobe. “If you decide to wear it again, I will press it for you. The lace is so beautiful,” she fawned, fingering the edges as she tucked the garment into the closet. “I understand the need for privacy, my lady. I will give you time for your bath. Let me know if you need anything else,” she added, leaving and pulling the door closed behind her.

  Charlotte had only a little time, but she waited until they left, then pulled out the note to read it once more. “I had not expected this,” she murmured, running her fingers over the dried ink. It seemed he planned to give their union a chance. A smile tugged the corner of her mouth. Hastily, she reached for the ring and placed it on her finger. She had never imagined receiving a wedding gift from him, much less anything so thoughtful. His beautiful gesture warmed her heart. Sliding the ring onto her fourth finger, she held up her hand, turning it various angles and admiring it. I wish I had time to try both pieces on, but with Jane hovering, I need to hurry through my bath.

  Wistfully, she folded the note and placed it in the box with the jewelry, carefully sliding them all into the back of her drawer and adding two small tomes in front of it to keep the gift hidden. Then she readied herself for her bath and slipped into the warm water, relaxing against the back of the tub. The jasmine soap smelled delightful. She lathered up her hands, washing first her legs, then her arms before moving to the rest of her body.

  Closing her eyes, Charlotte sunk further into the water and contemplated her future once more. Something could be said for being the wife of a wealthy earl. Perhaps Mama and Jason could come and live with her, at least until she was certain that her new husband could gain guardianship over her brother. Nibbling her lower lip, she realized with renewed clarity the value of the gift her Evan had just sent her. It was a promise of protection, something she needed at this time in her life. They needed each other for different reasons, she mused.

  When did he become Evan to her? She recalled having heard his first marriage was a love match. She thought about the gift and the note. This will be a marriage of convenience, but could there be a chance for more? What about his drinking? The image of her brother almost getting hit by his carriage flashed through her mind. She needed to forgive him to allow their marriage a proper chance. Could she?

  Lingering, she waited until the water was almost cold before finally standing and drying herself. She needed to protect the opportunity Mrs. Dove-Lyon had secured for her and was determined to look at her impending nuptials differently.

  Jane would be back in mere minutes. Charlotte credited this as the most enjoyable bath she could remember. She craved the solitude, wishing she had a little more time to reread the note Evan had written her. Distractedly, she tried out his name on her lips. “Evan.” She enjoyed the sound and the way it rolled off her tongue so easily. She could admit to an attraction to him, although she was unwilling to concede it to anyone else, especially him. Is it contrived? she wondered. Could there possibly be a chance for the two of them in a marriage forced by convenience? Should she speak with him about the alcohol?

  Loud voices coming from downstairs heralded her uncle’s arrival. She heard a strange voice. Did he have someone with him? Worried but not understanding why, she rushed herself from the tub and drew behind the screen in her room. Next time she bathed, she would have Jane place this between the tub and the door. There will be no next time, ninny. You will be married, she chastised herself. Adjusting to her new circumstances was proving difficult.

  Footsteps stomped up to the door. Her uncle! She threw her chemise over her head, shivering from not being able to fully dry. At least the room had warmed.

  Three raps on the door announced Jane, who slipped into the room and turned the lock on the door behind her. “It is me, my lady,” she whispered loudly. “Your uncle is here and is demanding to see you in the study. I locked the door behind me in case he forgot himself.”

  “Thank you, Jane. I cannot imagine what he wants with me. Umph! Can you help me with this?” Charlotte stopped trying to pull the laces to her corset and turned around for Jane.

  Jane began securing the corset strings.

  Charlotte leaned against the doorframe and could feel the familiar routine of the laces being tightened one space at a time. Jane was fast.

  “Lean in, and I will slide the dress over your head.” Jane had selected a muted gray merino trimmed in lace with three delicate rows of small seed pearls centered on the bodice. The sleeves were loose and gathered at the wrist with a small band of lace on the bottom. The dress fell perfectly over her curves.

  Once the back ribbon was secured, Charlotte began to feel warmer. “Can we put my hair up in a simple fashion? I think I should have washed it, but with the commotion downstairs, I rushed out of the tub to begin dressing.”

  “Yes, my lady, I will pull it up into a chignon with some curls.”

  The doorknob jiggled, followed by a loud knock. “Lady Charlotte, are you in there?”

