The Scandalous Lyon: The Lyon's Den

by Maggi Andersen

  “You refer, I believe, to William Davies, or ‘the Golden Farmer,’ as he was called,” Jason said. “He robbed the coaches around here back in the seventeenth century. A genteel robber, he was known to treat his victims politely with the greeting ‘Pray ladies, don’t be frightened. I am in distress and money I must have.’” Jason smiled at the chaperone. “Rest assured, Miss George, no robbers have been operating in this vicinity since Davies was hanged.” He patted the Manton’s pistol in his pocket. “In any event, I have come armed.”

  “Oh! That is most comforting, sir,” Miss George called after him. “You would teach those rascals a lesson, I am sure.”

  His smiling eyes sought Beverly’s, but she looked down to hide the amusement he’d seen in them. He sought instead to distract the chaperone, by pointing out an obelisk in the distance, a brick tower built on the top of the knoll. Then the horses were urged to increase their pace while Jason rode ahead.

  A half-hour later, Jason dismounted at the White Hart Inn and instructed the groom to see to his horse. He kicked the dust from his top-boots and shed his riding coat as the chaise drove into the forecourt.

  While the team was replaced with the duke’s horses, they ordered luncheon. When Miss George went to freshen up, Jason, noting the faint crease marring Beverly’s brow, put a hand on her arm to delay her from following the chaperone from the room. “Do you regret your decision to come? Should I not have encouraged you?”

  “I wanted to come.” Her cheeks grew pink. “But I admit to a measure of uneasiness should Grandpapa fail to admit us.” Her eyes searched his. “But how can I not be grateful to you when you’ve been so generous?”

  “I don’t want your gratitude,” he said urgently, disliking the tension in her slender body. “I hope for more than that.”

  Her eyes widened. “I…I am sorry, my lord,” she said, after a pause. “If I’ve given you the impression that I might…that you…” She caught her lip between her teeth. “Please understand that I have no intentions beyond friendship. I must go and remove the travel dust, for they will shortly bring our meals.” She hurried away before he could say anything further.

  Lord, she almost ran from the room. He had been damnably clumsy. What the devil was he doing declaring himself in a public dining room? It was only because he wanted to banish the anxiety in her eyes. To make her believe she could lean on him. But he didn’t want to be just a friend. He wanted to have her in his arms, and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to act on it.

  He must be losing his mind. He had no home to offer for years, his property being tenanted and tied up in the trust. It was exceedingly doubtful Charles would give his blessing to the marriage, nor would he agree to break the trust, should it be within his power to do so. Jason realized he wasn’t entirely sure what his brother would agree to. It hardly mattered, for unless Charles had some success in Oxford, Jason didn’t feel worthy of asking Beverly for her hand.

  The waiter entered and placed a tankard of ale on the table before him. Dash it all! Modesty hadn’t sent Beverly scurrying away. She was repelled by his blunt declaration. He’d been confident she felt as he did. That she might care for him a little. It appeared he was wrong. He sat at the table and took a long draught from the tankard, failing to taste it. He’d appreciated her honesty with him about her circumstances. Was she being completely honest now? He put down the ale, spilling froth onto the table. Whether she cared for him or not, he would do what he set out to do and see her happy. For some other man to claim, he thought, clamping his teeth.

  Chapter Ten

  “Miss Crabtree, you appear a trifle flustered,” Miss George observed as they met on the stairs.

  “It is a little too warm in the parlor.” Beverly sidestepped her.

  Not to be denied, Miss George followed. “Did Lord Jason say something to upset you? I warned you his intentions may not be honorable.”

  “He could hardly make advances to me in a dining room, Miss George.” The woman was like a hound on the scent of a fox. The fact that she was uncomfortably close to the truth only made it worse.

  Her chaperone frowned. “It is my duty. Mrs. Crabtree has placed her trust in me, and I shall not fail her.”

  Her virtue could not be in safer hands; even a Bow Street Runner could do no better. Beverly forced a smile, aware she’d hurt the woman’s feelings. “I do appreciate your concern, but it’s really not necessary. I must tidy myself. Please go down. Our meals will soon be brought to us.” Beverly scurried past her.

