The Lyon Sleeps Tonight

by Carter, Elizabeth Ellen

  Feeling a little more together than he had scant seconds before, he looked at his fellow “competitors”. Whatever inducement they found was enough to ensure their cooperation.

  “Gentlemen, if you are quite ready,” said Mrs. Dove-Lyon, “sign your contracts and we will begin.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  High above the double-height room, Opal watched the proceedings through a grille in an upper room.

  Butterflies danced in her stomach… no, not butterflies, that was a far too gentle of a description of what she was feeling. It was more like a flight of swallows swooping and diving.

  She had been told she did not have to observe the scene below if she did not wish. She chose to do so. She started this and she would see if through to the end.

  She sat on a low stool and smoothed down the expensive satin of her dress, a deep red, shot with purple. It showed off the creaminess of her skin, the richness of her black hair – or at least that’s what the couturier said when he examined her after the maids had finished dressing her.

  Now she appreciated why Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s services were so expensive. This was a grand bit of theatre – and all because the man she loved more than life refused to see that everything he was looking for could be found in her.

  She cast her eyes over the three men below who served as rival suitors. She had no idea who they were or what would induce them to play in this charade. When Mrs. Dove-Lyon told her the plans for evening, Opal asked the most obvious question: “What if one of the other men win?”

  In answer, she received an enigmatic smile.

  “They won’t.”

  The two-word answer was eye-opening. Nothing at The Lyon’s Den was as it seemed. The gambler suffering a dismal run on cards may be that way through forces other than Lady Luck. The gent who wins big only does so because of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s aegis.

  Still, her assurance did nothing to stop the flying swallows in Opal’s stomach.

  She closed the hatch and rose to her feet.

  Now it was her turn to strut the stage.

  She touched the black lace mask that covered her face from forehead to cheeks and took her place at the card table where she was, initially, to play each man in turn. It was a chance to make Peter jealous, to draw out the chivalrous side of him, to unleash the ferocious protector she knew existed. How long would it take for him to recognize her?

  Under the escort of four footmen, her four suitors filed in.

  A slip of paper on the table gave her a description and alias of each gentleman.

  The tall man with black hair like hers already had a glass of liquor in his hand. He was Briseus.

  The redheaded man was called Teleos. His gaze at her chest made her feel uncomfortable. She raised her hand and the fall of borrowed diamonds around her wrist glittered. His eyes immediately fell on the jewels. The man all but salivated at it.

  The third was an elegant man with high cheek bones and tanned skin marred by a thin scar that appeared below his mask at the cheek. This one was Hylas. He looked directly in her eyes with a penetrating gaze. There was something about him she didn’t like.

  Peter, his golden hair unmistakable, stood at ease, and yet with an alertness that revealed disquiet and suspicion.

  Did he recognize her immediately? She suspected not.

  “Gentlemen, greetings,” she began, pitching her voice a little lower to seem more alluring. “My name is Arete, and it will be my pleasure to get to know you gentlemen throughout the evening…”

  She ensured her eyes were on Peter’s “… and well into the night.”

  There! His head lifted a little more. He drew himself up to attention. Although she couldn’t see all of his face, she did observe his brow wrinkle to a frown.

  “A game of piquet to pique your interest? A quick game – first to thirty points? Who wishes to play first?”

  The moment the beautiful masked woman spoke, his body reacted as though he already knew her. He had to admit it, he was utterly bewitched by her appearance, and even more so by her rich, honeyed tones.

  It took all that time for his brain to catch up with his body.

  Opal?

  He might have even believed it except another part of his mind refused to.

  It was one thing to have seen her here in the evening in a crowd for a very respectable charity ball, but quite another to find her here dressed like that and auctioning off her…

  Before he allowed himself to finish the thought, Peter stepped forward.

  “I will play.”

  He was half a second too late. Hylas spoke the words before he did. Peter watched the mysterious woman look startled for a moment, and he wasn’t mistaken that Arete, or whatever she called herself, looked directly at him.

  As though time had snapped back into place, her gaze broke from his. She lavished a full smile to Hylas and extended her arm toward him in silent invitation to join her at the table.

  “Gentlemen, you’re welcome to watch, or I can arrange another table to be brought in if you wish to play,” she said.

  Damn. There was no doubt it was Opal.

  Briseus shook his head dismissively. “Sod that, I want another drink.”

  The man left the room with his empty glass in hand and one of the footmen dogging his steps.

  Peter was half-aware Teleos had turned his way but his attention was on Opal. She smiled like a courtesan at Hylas.

  “Since it’s the two of us, do you play piquet?” asked Teleos, radiating an obnoxious cockiness. “Shall we say half a crown a point?”

  Peter tore his eyes from Opal and looked at Teleos.

  “Half a crown a point? You jest.”

  “If the stakes are too rich for your taste…” he shrugged, leaving the veiled insult unsaid. The man’s weakness was obvious. He was an inveterate gambler, that is to say, mostly broke. Peter wouldn’t rise to the bait, but he was curious to see whether Teleos would.

