Page 2 of 21 Days with the Lyon

T heo’s head hurt. He came awake gradually, aware his head was lying on a firm surface and that some noise nearby had roused him. For a moment, he wondered if he were back in Spain, thrown from his horse after a blast from the cannon, his head on the hard, trampled ground. But then he heard the clatter of teacups and the rattle of a tray as it crashed on the table beside his head.

Theo jerked up and stared, bleary-eyed, at the woman standing above him. “Bessie?” He glanced at the tray she’d set beside him. The tea service was perfectly intact. He could have sworn the noise he heard had been its shattering into a thousand pieces.

“Time to eat, Mr. Filliol.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said, and tried to put his head down again.

One of her bully boys took Theo by the hair and yanked his head up again. The Black Widow of Whitehall folded her arms over her chest. “Mr. Filliol.” Her tone brooked no argument. “I have brought you tea and toast. Eat it.”

Theo swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of food. How long had he been sleeping on the table at the Lyon’s Den? How much had he drunk last night?

“Can you manage on your own, Mr. Filliol, or does Snug need to assist you?”

The last thing Theo wanted was Bessie Dove-Lyon’s bully boy shoving food down his throat. He reached for the toast and took a bite. It was dry, and he poured a cup of the lukewarm tea and drank it to wash the toast down.

“That’s better. Now, listen to me, Mr. Filliol. I want you to do exactly as I say, yes?”

Theo felt his hackles rise. He didn’t care how much blunt he owed Bessie—he didn’t answer to anyone.

She seemed to sense the change in his mood, because she drew back slightly. “I see you bristling like a dog before a fight, so allow me to rephrase. You have two choices. One, pay me what you owe me, in full, by tomorrow morning at eight. That is in approximately sixteen hours.”

Theo shook his head. She might as well ask him to fly to the moon. He’d never have enough blunt to pay his debts to her. Even if his father hadn’t cut him off, he’d have had to save all his allowance for a decade to pay what he owed. “And the other option?” he asked, slicking his hair back from his face.

“Go home and sleep in your bed.”

“That’s easy—”

“I’m not finished. In the morning, you will present yourself—bathed and properly dressed—at the home of Viscount Featherswallow.” She handed him a folded slip of paper. “This is the address. Be there at eight in the morning, ready to escort the younger Miss Featherswallow to her country estate in Hampshire. Bring your valise, as you will be her protector for the next twenty-one days.”

Theo’s muddy head was starting to clear, and her words were sinking in. He opened the slip of paper and blinked until his bleary eyes cleared. The address was in Mayfair. “Looks like the viscount has plenty of blunt. Why doesn’t he hire his own security?”

“Because I have offered your services, Mr. Filliol.”

Theo was no protector. He’d been a soldier, yes. And he’d watched most of his friends die on the battlefield. He hadn’t been able to save them. He hadn’t been able to keep anyone safe, even when he’d returned home.

But Theo didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to drink and gamble his way to oblivion every night.

“I couldn’t protect a cat. You’ve got the wrong man. Surely there must be another—”

“ You are the man I have chosen. Time to make your choice.”

He sighed. He didn’t have much of a choice when she put it that way. “Fine. You’re making a mistake. I’m telling you that now. I’ll fail you and Miss Hollowfeathers.”

“Featherswallow.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You will not fail. You will escort her to the countryside and remain with her for three weeks. If I hear a report that you do not appear on her doorstep tomorrow morning or that you are drunk or look like anything less than a gentleman, you will be required to pay me what you owe in full.”

“Bessie, you know I can’t pay.”

“Theo?” She leaned forward so that her veil almost brushed against his face. “Don’t make me remind you what happens to those who do not pay their debts to me. It isn’t pleasant.”

Theo had heard stories. He didn’t know if they were true, and he didn’t want to find out. At least she wasn’t forcing him to marry some rich woman. He’d seen that happen to more than one fellow who emptied his pockets at the Lyon’s Den. Theo would have rather jumped into the Thames than marry some spoiled chit who bought him off Mrs. Dove-Lyon.