  It was her uncle. “I am not presentable at the moment, Uncle.”

  A loud harrumph. “See that you show yourself in five minutes in my study.”

  Papa’s study, she contradic
ted silently, furrowing her brow in anger. “Yes, Uncle.” She kept her tone flat. What could this be about?

  “There you go, my lady.” Jane stepped back, pleased with her work. She grabbed the silver-backed looking glass and held it up from behind Charlotte’s head so she could see her hair in her mirror.

  “I have never seen this particular style, Jane. You are always so efficient and make my hair look lovely! You are such a treasure,” Charlotte murmured as she studied her perfection.

  “You best slip your shoes on and get downstairs, my lady. I will tidy your room.”

  Charlotte gave a quick glance to her nightstand, satisfied that she had hidden her gift. Jane had forgotten to ask about it, something which now pleased her to no end. She was not in the habit of lying to her family and staff and felt a bit in over her head today. Pinching her cheeks, she stepped into a pair of gray satin slippers. Giving a quick tremulous smile at Jane, she rushed out the door and down the stairs.

  “Charlotte!” Mama whispered her name loudly from a slight crack in the parlor door.

  She stopped and stood near the door. “Do you know what Uncle is wanting?” Charlotte whispered. Her body felt taut with tension.

  “I believe I overheard him say something about you being out without a chaperone. I would come with you, but if I do, he will know my wits are about me. Disagree with him and tell him he is mistaken. I am sorry to tell you to lie, but he is up to mischief. It will take him time to track down the truth, and we will be on our way by morning. Trust me,” her mother whispered before pushing back from the door and closing it.

  Nervous, Charlotte took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. Matt had taught her that. She wished with all her heart that he was there. None of this would be happening if he was. Her brother had always been her hero. She could use a hero right now. Evan’s face flashed in her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut as if that would erase it. Summoning her courage, she squared her shoulders and opened the door to her father’s study.

  “Ah, there you are,” her uncle bellowed. It was unusual for him to yell. He sounded oddly nervous, as if something had gone wrong. “Sit,” he demanded, walking to the brandy decanter and pouring himself a measure. Turning with the glass, he walked to the front of the desk and leaned against it in front of the chair she occupied.

  “Yes?” She focused on his chin, deciding that she could keep a cooler demeanor if her entire being could focus. It worked as a child to focus on Papa’s eyes. But Uncle was not nearly as nice, and she preferred the chin, hoping he didn’t dribble his brandy because she would laugh.

  “It has come to my attention that two days ago, you were seen in a carriage belonging to Lord Clarendon.” He narrowed his gaze at her as he drew a sip from the glass.

  Charlotte narrowed her own eyes, quickly deciding that taking the offensive was the better position and summoning up enough ire and indignation to address the man. She took a chance on their staff that no one here would have reported her to him. Therefore, it had to be someone outside the house. She would focus on who later. The shade had mostly been down, except for when they had driven through Mayfair.

  For now, she would call his bluff. “No, Uncle. How . . . why would I do that? And who would say such a thing?” she demanded, mindful not to overplay her position. She needed to give him enough pause to question his source. This was not a conversation in which she wanted to participate. She hated deception, but she was learning that surviving as a woman within the confines of ton mores was an education in itself. Careful not to lose her contact with his chin, she kept her eyes steady.

  He quirked a dark eyebrow at her. “I see . . .” he responded, still staring at her. He looked down into his glass and took another swig before walking back to his desk chair and sitting.

  Charlotte sensed she had won that small battle. He looked skeptical and puzzled, probably at both her and his source. “Who would say that? I have done no such thing!”

  “Relax, gel. For now, let us put it aside,” the baron huffed. “I have something to tell you. If your mother was not mourning so much, I would say she should be here, but as it is, she is not right. That is a problem for another day. I have a visitor that will be here at ten tomorrow. And I want you looking your best.”

  “May I ask who your guest will be since it affects me?” she asked flatly.

  “You may. Lord Burton will be here tomorrow. He has inquired of you, and I believe him to hold some interest.”

  Charlotte controlled her repulsion. Lord Burton may be a marquess, but he was reputed to be a cruel toady. This confirmed he was the person Mama had overheard her uncle speaking with regarding a betrothal. Fighting back the bile that surfaced in her throat, she summoned a reply. “I am not acquainted with Lord Burton. How did he come to know of me?” she asked in a soft voice.