  “Let me see what sort of player you are first. I shouldn’t like to waste my time on an amount so small from a poor player.”

  The barb hit the mark. The man’s face flushed red before he brusquely gestured to a footman to bring in another table and cards.

  Peter really didn’t want to play but it kept him in the same room as Opal. He intended to keep an eye on things.

  Distracted, he played the first trick listening to the inane conversation between Opal and Hylas. The grotesque flattery that came from that man’s mouth made him want to throw up. Surely Opal wasn’t taken in by such a thing. Yet how would he know? As he had told her, much had changed over the years.

  She laughed at his inane jests, but an edge to the note told him her enjoyment was for show.

  Why was she doing this? As far as he could see, there was no shortage of eligible men in her circles. Had someone forced her into this? One way or another, the men here had obviously been blackmailed or coerced for their cooperation – he’d certainly been pressured somewhat by Evans – why not Opal, too? What pressure had been brought to bear on her?

  As soon as he could speak with her alone, he would find out what was going on and arrange for her to leave this place.

  Teleos crowed when he saw Peter’s cards.

  “Are you sure you’ve played this game before?”

  Peter gave the man his full attention.

  “Deal again,” he ground out, offering Teleos a malevolent grin. “And may the best man win.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Opal forced herself to contain her elation.

  Peter stayed! Not that it was any guarantee he would continue to do so. She would have to make her performance compelling.

  She flirted with Hylas, laughing at his sly innuendo. With each hand played, her first impression of him firmed. There was something off about him she could not quite put her finger on. Nonetheless, she verbally sparred with him even as she concentrated on her game.

  Seeing he had a willing audience, he told her of his fondness for breaking in horses
, relating how he relished putting “a newly tamed creature” in a bridle, and how he loved polishing the leather, the smell of it, the crack of the whip, the high shine of his boots.

  Like the well-bred lady she was, she laughed disingenuously at the most outrageous points and pretended to not understand the rest.

  They played a shilling a point, not that Opal cared for the coin – hers was being provided by the house – but it seemed to encourage Hylas.

  It was surprising what one could learn about a person by watching their reaction to how they won or lost. What she learned of Hylas she didn’t like and used all her skill – not to mention the tricks taught her earlier – to ensure he lost the game. Comprehensively.

  He was not best pleased. His tanned face darkened, making the scar on his cheek stand out. The man’s lips thinned as though he worked at controlling his temper.

  “Well done, Miss Arete. I’m afraid I underestimated you,” he said.

  “Never underestimate a lady, Mr. Hylas,” she said brightly.

  “Rest assured, Madam, I do not intend to make the same mistake twice,” he said as he rose from his chair.

  She snapped open her fan and waved it briskly before she, too, rose from her place.

  “You’re not planning on leaving already?” asked Briseus who not so much walked as staggered through the door. His face shone with the sweat of a man who already had too much to drink. And yet there was another full glass of brandy in his hand.

  With a confidence she didn’t feel, Opal sauntered to him and tapped his nose with her closed fan.

  “Is that lemonade you have there?” she asked with a wink. “I’ll shall join you once I am refreshed. Do take a seat, I think I should enjoy playing you – I mean playing against you.”

  Teleos understood the joke and sniggered. Briseus blinked uncomprehendingly, understanding enough to remember the word “seat”. He staggered toward the chair.

  Peter was not laughing. He stared at her as though he could see right through her and her schemes.

  She suppressed a shudder. He did not seem best pleased either.

  She kept her head high and breath held until she reached the chamber that contained her ordinary clothes. Only then did she allow the tremors to start. She wrapped her arms around her middle. Mrs. Dove-Lyon entered the room and closed the door behind her.

  “I can’t do this,” Opal breathed.

  “Nonsense.”

  The older woman’s blunt assessment was a bucket of cold water.

  “Don’t give me that look,” she said. “You heard me. There’s no backing out of it now. I’ve invested a great deal of time and money in you, and I expect to recoup the cash at the gaming table tonight. We have a bargain, and I expect you to live up to it.”

  Opal breathed in deep and exhaled, finding it did help calm her nerves.

  “One of the men out there. I don’t like him.”

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon laughed. “There’s only one of them you’re supposed to like. Isn’t that the entire point?”

  “It’s Hylas, there’s something about him that makes me feel… uneasy.”

  The levity disappeared from the woman’s face, gone with it the mocking tone. Opal knew she ought to feel relief her ill-expressed fears had not been dismissed out of hand, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon was supposed to have vetted these men…

  “Yes, I had wondered about him,” she said, more to herself than to Opal. “There had been rumors but one could not tell…”

  “What am I to do about him? What if he bests Peter and…” Opal left the rest of the sentence unspoken.

  The older woman smiled. “You’ve paid for a service, and I guarantee you will get what you paid for. You just play your part, and I shall play mine. Pull yourself together and be your charming self. You have a bet to win. But before you go, drink this.”

  A maid offered Opal a glass of clear liquid that was aromatic with spices and the bright scent of citrus.

  “What is it?”

