Page 16 of A Lyon’s Promise (The Lyon’s Den)

C ad! How could he treat Lucretia as if she were accustomed to the passion he felt for her as he plundered her sweet lips?

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, the tip of her nose, and the top of her head, and he held her to his heart.

“Forgive me, Lucretia. The taste of you went to my head. I promise it will not happen again…unless you wish it to.” Her shiver had him rubbing his hand on her back to soothe her. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

When she remained silent, he racked his brain for a topic that would distract her, hopefully ease her fear of him.

They needed to speak of when they would marry.

Would she balk at the size of the modest home the duke’s solicitors were purchasing on his behalf?

Should he lead with more mundane conversation, such as the weather?

God, he hoped she was not afraid of his desire for her.

The very last thing he wanted was a wife in name only.

More than one of the men in the duke’s guard had offered marriage in name only, to protect the women they had rescued.

King hoped he would not have to do the same.

In that moment, King realized he was not only a cad, but a blackguard as well.

That would change as of right now! He would pledge what he thought she needed: the protection of his name, his position on Bow Street, his talent with pistol, blade, and fists.

And in return, he would ask for a companion who would take meals with him, occasionally accompany him on a drive in the park, mayhap even take an overnight trip to Sussex to visit with the duke’s family there: Earl Lippincott, Viscount Chattsworth, and their families.

He did not have a lot of time to socialize, which he had learned, over the years, was a detriment where most women were concerned.

But he would make the time. He had men he trusted to ferret out information in the stews, the docks, the shops on Bond Street, and in and among the Quality.

Surely he could carve out an hour during the eight-to ten-hour days he spent interrogating criminals and accompanying his men on raids.

“I’m not afraid of you, Gavin.”

The softly spoken words penetrated the hard shell around his heart. This woman had the power to lay his soul bare… Could he allow that?

“I’m glad. I realize it may have been some time since you—” He cleared his throat.

How did he delicately approach the subject of making love to this woman?

They should be able to speak of anything, as they were about to marry.

Mayhap it was too soon, because for all intents and purposes, they were just getting acquainted.

Bridging the awkward gap between them would be necessary, as he intended to see them wed by tomorrow evening at the latest.

She pushed against him, and he slackened his hold on her. Lucretia lifted her eyes to meet his and quietly asked, “Since I what?”

Ah, so the furrow between her brows was one of uncertainty or confusion…not temper. Excellent . “We have much to discuss if we are to marry by tomorrow night—”

“We could not possibly,” she protested. “So many things need to be done beforehand. Issues to consider, household staff to apprise of the change in my marital status.” She closed her eyes and sighed.

“It may sound strange, at this point in my life, but I need to inform Montfort’s solicitors of our marriage contract.

I should have sought their approval beforehand, but had no idea whom Mrs. Dove-Lyon would select for me—I didn’t really believe the tales of wagers and challenges.

Do you happen to know someone who could circumvent the ridiculous codicil Montfort decreed before he died, so that we could forego asking for their approval of our marriage? ”

He knew all about that blasted legal document, but was not ready to let her know that. “It sounds archaic. I believe I know someone who could help sort things as far as the solicitors are concerned.”

Lucretia chewed her bottom lip. He brushed the tip of his finger across the reddened spot. “I’d rather be the one nibbling on your lips.”

Her eyes widened. “I cannot imagine why!”

He studied the flush on her face, the pulse beating at the base of her throat, before gazing deeply into her beautiful eyes. “Can’t you?”

“If we are to discuss important matters, we’d best get to it. I’d like to leave.”

“Very well. In view of the circumstances surrounding your seeking Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s matchmaking services, I believe we should marry tomorrow, as it is already too late this evening.”

“But the banns—”

“No need to have the banns read. As Mrs. Dove-Lyon mentioned, I have procured a special license.”

“I see.”

Her reply bothered him, but he did not want her to think him an ogre. He used a softer, lower tone of voice when he said, “I thought you wanted to marry, Lucretia.”

Her eyes flashed. There was the hint of her temper. It must have been simmering just below her surface calm. “I need to marry, which is quite another thing altogether.”

“Why don’t we start there, and you tell me your reason for marrying in haste.”