“Eight o’clock tomorrow,” he said, holding up the paper. He lifted the teacup. “Might I have a dash of something a little stronger?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon drew in a long breath. “Out,” she said.

Before Theo knew what had happened, he was on his arse on the walk outside the gambling den. The weather was rainy, and he’d almost landed in a rather large puddle. A couple of men trying to enter the establishment gave him sideways glances. Theo wanted to tell them to run away. The cost of entry was too high. But who was he to warn anyone else? He couldn’t even take care of himself.

He stood, brushed himself off, and began to walk home. He had a flat in St. James’s. Did he still have any servants? Probably not. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d paid them. Hopefully, he’d paid the rent on the flat.

The late afternoon walk woke him up, specifically the cold rain on his face. By the time he arrived home, he was soaked and shivering. His flat was cold, and a glance at his bin showed him he had no coal. Theo wrapped a dusty blanket over himself and fell into bed, still fully dressed. Before he closed his eyes, the image of a young boy rose in his mind. Theo pushed it aside along with the voice in his head whispering, You couldn’t keep me safe.

Day One

Theo felt as though he’d slept for perhaps ten minutes when a sliver of light shone in his face. He lifted a hand to cover his eyes, but the light didn’t go away. He cracked his eyes open and saw his curtains were drawn, and the sun was just coming up. Somehow he had to cross the room and close the curtains again.

“Ah, good to see that you are awake, sir.”

Theo’s gaze shot away from the window. He had been alone when he returned yesterday afternoon. Now a man in a black coat stood at the end of his bed. Theo blinked, but the man didn’t disappear.

“Who the devil are you?”

“Coombs, sir. Mrs. Dove-Lyon sent me to assist you.”

“Of course she did,” Theo groaned. He should have never fallen into debt with the Black Widow of Whitehall. Now she had him under her thumb.

“I’ve taken the liberty of procuring hot water for a bath, sir. The tub is just behind your dressing screen.”

Theo forced himself to sit. The room didn’t spin, which was an improvement over most mornings. He could see the edge of a copper tub, steam rising from the basin.

“Towels and soap are on the stool beside it. I will shave you after you wash. Shall I pack while you bathe, sir?”

“Uh…I’m not certain I have any clean clothing, Coombs.” Theo pushed up from the bed and stumbled to the bath. He was suddenly quite eager to sink into the water.

“I took the liberty of collecting your soiled clothing yesterday while you were at the Lyon’s Den. Your items have been cleaned and pressed.”

Theo spun around. “You… But at that point I hadn’t even…” He shook his head. Bloody woman.

He stripped, stepped into the bath, and washed. He might have lingered, but Coombs was making sounds of impatience, so he finished washing his hair and wrapped himself in a towel. Coombs was immediately at his side with a robe. Theo hadn’t been treated like this since he’d lived with his father. Even then, he was one of four boys who shared a valet, and the poor servant rarely had time to do more than keep the boys’ clothing in order.

“If you’ll sit here, sir, I will shave you.”

An hour later, Theo was dressed, packed, and presentable. He’d taken a moment to look in the mirror—something he hadn’t done in some time—and didn’t think he looked half bad. His light brown hair was too long. One side fell over his forehead and almost covered his eye. He slicked it back.

“If you leave now and hail a hackney, you should arrive precisely at eight,” Coombs said.

Theo nodded. “And what will you do?”

“I shall leave as well.” Coombs handed Theo the flat key. “Do not forget to lock your door, sir.” The servant left the flat as quietly as he’d arrived. Theo took one last look in the mirror and grabbed his valise.

