Fall of the Lyon: The Lyon's Den

by Chasity Bowlin

  Chapter Six

  It wasn’t even daylight when Meg awoke from a terrible dream. She’d been running, running as if her very life depended upon it. Through a long corridor that was dimly lit and filled with shadows that seemed to shift and move in an unnatural way, she’d run until she was breathless. And as she’d reached the end of it, a door had opened ahead of her to reveal her cousin, Neville, waiting for her with a leer and grasping hands. Her momentum had carried her forward into his waiting clutches no matter how hard she tried to stop.

  And then she’d simply come awake, her eyes open wide and a heavy sense of confusion crashing in on her. Where was she? Then it all came rushing back—the hasty marriage, the bargain she’d struck with her new husband, the terrible news of William’s death brought by Mrs. Dove-Lyon, and then their journey. As all of that filtered through her waking mind, she became aware of other things. She could feel the weight and press of his—her husband’s—body against hers. While he’d slept above the covers and the layers of fabric still separated their bodies, she was very aware of the weight of his leg draped over hers. During the night, his arms had closed about her and he’d pulled her in close. She could feel the faint rustling of his breath over the delicate skin of her neck, a sensation that prompted her to shiver, which in turn caused him to tighten his arms about her.

  It was a strangely comforting feeling, but one that also raised too many questions in her, too much curiosity about things she wasn’t quite ready to contend with yet. The question, of course, was how to extricate herself from his slumbering embrace. And once she did, what if he awakened and she was standing there in her underthings?

  “I’ll get up.”

  She let out a squeak of surprise, unaware that he’d awakened. “I thought you were still asleep!”

  He laughed softly. “You were thinking so loudly that you woke me. Give me a moment more to hold you and then I shall remove myself from our chamber so that you might prepare for the day.”

  Meg frowned. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to hold me?” she asked. He was terribly confounding, offering affection and comfort without seeming to want anything in return.

  He shrugged. “Because I can. Because there’s something decadent about waking with a beautiful woman in my arms. Because you’re soft and warm, and your body fits perfectly against mine. And because I hope that familiarity will foster some sense of comfort… that you will become accustomed to my touch and be less fearful of me.”

  So that they might eventually consummate their marriage. It wasn’t said, but the implication was there nonetheless. There was a strange fluttering sensation inside her at his words, at the slightly deeper and sleep-roughened gravel of his voice. It felt dangerous, somehow, to lie there with him in that way, as if perhaps she were inviting more. It was an idea that didn’t terrify her nearly as much as it should. Despite that, she made no move to protest, nor to push his arms from her. In fact, she settled more fully against him, the heat of his body scorching even through the bedding that separated them.

  Then his lips brushed against her ear, pressing a kiss there that made her go completely still. Not even a breath escaped her.

  “I’m not going to gobble you up, you know?” he teased.

  “That isn’t… I wasn’t thinking that,” she said breathlessly. “It’s all just very new to me… having someone touch me so freely and with such familiarity.”

  “Do you like it?”

  Meg considered her answer carefully. Deciding to be as honest as possible, she said, “When I don’t allow myself to think too much about it, yes. But thinking tends to complicate everything, I find.”

  He laughed at that. Not just an amused chuckle, but a full-bodied laugh that had him shaking with it as he rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling. When at last he could speak, he was breathless from it. “Truer words have never been spoken, my dear wife. And we are in complete agreement. Now, I’ll leave you to your morning toilette.”

  Meg felt the bed shift as he rose. Immediately, she felt the loss of his warmth. Watching him over her shoulder, she noted that he leaned heavily on his cane, his gait stiff and pained. Even then, he paused to stoke the coals in the fire back to life before grabbing his boots and exiting the chamber. Alone, Meg pushed the covers back and rose quickly. After seeing to her more pressing needs, she quickly donned her discarded gown.

  By the time Leo returned, she was hastily combing her fingers through her hair and trying to ease the snarls from it. When it was at least somewhat smooth, she coiled the heavy mass into a chignon and pinned it in place with the hair pins she’d removed from it the night before.

  “You should have brought your maid,” he said. “Someone to help you with such things.”

  “There was no need,” she said. “There’s a maid at Sheridan Hall who has always assisted me. She will do well enough while we are there. I may look a fright at the moment, but I’ll clean up well enough once we’re home.”

  Even as she uttered that last word, the wrongness of it settled over her. Sheridan Hall wasn’t her home anymore. It had ceased to be hers the moment Sir William passed away. The moment she’d wed, in truth. She would never reside within those walls again, not in any sort of permanent capacity.

  “It will always be your childhood home. You’ll have memories of it to cherish forever. No one can take those from you,” Leo offered, once more seeming to see straight through to the heart of her.

  Meg felt her face crumple, tears stinging her eyes as she turned away from him. “You always seem to know just what to say.”

  “Clearly I do not or you wouldn’t be crying,” he replied in dismay.

  His obvious confusion prompted a watery laugh from her. “No. These are good tears. Because you’re right. Maybe I’ll never reside there again, but I had so many happy years there. And it wasn’t the house itself that gave me happiness. It was the people I shared it with.”