She stared down at her hands, bringing his attention back to them. The bruise had spread, was quite dark, and the area from the knuckle of her forefinger to her ring finger was swelling. “You could have broken a bone in your hand. There are twenty-seven, you know.”

Lucretia lifted her hand, turned it to the left and then the right, studying it. “I had no idea, but my hand is the least of what needs to be addressed. I need to pay a call on Bancroft and Sons—”

King interrupted, “After we marry.”

“Er…yes. My thoughts exactly. Instead of giving Montfort’s solicitors a chance to refuse, we shall inform them that we have wed by special license.”

His gut clenched as satisfaction thrummed through him. “You do realize what must occur for us to be legally wed in the eyes of God and man, aside from witnesses and the vicar when we say our vows.”

If possible, her face turned a darker shade of red. The woman’s naivete touched him. He needed to protect her from the darker side of life, and realized that in order to do so, he would have to protect her from himself, and the job he performed every day.

“Yes,” she agreed. “You will recall that I was married for two years to Montfort.”

He stared at her until she began to fidget with the ring she wore on her left hand. “You’ll need to remove your wedding ring, Lucretia. I’ll not have my wife wearing another man’s ring, whether it is out of respect for his memory, or love for the man.”

“This ring belonged to my grandmother. My mother’s mother left me this ring and a sizeable inheritance.

Grandmother was wise and craftily worded her will so that man I eventually wed could not claim it.

I have no idea how Montfort’s solicitors managed it.

They found a way to seize it from me, forcing me to ask for an allowance from it, instead of receiving it outright on my twentieth birthday.

” She worried her lip again before adding, “I’m not quite sure it was on the up-and-up. ”

Though he already knew the answer, he inquired, “And when was your twentieth birthday?”

“Nine years ago.”

One year into her widowhood. Bancroft and sons would pay for their deceit!

Before he could decide whether to clap them in irons—a satisfying image—or have Thompson and Jackson bring them to Bow Street, those warm brown eyes cut through the part of him that had been jaded from years dealing with the worst of men—and women—while performing his duties. A direct hit to his heart.

What he would have given to have met Lucretia before she married Montfort. Then again, her father would no doubt have refused to receive him in the first place, let alone accept his suit. He reached for her, slowly pulling her into his embrace. “We shall get to the bottom of that after.”

“After?”

“Aye, we’ll be busy.”

“Oh! Yes of course. After, we uh…”

Her embarrassment was delightful to him, though he suspected it mortified her. “Make love. It is all right to say the words, Lucretia.”

Her mouth opened and closed, twice, reminding him of a fish he’d caught years ago when visiting his grandparents in the country.

“I am not a rutting beast, Lucretia. I will not hurt you.”

Her eyes welled with tears, and one escaped to trickle from the corner of her eye along the curve of her cheek.

He gently captured it on the tip of his finger.

“Lucretia, I give you my word that I will do my damndest not to give you reason to make you weep. If you are willing to give me a chance, I will prove to you that while I am a man of deep passion, I can temper it while teaching you that there is joy in the act of making love. I promise you, your body will crave my touch as it learns to sing beneath my fingertips, my mouth, and”—he leaned close, his lips hovering above hers—“and my tongue.” He molded his mouth to hers, praying she felt a hint of what was raging inside of him—a dark and desperate need he had to rein in.

King realized he would need to go slowly at first as he showed her the pleasure to be had between a man and a woman.

“I’m not as worldly as you, Gavin. I would ask, after we consummate our marriage, that you give me time to become accustomed to your visits.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. Did she plan to live in a separate domicile? “What visits?”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “To my bedchamber.”

King chuckled. “As we will be sharing a bedchamber, you won’t have to become accustomed to visits at all.”

Her hand covered her mouth, but did not stop the squeak that emerged. “Share? A bedchamber? And a bed?”

“Aye.” He lowered his mouth to meet hers and kissed her with every ounce of desire swirling inside of him. When he ended the kiss, he rasped, “We shall share the bedchamber and our bed, every night, for the rest of our lives, Lucretia.”

On that promise, his bride-to-be’s eyes rolled up in her head and she fainted.

“Bloody hell!”