  In the privy, Beverly peered into the small mirror she carried in her reticule as she tried to tidy her hair. Lord Jason must have meant a liaison. How could it be otherwise, with the duke so vehemently against the match that he would come to the Lyon’s Den to put an end to it?

  Miss George was right; she was naïve. She must have unwittingly led him to believe she would agree to a dalliance. Tears filled her eyes. She dashed them away and wished she didn’t love him, didn’t want him so much it made her heart hurt. But didn’t her wise nanny always say that it was foolish to ask for the moon?

  When she returned to the dining room, their meals waited untouched on the table. Jason’s serious eyes sought hers as he came to pull out her chair.

  Unable to look at him, Beverly smiled at Miss George. “I am sorry I’ve kept you both waiting. I do hope the food hasn’t grown cold.”

  He eased in her chair and returned to his own. Seating himself, he reached for the wine carafe and poured her a glass. “We should reach Upton Grey by early evening,” he said, sounding oddly solemn. “Will you go directly to your grandfather, Miss Crabtree?”

  With an effort, Beverly’s gaze met his. She trembled at the passionate look he cast her, one at odds with his tone. Her pulse raced, and for a moment, the noise around the room seemed to fade. “We are making excellent time!” she said, her voice brittle to her ears. “How fortunate we have been with the weather. We’ll spend the night at the village inn. I’ll visit my grandfather in the morning.”

  Miss George started. “Surely, I will accompany you, Miss Crabtree. Appearances must be upheld.”

  “Of course. Grandpapa will wish to meet you.” What would he make of them? She must ask Jason to distract her chaperone and allow her time alone to say her piece to her grandfather. She prodded the flaky pastry of her chicken pie, her stomach tied in knots as she forked up a piece of meat. Despite her efforts not to, she had come to rely on him far too much, but she could not bear to think of her life when he was gone from it.

  After the meal, there was no chance for conversation. They were swept out into the carriage again and back on the road.

  Beverly chatted aimlessly with Miss George as the miles passed. She flicked more than one anxious glance at Jason when he angled his horse alongside them. He frowned in thought, seemingly preoccupied. Had she disappointed him?

  The rest of their journey took them through the beautiful, undulating Hampshire countryside, dotted with churches, small farmhouses, cottages, and endless green meadows.

  As the sun sank behind the trees in the west, the carriage rolled past farm buildings and small thatched cottages. Then they negotiated a sharp turn around the village pond. Through the window, Beverly viewed the village her mother grew up in. She knew it so well; she felt as if she’d grown up here, too. Upton Grey had been brought alive by her mother’s sorrowful reminiscences. The carriage rattled past the blacksmith’s shop, the Scotch pines beside the church, and the rectory in its well-kept garden.

  They pulled into the Fox and Goose’s forecourt, and the ostler hurried out in the dim light to see to the horses. Jason escorted them inside while their baggage was removed from the carriage. Leaving him to speak to the innkeeper, a housemaid took Beverly and Miss George to the chamber they were to share.

  “Well, here we are at last, Miss Crabtree,” Miss George said as their bags, bandboxes, and portmanteau were brought in by the boot boy. “You will soon be with your grandfather.”

  �
��Yes, I am eager to see him.” Beverly forced a smile. While trepidation tightened her chest, she shook out the creases in the muslin dress she planned to wear at dinner.

  After an excellent meal, which Beverly barely tasted, they retired to the busy inn parlor for a game of cards by the fireside. Under Miss George’s disapproving gaze, Beverly indulged in two glasses of the fruity wine. With the fire warming her, she gazed sleepy-eyed at the handsome man opposite and put down the wrong card again.

  He grinned at her. “I’m not sure you meant to do that, Miss Crabtree.”

  She straightened quickly, aware she’d been admiring his mouth. “Oh? Would you please excuse me?” She laid down her cards, putting an end to their game. “It’s been a long day. I suppose I am a little weary.” She was more strung up than tired, taut as wire, while questions with no conceivable answers flooded her mind. What lay ahead tomorrow? Would Grandpapa take her in? Would he send Jason away? Might she never see the man she loved again?