He hadn’t been wrong about Viscount Featherstuff having plenty of blunt. The man’s townhouse was enormous—not one of those terraced houses connected to a row of homes, but a house all on its own with a wrought iron fence. Theo approached the gate, opened it, and strolled up the flower-lined walk. Unlike the rest of the city, where men and women had to work to live, this part of Mayfair was so quiet that he could hear the birds chirping. He wondered if anyone in the house was awake.

Then he heard the screaming.

Theo paused and looked up at the windows of the upper floors. The yelling—it was yelling more than screaming—came from that direction. The voice was female, and she was saying something about…

Theo frowned. A dog?

“…dog ate my best slipper!”

The yelling stopped as presumably someone tried to calm the woman.

“I don’t care! See how you like it!”

“Kitty, no!”

But a window above him opened and a pair of shoes came tumbling out, landing in the bushes to his right. A dog barked, and Theo half wondered if he should return later.

Or not at all.

Perhaps the shrew who’d been yelling and throwing slippers out the window was the woman Bessie had assigned him to protect. Three weeks with a harridan? Theo might rather face the consequences Bessie would have her bully boys mete out.

But he reminded himself he’d faced worse than an ill-tempered woman. He’d faced cannon fire and French soldiers racing at him with bayonets. He could handle a woman.

Theo marched to the door. He used the knocker, but rather thought the sound had been lost in the yelling that had begun again. He knocked again, and this time footsteps thundered down the stairs. The door was flung open and a beautiful woman with blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders stood in front of him. “Yes?”

He stared at her. She was almost as tall as he, and her scowl would have cowed Napoleon himself. “Er…Miss Hollowfeathers?”

She put a hand on her hip. “Are you the bodyguard?”

“Yes?” He didn’t know why he’d phrased it as a question. Perhaps so he might escape if that were still possible.

“Come in—Mr. Filliol, is it?”

“I might be.” He needed to maintain plausible deniability in case the creature before him became violent again. He recognized her voice as the one that had been yelling earlier.

“Don’t worry. I’m not the Miss Featherswallow you want. Bianca! ”

Theo cringed at her screech.

“Close the door,” she ordered him. “We can’t have fortune hunters stealing my precious sister away. Bianca! Your bodyguard is here!”

“Kitty, that is quite enough,” said a male voice. Theo noticed an older man emerge from the door behind the woman called Kitty. From his dress and bearing, Theo surmised this must be the viscount.

He gave the lord a tight bow. “My lord.”

“Mr. Filliol.” The viscount bowed in return. “Please come into the dining room with me. My daughter is finishing her packing. Jensen, take Mr. Filliol’s valise and deliver it to the coachman. The horses are being readied even now,” he said, moving aside to allow Theo to enter the chamber.

Theo had to pass the harridan to access the dining room. He gave her a wide berth as he moved along the wall. He needn’t have bothered, as she stomped off before he drew near her. The butler came forward and took Theo’s luggage, and Theo entered the dining room, taking a seat where the viscount indicated.

“Care for something to eat?”

“No, thank you.”

“Just tea for Mr. Filliol, then,” the viscount said to one of the footmen. “Then leave us.”

When they were alone, the man sat back and gave Theo a long look. Theo returned it. The viscount looked about fifty. He was probably older than that, but he was tall and fit and had the ruddy flush of health in his cheeks. His hair was dark with streaks of silver. His dark eyes were clear under bushy eyebrows. He tapped a finger on the paper laid at the side of his plate.

“You are the fourth son of the Earl of Huntingdonshire.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Have you sisters as well?”

“Five, my lord.”

“Explains why Kitty’s yelling didn’t scare you away.”

“Indeed, knowing what ladies are capable of, her display of temper made me even more cautious.”

The viscount smiled. “Wise man. Not so wise as to avoid the clutches of Mrs. Dove-Lyon, however. Might I ask how you came to lose such an enormous sum to her? Yes, I do know the amount you owe.”

Theo felt his belly tighten. He didn’t even want to know the amount he owed. But the viscount wasn’t his father. He didn’t owe him any explanation. “I’m not very good at cards,” he quipped.

