The Scandalous Lyon: The Lyon's Den

by Maggi Andersen

  “Most men are not so easily swayed by a pretty face when it comes to marriage,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Social standing and an excellent dowry will trump your daughter’s youthful good looks in my experience.”

  The lady had managed, with one cutting remark, to insult both her mother and her. Beverly felt a surge of anger for her mother’s sake.

  Raucous laughter floated in from the gaming room. Beverly wondered again why Mama had chosen to consult this woman. She glanced anxiously at her parent. Was it fear or panic that drove her? Couldn’t they just go home? Did it matter so much? She might find a perfectly acceptable husband in Horsham or Brighton if it came to that. But the answer came immediately to mind. At home, too much was known about them. The scandal was unlikely to reach all the way from Horsham to the ears of the haute ton, although Beverly would still be scrutinized if a splendid match was found for her. When Lord Jason entered her thoughts, desire warred with an increasing sense of hopelessness.

  A footman came into the room. He bent and murmured something in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s ear. She replied with words too soft for Beverly to hear. When the door closed behind him, the woman busied herself at the tea tray, pouring hot water into the teapot. “We are to have a visitor. Lord Jason Glazebrook is in the club. I have asked him to join us.”

  Startled, a flood of warmth rose up Beverly’s neck. Her mother nodded with a pleased smile. “Mama, I don’t see…” Beverly began.

  Her mother shushed her with a frown.

  Lord Jason strode into the room, very masculine and out of place in the fussily decorated space. Stiffening with horror, she saw that he looked uncomfortable. “Ladies.” He flourished a bow.

  “As Miss Crabtree and her mama are here, I imagined you would wish to be made aware of it, my lord. Will you join us for tea?”

  His blue eyes sought Beverly’s. Was it warm interest she found there or mere politeness? “How nice to see you again, Miss Crabtree.” He cleared his throat. “And Mrs. Crabtree. I should be delighted, but I’m afraid I shan’t be able to. I am about to take my seat at the table for a game of—”

  “They will be advised that you are to join them in a few moments, my lord,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said in smooth tones. She seized a small bell and rang it. The peal brought the footman to the room within seconds. Once the lady explained the situation, she sent him off.

  Lord Jason took the only available seat on the sofa beside Beverly. The dainty piece of furniture, with its straight back and spindly legs, caused him to shift uneasily and cross his legs away from her.

  “Miss Crabtree was just telling us how much she wanted to visit the Tower of London.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon placed a cup of tea on the table at his elbow. She offered him a plate of cakes and sandwiches. “But unfortunately, Mrs. Crabtree is unable to take her. She finds all those stairs difficult with her bad knee.”

  “You especially want to see the beasts in the menagerie, do you not, Beverly?” her mother asked. “And the ravens?”

  “I should like to very much,” Beverly murmured over her teacup. She couldn’t meet Lord Jason’s gaze for fear she would find doubt or even dismay there.

  He swallowed one of the tiny triangles of bread and washed it down with a swig of tea. “I should be delighted to accompany you and your chaperone, Miss… er…?”

  “Miss George,” Mama said promptly. “How kind of his lordship, is it not?” She reached across to pat Beverly’s hand. “Imagine how delighted everyone at home will be to hear about the wild animals. You must write a letter to them immediately on your return.”

  Lord Jason replaced the flowery teacup in its saucer. He declined the offer of another cup. “Shall I call tomorrow at two?”

  “We stay in Mayfair, my lord, at number eight Half Moon Street,” Mama said with a gracious nod.

  He unfolded his long length from the sofa. “I regret you must now excuse me, ladies.”

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon inclined her head. “Of course, my lord.”

  His long stride took him to the door, and with a brief bow, he left the room.

  “That went well, did it not?” Mama asked Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who managed to convey a level of satisfaction from beneath her veil.

  “It might be best if the chaperone gives them some time alone,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said thoughtfully. “Miss Crabtree will require further instruction on how to capture his lordship’s interest. And should she be unable to put this occasion to good use, I have something else in mind.”