  When she turned back around, he’d drawn a fresh shirt from his bag and was in the process of swapping out his wrinkled one for it. Her eyes widened. “Oh, well… I’m sorry.”

  “For seeing me shirtless? Be mindful of my maidenly sensibilities, love,” he teased. “You’ll put me to blush!”

  Meg lifted her chin. It was a challenge, she realized, to see if she would blush and stammer and fall to pieces like some ninny. Well, she was made of sterner stuff than that despite her numerous crying spells. She’d seen men without their shirts before, after all. Laborers on the farms or workmen, of course, and it was hardly the same. He was much closer, after all. He was also remarkably beautiful.

  Perhaps one shouldn’t refer to a man with that term, beautiful, but it was the only one that came to mind. With broad shoulders, sculpted muscles and curiously bronzed skin, he looked rather exotic despite his very English roots. Even as she thought it, her eyes tracked the play of muscles as he pulled the shirt over his head, muscles rippling and contracting with each movement. The light dusting of dark hair that splayed over his chest and then narrowed to a slim line that bisected his ridged abdomen utterly fascinated her. Too much. And they were alone in a room together where they’d shared a bed for the night, even if it had been entirely innocent. So she brazened it out as she waited for him to finish dressing. It seemed impossible that the act of watching someone don clothing could seem so terribly intimate, and yet it did.

  When he’d finished dressing, he offered his arm. “The carriage is ready and there’s a basket of food waiting for us below.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Meg denied quickly. The very thought of food left her feeling ill.

  “You should eat something. You hardly had a thing yesterday and I daresay that after the service you won’t be able to eat at all. It’s now or never,” he advised, leading the way down the narrow stairs after they exited their room.

  Downstairs, they left the already bustling inn quickly and loaded into the carriage, heading for Sheridan Hall. At best,
they were but a couple of hours away from their destination and the terrible event that awaited them there. Throughout the drive, the closer they came to their destination, the more quiet his new bride became. He could feel the tension radiating from her. It wasn’t simply her grief for her stepfather. It was fear. She was afraid of Neville Snead and his father.

  “They can’t hurt you,” he assured her. “I won’t let them.”

  She let out a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m not entirely certain you can stop them. They’re very determined. And Neville has made it clear on more than one occasion that it isn’t simply my fortune he wants.”

  “Well, he can’t have you. And if he so much as looks at you in a way that makes you uncomfortable, I’ll gladly knock him on his arse.”

  She laughed softly. “I believe that you would. Let’s hope it won’t be necessary and that both Neville and my uncle will behave with some modicum of decency. And it isn’t that he desires me or that he has any sort of affection for me, twisted as his affections might be. With Neville… it’s about fear and degradation. I doubt he’d do anything glaringly inappropriate in your presence.”

  He wouldn’t have bet on it. Neville Snead had no decency and he had little doubt that apple had not fallen far from its very rotten tree. And much as Leo hated to admit it, his injury and the walking stick that it demanded rendered him less threatening in the eyes of men like Neville. No doubt, he’d be underestimated because of it, though that could well work to his advantage. He was almost longing for an excuse to break Neville’s nose.

  They settled into an, if not companionable, at least tolerable silence as the carriage rumbled along the road. Eventually, it turned onto a more narrow lane. Peering out the window, he could just see the tallest sections of Sheridan Hall in the distance. It wasn’t a grand showplace of a house, but a working country manor built around the remnants of a medieval fortress. Such sights were not uncommon, especially given their proximity to London.

  The closer they drew to the house, the more tension he could feel from Meg. It rolled off her in waves. A glance at her revealed that she was clenching her fists in her lap and chewing her bottom lip worriedly.

  “What if they challenge us?” she asked. “We have no proof with us that we are wed.”

  “We have my word as a gentleman and they’d dare not demand more,” he stated firmly. If they did, it would not go well for them. “If they would like to confirm it independently, they can very well make inquiries at the church. Our wedding was bona fide… it’s the state of our marriage where we must be cautious. We just need to be certain they don’t ask questions beyond that. It will be fine. I promise.”

  After a moment of silence, she said, “I didn’t even think about the fact that you’ve lost your own father. And recently, too. This must be difficult for you.”

  “It’s not the same thing at all,” he said. Her sadness and grief for her stepfather were almost palpable things. The only things he could bring himself to feel at his father’s passing were anger and resentment. But that was not so very different from the relationship they’d had in life, he supposed.

  “How can you say such a thing?”

  Leo shrugged. “Because my father and I detested one another. He hated my mother because he considered her beneath him due to her family having connections to trade. Of course, it was that very trade which provided the money he’d married her for—the money which he squandered. I suppose in some ways, it’s a strange sort of poetic justice that when he married my stepmother the situation was reversed. She left him all but penniless.”

  “Surely it wasn’t so terrible as that. There must have been some tender feeling between you.”

  Leo cocked his head. “My father wasn’t cut from the same cloth as the Sneads, but I daresay he had more in common with them than with your Sir William. While he didn’t thrive on cruelty, he certainly never seemed to have any finer emotions. If he did, he kept them well concealed.”