“Or dice, it would seem.”

Theo spread his hands.

“Do you intend to gamble at Godwin Priory—that is my country estate and where you will travel with my younger daughter?”

“No, my lord.”

“Do you intend to drink?”

“No more than a glass of wine with dinner, my lord. I have not yet given over wholly to my vices. Might I ask what it is I am protecting Miss Featherswallow from?”

“Fortune hunters,” the viscount said without pause. “She’s an heiress, and three attempts at abduction have been made already. I want her in the country, where she will be safe.”

“Pardon me for asking, but why do you not escort her, my lord?”

“I must stay in London for the Season. My eldest daughter is looking for a husband.”

Theo laughed, then cleared his throat when the viscount did not smile.

“It was my stated intention to marry my eldest before the youngest. The fortune hunters have tried to circumvent my edict by abducting Bianca. Now I have set that stipulation aside. I am willing for Bianca to marry. Unfortunately, she can no longer go in public without facing danger. She’s practically a prisoner here. She wants to return to the countryside, and I wish to oblige her.”

Theo looked about the dining room with its green paper painted with exotic birds, the silver candlesticks, the heavy draperies, the crystal chandelier. “Why not hire your own security? Forgive my impertinence, but I don’t understand why you would go to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

“I do not know the Earl of Huntingdonshire well, but in my experience, he does not like to be questioned. I see now why he cut you off.”

Theo did not feel the need to reveal that disrespect had not been the reason his father had finally washed his hands of his youngest son.

“However, as you will be responsible for my daughter’s safety, I think it is important you know that after the first abduction attempt, I did hire extra men to keep my daughter safe. One of those additional servants turned out to be an impoverished peer in disguise, and he made the second abduction attempt.”

“Unbelievable,” Theo muttered. Exactly how much was the viscount worth? And how much of that would go to his youngest daughter? It must be a great deal of blunt for three men to make such brazen attempts at spiriting her away.

“Most of my staff have been with the family for years or are relatives of my trusted servants. I do not place my trust in anyone lightly.” The viscount leveled his gaze at Theo. “Do you understand what I am saying, sir?”

“I do, my lord. Your daughter will be safe with me.”

“You have weapons?”

“I carry a dagger in my boot.”

“What about a pistol?”

“My father gave me a set of Manton pistols when I went to war, but I returned them when I came home. I used a rifle in the army as well, which I relinquished upon my discharge. But I assure you, my lord, I’ve plenty of fighting experience. If your daughter is threatened, I can defend her with my bare fists.”

“Nevertheless, the coachman has a rifle to use during the journey. He will shoot first and ask questions later. I have a set of pistols at Godwin Priory. I will send instructions that you are to be given access to them. Now”—the viscount rose—“if you are ready, shall we meet my daughter?”

Theo rose as well. “One last question, my lord. What exactly is your agreement with Mrs. Dove-Lyon? Might I know the particulars?”

The viscount gave him a curious look, and Theo had the urge to check if his waistcoat had come undone or something else about him was amiss.

“No, Mr. Filliol. I am not at liberty to reveal the details of my agreement with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Shall we?” He extended a hand, and Theo followed him to the door of the dining room.

He opened it, and Theo caught his breath.

On the other side of the door, waiting patiently, was one of the loveliest women he had ever seen. She stood with her valise at her feet and another woman—a quick glance told him it must be her maid—beside her. She wore a dark blue traveling dress with long, tight sleeves and a high collar. The lace at the top of that collar brushed her chin, which was slightly pointed. The rest of her face was all softness. She had full pink lips, a small, blunt nose, and deep brown eyes. Like her eyes, her hair was brown. She’d plaited it and wore it over one shoulder, tied at the base with a blue ribbon. The plait was almost as thick as his arm. Instantly, Theo had the urge to wrap his hand around that braid and pull her to him, wrap her in his arms, and…

He shook his head. What the devil was wrong with him? He was supposed to be protecting her, not fantasizing about holding her.