  Beverly recognized that expression on her mother’s face. She had seen it before when Williston had expressed an interest in Beverly, and it caused a dreadful sense of foreboding in her stomach. She hated the dishonesty and manipulation of his lordship when he seemed terribly kind. Yet, she seemed unable to stop it, and hopeless case that she was, she still looked forward to tomorrow. And not to see the lions.

  ***

  Trying to avoid the disparaging looks of his fellow gamblers, Jason murmured an apology as he took his place at the table. The banker, another fragrantly perfumed, partly veiled woman, which made the Lyon’s Den so unique, dealt the cards.

  As he studied his hand, he thought about what had just taken place. The skillful matchmaker had coerced him. He didn’t like to acknowledge that he’d let a pair of crafty women put the squeeze on him by appealing to his code as a gentleman. But a glance at Miss Crabtree’s face told him she was nervous and not entirely in accord with her mother. He could sense the tension in her slender body as she sat beside him on the sofa. It wasn’t what he expected when most girls would have smiled flirtatiously and drew him into conversation, and he found it intriguing. She was unhappy with the situation. He wanted to know why.

  Jason tossed out a card. Admittedly, he could have refused. Made some polite excuse, declined the invitation, and left them, but the truth was, he wanted to see Miss Crabtree… Beverly, again. Once he’d realized he was way out of line seeking a flirtation with her, he had tried to distance himself, and over the past week, attempted to banish her from his thoughts. But somehow, she’d lingered, and he’d seized the opportunity to spend more time in her company. An outing with that strict, po-faced chaperone accompanying them could hardly force him into the parson’s noose. Nevertheless, with Charles’s current grumpiness in the back of his mind, he was determined to be discreet and not allow a whiff of scandal to attach itself to him.

  When Gordon Chervil nudged him out of his reverie, Jason threw down a card. “Sorry.”

  “Have you heard about Harold Simkins?” Gordon asked, frowning at his cards.

  “Harry? No.”

  “He’s become engaged.”

  “He always said he’d never marry,” Jason said.

  “Well, he is about to.”

  “Who is the lady?”

  Gordon shrugged. “Don’t know. Mrs. Dove-Lyon introduced him to her.”

  “I wonder how that came about.” Jason stared across at the doorway leading to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s private chamber.

  “No idea,” Gordon said darkly. “But Harry doesn’t look ecstatic.”

  “Mm. Marriage, what man does?” Jason asked.

  The game ended. He gathered his winnings, said his goodbyes, and went to exchange them for blunt from the woman in the cage. She murmured politely in her rich voice, then pushed a stack of coins across the counter to him.

  Jason pocketed the money and left the club. He made his way home to change. He’d planned to spend a quiet dinner at White’s with friends and perhaps a game of billiards.

  ***

  The next afternoon as Jason was leaving the house, Charles emerged from his study and waylaid him in the hall. “Going out?”

  “Yes.” Charles looked peaky in Jason’s opinion. “I have an engagement.”

  “Not at that den of iniquity, I hope.”

  “No.” He was glad to be able to deny it. “I am visiting the Tower with a party.”

  A dark brow rose. “The Tower of London?” Charles asked, his voice fairly dripping with incredulity.
<
br />   “Mm. You have the right of it. To view the wild animals and the ravens.”

  “And who might make up this party?”

  Jason continued his stroll to the front door. “No one you know,” he said over his shoulder.

  “I imagined not.” Charles, not finished with him, came after him. “If it’s what I fear, for God’s sake, take care!”

  Jason couldn’t help himself; he swung around. “What do you fear?”

  “You forming an attachment to the wrong sort of woman.”

  “And what is the right sort? Lady Mary Smeaton, who spends every waking moment in the stables or on a horse? Or Jennifer Collingwood, who wishes she could go on the stage?”

  Charles fought a grin. “It doesn’t much matter who it is. You are too young to marry.”

  A touch uneasy, Jason shrugged. “Who said anything about marriage?”

  “Need I remind you that you are the brother of a duke?” Charles crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “You are, therefore, fair game on the marriage market.”

  Jason chuckled. “So, you don’t think it’s my good looks and charm that causes a flutter in a lady’s chest?”