  “It’s a good thing we were not playing for money,” Jason observed. “What say you, Miss George? Shall we call it a night?” When the chaperone assented, he gathered up the cards and put them away.

  Miss George excused herself to go and make sure their chamber was made ready for them.

  After she’d left the room, Jason reached across the table and placed his hand over Beverly’s. He smiled and squeezed it gently. “I look forward to meeting your grandfather. The innkeeper is a chatty fellow. He told me the barony was awarded to your ancestor by King Charles II for his support during the civil war. The abbey is impressive by all accounts.”

  Startled by the touch of his large, warm hand on hers, she drew away, feeling the heat rise to her face. “Yes, that is true, although I’ve never seen the abbey myself. Hasn’t it grown warm in here? I don’t see why we must have a roaring fire on such a mild evening.”

  “A disgraceful extravagance,” he agreed, a hint of a smile in his blue eyes.

  She smiled back, admiring the way his hair curled at his temples. “I believe I’ll have another glass of wine.”

  He raised an amused eyebrow. “Coffee might be a better choice.”

  She lifted her chin. “One more glass cannot hurt.”

  “You might feel differently tomorrow.” He poured a half glass for her from the carafe.

  She took it from him and drank, the wine easing her tension. “Tomorrow, I must speak to Grandpapa alone.”

  “I’ll take care of Miss George.” His expression clouded. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I fear it might have been unwelcome.”

  “Oh, that,” she said with a casual lift of her shoulders. “I am not upset. In fact, I am rather flattered.” She cleared her throat, aware the wine had loosened her tongue, but determined to take this opportunity to give voice to her thoughts.

  He sat back in his chair. “Flattered?”

  “Yes, that a gentleman such as you, who must have known many women, would wish to…to…invite me to…” She paused, aware there were people seated around the room, playing backgammon or card games. One lady was knitting, her needles flashing while her gaze rested on Beverly.

  His eyes widened. “I don’t believe—”

  Miss George appeared beside the table. “I’ve taken the precaution of ordering warming pans to be placed in our beds, Miss Crabtree.”

  Caught by the consternation on his handsome face, Beverly had been intent on finding the right words to explain herself and hadn’t noticed the chaperone’s approach. “How thoughtful, thank you.”

  Miss George nodded assertively. “The sheets are often damp in inns. One might catch one’s death if precautions are not taken.”

  “Yes, quite so,” Beverly agreed, her voice faint.

  Although Jason had risen to assist the woman into her chair, she pointedly remained standing.

  Forced to rise, Beverly offered her hand to him. “I shall say goodnight, sir. Thank you for bringing us here safely and in such fine style.”

  His long fingers closed over hers for a moment, then he bowed. “The pleasure has been all mine. Miss Crabtree, Miss George. Goodnight.”

  Beverly followed the chaperone from the room. If Grandpapa took her in, there might not be another chance to talk to Jason alone. She glanced back, but he was staring into the fire, the wine glass in his hand. Tomorrow would bring an end to her dreams, but despite the knowledge they had no future together, her heart refused to give up.

  ***

  Jason turned from the fire as Beverly disappeared from the room. He signaled to the waiter for another bottle. While his rampant desire was to get completely bosky, he cautioned himself to go carefully. It wouldn’t do to be the worst for wear tomorrow. And he needed his mind working clearly. What did Miss Crabtree think he asked of her? To become his mistress? What on earth had he said to give her that impression? He went over their earlier conversation. It was true he hadn’t been able to declare his intentions. Dear Lord, did she think him capable of such a low act that he would treat her so shabbily? The recollection that he had considered a brief liaison when they first met was quickly thrust away. He took a deep sip of wine. She did, apparently, and right now, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  It was past midnight when he finally settled into bed. He lay staring into the darkness while his busy mind worked for an answer to repair the damage he’d done.

  The door opened, spilling candlelight into the room from the corridor.