“Bianca,” the viscount said, causing Theo’s eyes to snap to him. “Might I present your protector, Mr. Filliol. Mr. Filliol, my daughter, Miss Bianca Featherswallow.”

Theo bowed. “A pleasure, Miss Featherswallow.”

“Mr. Filliol.” She curtseyed delicately. Everything about her was delicate. She was almost a full foot shorter than he, slender, and her voice was cultured and had a musical tone. He wanted her to speak again. She looked up at him through dark lashes. Her cheeks colored before she looked quickly away.

“And you’ve met my other daughter, Miss Katherine Featherswallow. Kitty, might I present Mr. Filliol.”

Theo hadn’t even noticed the older sister was nearby. She had been standing almost in the doorway of an adjacent chamber. Still, strange that he shouldn’t see her, being that she was such a striking woman with her height and blonde hair.

The eldest Miss Featherswallow gave him a brief curtsey and stepped back again. The look on her face was one of impatience.

Theo’s gaze returned to his charge. Her eyes were cast down demurely, her hands clasped in front of her. Protecting her should be a simple matter. He felt protective of her already—strangely drawn to her as well, though he did not usually find himself attracted to bashful, prim young ladies. Before he’d gone to war, he’d liked lively women who laughed with abandon at a bawdy tale and could drink him under the table. Since leaving the army, Theo hadn’t really even looked at a woman with more than passing admiration. He certainly hadn’t felt true attraction. Why now? And why this wisp of a creature before him?

And then it hit him—she was forbidden. Of course he would want her. Didn’t he always want what he couldn’t have?

Theo clenched his fists. Not this time. This time he would do his job and nothing more. She wasn’t and would never be his. Protecting her was a task to be completed, nothing more. And just maybe, if he could successfully watch over her for the next three weeks, he’d begin to forgive himself for all the ways he’d failed in the past.

“My lord,” the butler said, interrupting the silence that had fallen. “I believe the coach is ready.”

“What? Oh, good. Good. Bianca?” The viscount offered his arm, and she took it. Theo gestured for her sister to follow, and he and the maid trailed behind. He was as much of a servant as the maid or the butler. He was here to do a job.

The coach waited at the back of the house, a situation Theo approved of. No need to advertise that Bianca was leaving Town. It was an old-fashioned vehicle, a large traveling chariot that would comfortably carry four persons and uncomfortably accommodate six. Four horses were harnessed and waiting with many outriders who would presumably occupy the hind seat or ride alongside them. Anyone would think Miss Featherswallow was the queen traveling for two or three days, rather than a viscount’s daughter who would be at her country house in just a few hours.

“Do you wish to inspect the conveyance?” the viscount asked.

Theo nodded and made his way around the vehicle, spending the most time inspecting the horses’ tack to ensure it was all in good order. By the time he nodded his approval, Miss Featherswallow was already inside. Her sister had climbed inside as well and was presumably saying goodbye. She grinned at him as she exited and retreated into the house. Theo stood aside as the viscount spoke quietly to his daughter.

Finally, after instructing her to close the carriage curtains, he also stepped aside and gave Theo a hard look. “I leave her in your care, sir. I will see you in three weeks.”

Theo noted that Miss Featherswallow’s maid had taken a place on the chariot’s hind seat. He’d thought she might ride inside to better chaperone her charge. Apparently, Lord Featherswallow did not think Theo was a threat to his daughter’s virtue—which, of course, he wasn’t. Theo didn’t pursue unmarried young ladies, nor had he ever forced himself on an unwilling woman. Truth be told, he never had to look for a woman. There was usually one at his elbow, batting her eyelashes at him. It might be good to get out of London and away from all the women constantly flirting with him.

“My lord.” Theo bowed to the viscount a last time and climbed into the darkened chariot. The footman closed the door as Theo felt for the rear-facing seat.

That was when he heard the growling.