  He harrumphed and eyed her critically. “I am not sure where he met you. Certainly a question for me to ask before the papers are signed,” he added, giving a sardonic laugh. “But he is most anxious to meet you.”

  “Is that all?” She wanted to flee as far as her feet would carry her.

  “Yes, gel. But I am curious about one thing,” he said as she stood to leave. “You did not say you had not met Lord Clarendon in your denial.” His voice was laced with suspicion.

  “You did not ask if I knew of Lord Clarendon. You accused me of riding in his carriage,” she responded coolly.

  “You always were a cagey one.” He sneered. “Do you . . . know him?”

  “I know who Lord Clarendon is by reputation. His wife died fairly recently, is that correct?”

  “Yes. Quite right. His wife died giving birth to their son. However, my opinion is he is not an honorable man and should be avoided. You get my inference, I feel sure. You are a smart one—too smart for your own good, if you ask me,” he added, glowering at her. “I believe we understand each other.”

  Charlotte shuddered at the cruelty her uncle exposed. “Yes, Uncle. Quite sure that we do. Is that all?” She felt the uncontrollable urge to flee his presence. She had barely skated by his inquisition and needed air.

  “It is. Close the door behind you,” he replied gruffly, dismissing her with a wave of his hand as he swigged the last of the brandy in his glass.

  Charlotte summoned all the will she possessed to remain calm and maintain her decorum, determined to walk slowly to the parlor. Looking around, she whispered to her mother. “Mama, please wait here, and I will come to you when he leaves.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Picking up her skirts, she moved upstairs as quickly as possible and closed the door to her room.

  Chapter Seven

  Upon leaving the Lyon’s Den, Evan had ridden first to Banbury’s townhouse and told him of the upcoming nuptials, then together they went straight to Dean’s office. His man of business assured them he could pull information together and deliver all he could find by early the next afternoon.

  Not known for his trusting nature, Evan stared at the envelope with Dean’s report concerning Baron Langdale. The whole marriage business had stirred his curiosity to take a closer look at everyone involved in this union. Banbury sat across from him in his study as he held the packet and reflected. “Yesterday was the first night in a long time that I failed to attend the Den to drink or play games.”

  “I am sure your body and your wallet thank you.” Banbury snorted, then inclined his head toward the packet. “What does it say, Clarendon?” His friend swirled his scotch, then took a long sip.

  Evan took his letter opener and ran it along the edge of the packet, then pulled out the documents. “Hmm. This is rather enlightening. I had expected a delay in receiving this, but Dean’s association with Lord Romney’s affairs helped immensely. He had much information at his fingertips.”

  “What does it say?” Banbury interjected, sitting up a little straighter.

  He read further. “We were right. The baron is spending as much of Romney’s money as he can. It appears checks have been written to his ow
n estate and others to people well-known in the investment arena. These monies could be covering debts he created dabbling with stocks.” He absently rolled the handle of his wax stamp in his hand while he read. “No, it is worse than I thought. Dean traced Langdale’s losses, and it appears the man lost quite a lot of money in the slave trade. I cannot feel sorry for him. Langdale bought part interest in a shipping company known to be heavily involved in slave trading.”

  “I say, that sounds unfortunate,” his friend said.

  “Indeed. Since the wars have concluded, much of Europe have added their muscle to the enforcement of the Slave Trade Act, and hopefully together, they will put an end to the whole nasty business. Shipping companies such as his are suffering badly.” Evan passed the report to Banbury and leaned back against his desk, folding his arms.

  Banbury perused the statement for a few moments. “What do you make of this notation on the bottom of Dean’s report?” He edged closer to his friend, pointing to a post about a visit from Lord Thomas Burton. “That does not seem good to me. The marquess is known for his cruelty and womanizing. I try to never share the same air space with the man.”

  “Is he married?” Evan heard himself ask. Something feels wrong here.

  “No. There was a widow years ago that he was rumored to be involved with. Some speculated they would marry, but I believe she died suddenly. Tragic, really. There was some scandal about her death, but no one was charged. Let me think.” Banbury sat back in the leather chair and stared at the ceiling before rocking forward and landing his chair on all legs. “Lady Paula James, the widow of Viscount James, who died several years ago,” he said in an excited voice. “I knew if I thought about it a moment, I could recall it.”