  What the devil! Jason sat up, searching for his pistol beneath his pillow.

  “Lord Jason?”

  “What on earth… Miss Crabtree?”

  Jason leaped from the bed, taking the sheet with him to cover his nakedness. He struck a taper and lit a candle.

  “I must speak to you.” She slipped into the room and closed the door.

  “Well, you can’t. Good grief. Not here. What if someone hears us? These walls are paper-thin.”

  She took a tentative step into the room.

  “Stay right there,” he ordered as he hunted for his banyan in the pile of clothes on the chair. Valets were annoying but damn necessary. He found the silk damask garment and shrugged awkwardly into it, then dropped the sheet. “Now.” He tied the sash, sounding brisker than he felt. “Tell me what has brought you here. Has something happened to Miss George?”

  “Miss George is asleep. She snores most dreadfully.”

  “And that is why you’ve come?” he asked inanely, fearing all the blood had abandoned his brains for a more demanding part of his anatomy. Beverly, here in his room, a foot from his bed, a nightgown beneath her dressing gown, her lovely golden-brown hair spilling over her shoulders, as he’d pictured her.

  He cleared his throat. “You must leave, Miss Crabtree,” he warned as she moved closer. “It’s too dangerous for you to be here.”

  “Beverly, please. And I’m not ready to leave.” She tripped on the hem of her dressing gown and fell into his arms.

  Stunned, Jason fell back onto the bed, taking her with him.

  “Mm.” She nestled against his chest. He breathed in her delicate perfume, a blend of flowers, while his hands brushed over her soft curves free of corsets and petticoats. For a moment, he thought he was in heaven. Then he caught himself and rolled away, putting distance between them.

  “Wasn’t this what you wanted?” she asked, sounding stricken. “Didn’t I lead you to believe that I…”

  “You thought I anticipated this? That I expect you to give me your body in lieu of payment for this trip?”

  She gasped. “It’s horrible when you put it like that.”

  “It’s horrible any way you put it,” he said, warily keeping his distance.

  “I seem to be mistaken. While I won’t become your mistress, I thought we might have one night together. But if you don’t want me.” Her voice wobbled, and she pushed away from the bed. “I’ll go.”

  He leaped up and grasped her hands, drawing her back down again. “I want you, Beverly. For my wife
. That’s what I meant by that ill-timed, rash statement.”

  She shook her head, her heavy locks stirring on her shoulders. “I just want to be with you tonight. We can never marry. I refuse to trap you into a marriage your brother clearly won’t agree to. Especially when he hears about my father.”

  “Let’s hope something can be done for your father. That is why we are here, is it not?” He stared at her. “What is this about my brother?”

  “The duke came to the Lyon’s Den while I was there. After he went in to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon, she came directly to tell my mother that a new suitor was to be found for me.” She eyed him. “Then, she introduced me to Mr. Perlew. It is fortunate the gentleman doesn’t want me because I didn’t like him.”

  A little tipsy, she made him want to laugh. To make love to her. He averted his gaze as she tugged the hem of her gown over her slender ankles. Her small feet were bare, and he’d give a king’s ransom to kiss them, to work his way up. He swallowed. “I see.”

  He thrust himself off the bed and stalked around the room. It helped him to think not to have her so close. What must be done? He swiveled and came back to her. Deciding not to go down on one knee in his flimsy garment, he sat beside her and raised her hand to his lips. “I love you, sweetheart. I have little to offer you until my twenty-fifth birthday, which is a few years off. But if we can find a way, would you marry me?”

  “Oh, Jason.” She reached up to trace a finger over his jaw. “Of course, I would, if it were possible, but we both know it’s not.” She smiled. “You might kiss me, though.”

  He wasn’t at all sure he could stop at one kiss. He’d obviously had one glass too many tonight, and his senses were reeling.

  While he was wrestling with his conscience, her arms slipped around him. She pressed her body against his and raised her chin. “Kiss me.”

  “Beverly,” he murmured hopelessly and took her mouth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jason’s hot kisses inflamed Beverly’s senses. She hugged him and kissed him back.