  “But your stepmother and your half-sisters—”

  Leo cut her off, hoping that she’d understand. “He didn’t love my stepmother. He desired her and he… well, she was an ornament to him. Her beauty and her youth were a symbol to all around him that he could have anything he wished. She was little more than an object to be collected. He purchased things because they were rare or valuable, not because he had any affection for them or felt connected to the history of them.”

  “He collected antiques?”

  “Yes,” Leo said. Had Mrs. Dove-Lyon not told her about that connection? “He collected ancient Greek and Roman artifacts with zeal.”

  “And do you?”

  “To some degree. My own collection was much smaller, more something to be carefully curated… he simply bought the most expensive and the most notorious items he could. That was never what I wanted. I preferred things that showed the march of time, so to speak.”

  “So did William,” Meg stated. “There is an entire wing of Sheridan Hall devoted to his love of antiquities—from the mundane to the spectacular… I actually helped William catalogue it… including the estimates of value. Leo, if you own that collection, you’re not penniless. There was no need to marry for money.”

  “I can’t sell it,” he replied. “Rumors were already abounding that we were in dire straits, Meg. Mrs. Dove-Lyon was aware of that. But the merging of the collections, along with the knowledge that you are a wealthy heiress, will allow me to sell items off without raising suspicion and will allow me to sell them for what they are actually worth! Otherwise, I’d have been offered a pence to a pound for all of it. That’s how society works… when they know you’re desperate, they just gobble you up.”

  “You must think I’m terribly naive,” she said.

  “I think that you haven’t had to live in London society and are the better for it,” he answered honestly. In truth, the idea of going about in society had lost all appeal to him. For the past months, he’d only done so in the hopes of keeping appearances in order to find himself a wife who might be able to salvage the family holdings. He wanted a simpler life in the countryside, one where Julia and Louisa would have a chance at possessing the same kind of innocence that Meg had.

  By the time the carriage came to a halt before the house, she was a bundle of nerves and he was angrier than ever at the Sneads and whatever they might have done to evoke such fear in her. The carriage door was opened by a footman and the butler and housekeeper stood there, ready to greet them.

  “Miss Margaret,” the butler said, his tone stiff and clearly disapproving, “We were not expecting you. Indeed, when you’d made off for parts unknown, we assumed you’d not return for the burial.”

  “Lady Thurston-Hunter, Viscountess Amberley,” Leo corrected the man. “You may address her as my lady, ladyship or Lady Thurston-Hunter. Surely, as a butler in a fine home, I don’t need to offer tutelage in the appropriate way to address a lady, do I?”

  The butler gaped, his mouth opening and closing rather like a landed fish. But it was the satisfied smirk of the housekeeper that told him the truth of it. Some of the servants were well in the pocket of the Sneads. Others remained loyal to the family.

  “Welcome home, your ladyship,” the housekeeper said, and sketched a curtsy. “I’m ever so glad you’ve made it home in time. The service is this afternoon at four o’clock! I was terribly worried.”

  “Who handled the arrangements?” Meg asked.

  “I took care of the drawing room, my lady. It’s all right as rain in there. As right as could be made. And Molly and I, we prepared the dear man for burial. Your uncle dealt with the undertaker and made all the arrangements for the hearse and the casket.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Meechum,” Meg said, stepping forward. “I didn’t bring anything with me from London. I suppose all my old clothes are still in my chamber?”

  “What’s left of them, your ladyship. I’m afraid many things were damaged when your uncle searched your room. Tore much of it shreds, he did,” Mrs.
Meechum stated. “Molly salvaged what could be though.”

  “He was terribly worried, Miss—Lady Thurston-Hunter,” the butler interjected.

  “I’m certain he was very worried, Severne. Though I doubt my welfare was the source of his concern,” Meg stated sharply and then turned toward the house.

  Leo bit back a satisfied grin as he followed her into the house. If he took a moment to appreciate the sweep of her skirts and the sway of her hips as she marched angrily before him, well, he was only human. It was good to see that she’d gotten some of her mettle back. It bothered him to see her looking fragile. In fact, it bothered him a great deal and that was cause for concern. He’d agreed to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s challenge—to be a model husband for one year. He had not agreed to turn into some lovesick, cow-eyed idiot who trailed after his lovely bride as if she hung both the sun and moon. He needed to get himself in check.

  Appreciating her beauty, her resilience, and having more than a passing attraction to her was not necessarily a bad thing. But he’d need to proceed cautiously. He wasn’t about to let it become more than that. Love wasn’t for him. He’d seen it make fools of too many good men in his life to ever willingly succumb to its treachery. But that didn’t bar him from having concern for her, especially under the circumstances, he reasoned. She’d lost her only true family, after all, and he knew she would be wavering, for some time to come, through the myriad of emotions that always brought up. Grief was a terrible thing in that way, that you could feel utterly well in one instant and wrecked in the next.

  Confident that he was simply being empathetic to her plight and not in any danger of becoming overly emotionally involved himself, Leo steeled himself to face off against her uncle and cousin. There were enough actual problems at the moment without imagining more.