  “You’d best leave the young lady’s chest alone,” Charles said with a flicker of humor in his eyes. “It’s her family which concern me most.”

  “Give me credit for some commonsense.”

  “Do you believe you’ve exhibited a shred of commonsense in the past?”

  “It’s just that you don’t trust me. Do you, Charles?” Jason asked, prodding at a sore point between them.

  “When you prove to me that you’ve gained some wisdom, perhaps. But until then, I’ll be watching, Jas.” He frowned. “I’m not about to stand by and let you ruin your life.”

  “Or leave a stain on the Glazebrook family name?”

  “That, too.” Charles waved a hand. “Enjoy the Tower. I can’t wait to hear all about those animals. And the ravens.” He disappeared back into his study.

  His brother’s bad temper had little to do with him, Jason decided. In all probability, it had more to do with their father’s dying wish, and Charles, who was scrupulously honorable, would grant that wish, whether it pleased him or not. And by the looks of it, it didn’t.

  As he headed out to the street to hail a hackney, Jason tamped down his deep regret for the fracturing of their relationship, the loss of the bond he and his brother once shared. Seven years older, Charles had been the big brother every boy wished for. He’d carried Jason on his shoulders, and later, played endless games with him in the schoolroom when he was home, pastimes which must have bored him silly. Charles taught him to ride, to curry a horse, and take care of it. How to judge good horseflesh by taking him to Tattersalls horse auctions, how to spar, and fence. How to tell right from wrong. To value those things that mattered. It had served him well during his years at university until that fateful day.

  Chapter Four

  “I do hope his lordship doesn’t feel obligated,” Beverly said again as she faced her mother’s appraising glance in her bedchamber. “It will be a dreadful afternoon if he wishes to be elsewhere.”

  “Don’t be foolish.” Mama retied the green bonnet ribbons at one side of Beverly’s chin. “Of course, he wishes to spend the day with you. What gentleman wouldn’t?” She tugged at the brim of the straw bonnet decorated with silk primroses and greenery.

  “I just wish he had invited me instead of…”

  Her mother shook her head. “No one twisted the gentleman’s arm, Beverly. You must smile and do as Mrs. Dove-Lyon has suggested.”

  “I don’t like her.” Beverly frowned. “She is too devious.” She did not add that the woman had encouraged her mother to be deceitful, too. Beverly had struggled over the past months to hold up her chin and be confident, and this made her feel worse.

  Mama sighed. “You know we need the woman’s help. What with our circumstances such as they are, we do not have the luxury of distinguished relatives or a handsome fortune. Although your breeding is as good as anyone’s, and I’ll declare that until my dying breath,” she added raggedly, sounding as if it might well be.

  “Oh, Mama.” Beverly hugged her.

  She wished she could be as sure as her mother that this was the right course to take. However, expressing her doubts seemed a waste of time, for Mama and Mrs. Dove-Lyon believed they had snared the interest of a duke’s brother. A noble family.

  She sighed. If only she didn’t like Lord Jason quite so much. If only he wasn’t so attractive, so wonderful to be with, she might quietly bring about an end to their plan. In truth, her actions were every bit as dishonorable as Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s. How weak and ineffectual she’d become of late. She’d been swept along like a feather in the wind. It was just that she hated letting her mother down after all her sacrifices and returning home a complete failure.

  Beverly drew on her yellow kid gloves. Perhaps Lord Jason, whom she suspected was no fool, would outwit the lady. But the thought merely filled her with gloom and left an empty feeling in her stomach.

  ***

  On reaching Half Moon Street, Jason asked the jarvey to wait. He leaped out onto the road, aware of the perilous surge of delight he felt at the prospect of spending the whole afternoon with Beverly and stood, waiting for a gap in the busy traffic to cross to the three-story, red, brick townhouse.

  After giving the matter considerable thought, he still had been unable to pin down why he had agreed to this outing. Beverly’s doe-like, brown eyes were undeniably lovely, but many beautiful girls had made their come-out this Season. Perhaps because they came from the upper echelons of society, and any attention he gave them would be expected to result in an offer, so he’d kept his distance.