  “A pick-me-up. Something to give you a little pep. Do not let any of the gentlemen fetch you a drink. My footmen will do that. Unbeknownst to them, you will not be given alcohol despite the fact it will be served in the same style of glasses. You are to remain alert and sober no matter how long the game runs.”

  She accepted the glass and took a sip. It tasted as good as it smelled. The warmth of it bloomed in her stomach and, indeed, she felt less tired than she did before. She reviewed her appearance in the tall mirror on the door and she touched the lace mask again to ensure it was correctly in place.

  “I am ready,” she said.

  Escorted by a footman, she rejoined the gentlemen in the salon. Three of them, including Peter were standing in a row, like naughty schoolboys waiting for the appearance of the headmaster.

  Her eyes fell to the gaming table. Briseus sat there slumped, legs splayed, arms limply at his side, and his head fallen back.

  The man was asleep!

  As if to confirm the observation, the man let out an almighty snore. Behind her, one of the men sniggered. She suspected it was Teleos, the redhead.

  The whole thing was truly quite absurd! Whether it was from the situation or the spiced pick-me-up she’d had, Opal felt an uncontrollable giggle rising up from the chest. Oh, that would not do! She feigned anger rather than amusement.

  She turned to the trio and pointed at the snoring Briseus with her fan.

  “Who is responsible for this?”

  All three stood to attention.

  “N… not us, Miss Arete,” stuttered Teleos. “Briseus did it all on his own. I’m afraid to say he’s drunk.”

  “I can certainly see that for myself. I am displeased and would be more so if you gentlemen had anything to do with encouraging this disgraceful set of affairs.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Peter turned to the two men alongside him.

  “Hylas, Teleos, get this man out of here.” It was a command delivered by an officer to men he considered subordinates, not a request. “Tell our hostess to throw this ape-drunk fool out on his ear.”

  “Leaving you here alone with the delectable Miss Arete?” said Hylas. “A clever ploy, indeed.”

  Peter did not respond to the gibe. He remained where he stood. But Hylas was not prepared to back down, even after Teleos pointed out their “shadows” – a footman for each of them.

  Finally, Opal snapped her fan closed. “Gentlemen! I am free to choose my next piquet partner, and P–” She pulled back from the brink before Peter’s name spilled over her lips. “–Paris is the man I select.”

  To her surprise, Hylas and Teleos did as they were instructed, hauling the body of a snoring Briseus out, three footmen following behind.

  Now she and Peter were alone but for his “shadow”. The man suddenly developed an interest in a picture on the wall.

  “How long do you intend this charade to continue, Opal?” hissed Peter quietly.

  She gasped, even though she knew full well he had already recognized her behind the mask, the paint, and the fine costume.

  This was a side of him she had never seen before, intense and focused, most unlike her easygoing childhood friend. He approached her step by step, like a tiger she had once seen stalking its prey.

  Now they stood no more than an arm’s length apart. He could pull her into his arms right now. She was shocked to realize how much she wanted him to do just that.

  “Are you sure this is something you want?” he said softly.

  “Are you asking me if I’m chicken-hearted?”

  She took a step forward, close enough that if she deeply inhaled, the bodice of her gown would brush against his jacket. She could smell his scent, warm and earthy with a hint of spice. She could feel the gravity between them. The way he searched her face told her everything she needed to know. He wanted her.

  “I’m all in,” he said and slowly slid his arm around her waist to pull her to him. The feel of their bodies together was delicious. He did not ease
his grip, showing her he was in control.

  He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. Desire hit her like a thunderbolt.

  “Is there nothing I can do to dissuade you to giving yourself away on a turn of the card?”

  Yes! But she had to remain firm in her resolve.

  “No, there is not.”

  He loosened his grip, giving her the opportunity to settle back on her heels; to take a step back, but she did not.

  “Being the spinster I am, with only middling prospects now for marriage, this is the surest way of ensuring a husband.”

  He huffed at her suggestion. “So, you’ve hired Mrs. Dove-Lyon to ply you with suitors. Aside from me, do you know any of them?”

  She ran a finger down his jacket. “No.”

  Peter stopped the travel of her hand with his own, deadly serious now. “Opal, what the hell have you done?”

  She shrugged. “How is this any different to employing the services of any professional matchmaker?”

  “All the difference in the world! The parties are vetted to make sure they’re of good character for one thing—”

  “—Mrs. Dove-Lyon does vouch for them,” she protested, all too aware of what had just passed between her and the woman with regard to Hylas.

  “The woman runs a gambling den, for Christ’s sake. For all you know, there’s a bordello upstairs in those rooms of hers. Does your father know about this?”

  “No! And you are not to tell him or Maman either. By the end of this night, I will have a very proper proposal of marriage to a very respectable gentleman – quite possibly one with a title.”

  “And all they have to do is stay awake the longest.”

  “It’s a silly game, I agree, but there is no greater advertisement for a man’s stamina, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I won’t let you do it.”

  “You have no choice. I am of age. I can do as I wish.” She played her final card. “You don’t have to stay. You can walk out the door now. No one is stopping you.”

  Peter’s face was red with restrained anger.