  Beverly’s family remained a mystery. Shrewd Mrs. Dove-Lyon would have made mention of it had it been favorable. As things stood, there was no possibility of him tying the knot with Beverly. And do what she might, Mrs. Dove-Lyon could not overcome the obstacles that would lie in their path. Undoubtedly, the matchmaker took Mrs. Crabtree’s money under false pretenses.

  But he had to concede that Beverly was nothing like the usual run of debutantes who had been raised in cotton wool. She had a way of observing him beneath those long lashes as if she understood him and could read his thoughts. A young lady who seemed mature beyond her years, she didn’t flirt like other young women, but she liked him, that much he knew.

  Despite the main attraction being his family name, he was aware that some women liked him for himself but wasn’t particularly interested in discovering the reasons for it. He was not one of those fops preening over his appearance. Neither had his father been and nor was Charles.

  Charles! The mention of his brother made him pause in the middle of the street and be yelled at by a passing wagon driver. He raised his hand in apology and darted across to gain the pavement. His brother would be furious, and surprisingly, the idea of making his him angry no longer appealed to him. Even if Michael had died a while ago following a long distressing illness, the pain of that loss still lingered. Jason wanted peace. Although in his brother’s present mood, Jason had no idea how to bring that about. He should keep his nose clean, but what was he doing? He grinned. Precisely what Charles would disapprove of.

  It was a warm spring day as he mounted the steps to the front door. A maid admitted him to the foyer and asked him to wait in the parlor.

  A few minutes later, the door opened, and there she was, every bit as pretty as he remembered, in a primrose-yellow dress and pelisse, a flowery bonnet framing her face. Jason took her hand, breathing in the faint scent of violets which he’d come to acquaint with her. Beside her, her mother smiled warmly. Miss George stood silently in the background, her hands clasped demurely in front. Jason nodded to her, intending to stay on her good side. This produced a slight curtsey, but no sign of a smile. Convinced she was one of those women who didn’t like men, he felt slightly defeated. He shook off his unease and greeted her mother.

  “Now
, you young people go off and enjoy yourselves,” Mrs. Crabtree said heartily. “I only wish I could join you, but my knee…”

  Beverly kissed her cheek. “I wish you could, too, Mama.”

  They left the house, and he ushered the ladies into the hackney. Jason took the seat opposite, and the jarvey urged the horse out into the traffic.

  “Are you enjoying your time in London, Miss Crabtree?” Jason said with a smile at the chaperone.

  “Oh, yes.” Beverly fiddled with the furled, frilly, white parasol on her lap. Everything about her was dainty and pleasing to the eye. “I am very much looking forward to this afternoon, my lord. Is this your first visit to the Tower menagerie?”

  He drew his gaze away from her perfect mouth. “Ah, no. But I was a mere lad last time. I am eager to see it again.”

  When their gazes met, hers was slightly quizzical. “I do hope so.”

  Had he given her reason to doubt it? He turned to the chaperone. “Miss George, have you visited the Tower?”

  Her stern look raised a regrettable memory of his governess.

  “I have not. I am a student of history, my lord. So much that is lamentable occurred there. I feel strongly that the Tower should not be viewed in such a frivolous light.”

  “Quite so,” Jason said. As the chaperone was now staring out the window, he winked at Beverly. The gloved hand at her lips didn’t completely hide her smile.

  Dash it all, she reminded him of a sunflower, no, an early spring snowdrop, delicate and pale. “We might stop at Gunter’s on the way home for dessert,” he said.

  Her big eyes widened. “How delightful. I have a dreadful sweet tooth.”

  Apparently, her penchant for sweets did not put on pounds in the wrong places. He cleared his throat. “I rather enjoy an ice cream myself. Would you care for one, too, Miss George?”

  He was surprised when a flush spread over the woman’s cheeks. “Yes, thank you, my lord.”

  Ah, maybe the way to Miss George was through her palate.

  When they alighted at the Tower, Jason offered Beverly his arm. Miss George, declining his other arm, strode purposely forward.