Page 19 of A Lyon’s Promise (The Lyon’s Den)

T rue to his word, Gavin delivered her to her town house.

There was no point in worrying whether any of her neighbors noticed the carriage she’d arrived in—by now, most of them would have heard the slurs and accusations against her.

She hoped against hope that her elderly neighbors across the road had not heard of the wager and her name being added to White’s betting book.

“You’re quiet, Lucretia. Having second thoughts?”

She turned to the man sitting beside her. She could have asked the same of him. “Of course not. Once I have made up my mind, I do not change it.”

Gavin leaned toward her. The hint of sandalwood mingling with his scent distracted her. “Ever?”

Lucretia did not want him to know how often she’d questioned her reasons for accepting Lord Hughes’s offer of marriage.

She had been thrilled to be asked, and knew she could make a life with the gentleman who had been kind and considerate from the moment they met.

Her conscience poked at her. She had had second thoughts, but only because she sensed Randall felt more than the attraction he’d admitted to.

The hope that what he felt for her would ignite a similar feeling in her had been the deciding factor in her decision to marry him.

“I gather there have been times when you have reconsidered a decision,” Gavin added.

She lifted one shoulder, knowing a shrug was not a proper answer.

It hadn’t been when she was eight years old—one of the last times she had resorted to such.

Knowing she would have to confess the sin later, she stared at her hands and lied through her teeth: “I have yet to come up against any circumstance that would warrant changing my mind.”

Unsure if she should ask, but needing to know, she then said, “Have you had a change of heart?”

He reached for her hand and gave a tug, urging her to move closer, then pressed a kiss to the middle of her forehead. “I have not.” Her heart fluttered as he flashed that crooked smile of his before tossing her words back at her. “Once I have made up my mind, I don’t change it.”

“Well then, I suppose you must be a bit fatigued after whatever Mrs. Dove-Lyon put you through this evening.” She noted that he had yet to release her hand, and she did not mind. When he entwined their fingers for the second time that night, she savored the contact…felt grounded by it.

“Are you trying to extract the details from me? I may have to consider offering you a position as a female Runner.”

She smiled at the very idea, knowing he was teasing her, but found it did not irritate her as it would normally have done, were it any man but Gavin.

“Would you like to hear about the wager or the potted palm?” he asked.

“Palm?”

“Aye. Did you happen to notice the two very large potted palms outside of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office?”

She thought about it and realized she had not noticed much of anything about her surroundings. She’d been far too worried about the outcome of the night’s challenges. “I’m afraid I did not. My thoughts were elsewhere.”

“The first challenge was to move those blasted trees from the gardens, across the main gaming floor, to flank the door to her private office.”

“Most of the potted trees are surprisingly tall. I think they would be heavy, considering the amount of dirt it takes to fill the pot around its roots.”

“Add the fact that they had been recently watered.”

Lucretia frowned as the carriage rumbled through the streets toward her home.

“I do wonder, though, how many gentlemen would willingly ruin one of their frockcoats or waistcoats on such an endeavor. Montfort was beyond fastidious.” Gavin’s chuckle encouraged her to add, “There are some gentlemen who form more of an attachment to their tailor than they do to their wives.”

Lifting her hand, he held her gaze a moment before brushing a kiss to the back of it. “As I do not have a particular attachment to my tailor—he is not my type—dare I ask if you have been made to feel as if you were insignificant?”

Though he couched his question with humor, Lucretia sensed Gavin was asking because he had guessed that that had been the case. She could not lie to him—but good Lord, she already had lied! A noxious feeling swept up from her toes and had her head reeling and her stomach churning.

“You’ve gone pale.” He reached up and tapped on the roof of the carriage. “Slow the coach.” The coachman immediately responded, and the brisk pace slowed. Her nausea receded. “Lucretia, forgive me for pressing you. Do you need to stop?”

His solicitousness in light of her deceiving him had bile bubbling as the churning returned.

“Stop the coach.” He had the door open, and helped her out of it before she cast up her accounts. Weak from the ordeal, she barely registered that he mumbled something about motion sickness—had there been a witness to her humiliation? God help her, what had she been thinking ?

Lifted in Gavin’s strong arms, cradled against his broad chest, she should not have been surprised when his large white handkerchief was pressed into her hands and tears welled.

She blinked them away. She was responsible for her actions.

Deceit was not how she wanted to begin her marriage to Gavin.

The reasons she had lied did not matter as much as the consequences if she had crushed his ability to trust her before they even wed!

Inside the coach, settled in his lap, she tried to move away from him, but he did not ease his hold on her.

“In my years as an investigator with Bow Street, and then in charge of my own team of Runners, I have met a small number of individuals who grew ill without provocation—at least, it had seemed that way—during my questioning of them. I noted a pattern and later went back and confirmed my conclusion—there were times when a person who normally would never breathe a falsehood felt compelled to do so, and they became violently ill.”

He knew! She had no hope of recovering her reputation now. A man of his integrity would never accept being fed a bold-faced lie, and nor would he trust her again enough to marry her.

God, what will I do now?

While King was somewhat surprised that she had not been truthful when asked if she had ever changed her mind once she’d made it up, he had sensed it in the stillness that had come over her, the way the tone of her voice changed after that slight hitch in her breath before she answered.

She had been weighing whether or not to trust him—and what to confide in him.

That Lucretia had made herself ill in the process had him feeling sorry for her.

Her experience with men had been tainted.

King intended to change that. He would show her by his own actions that everyone deserved a second chance.

He was a man of his word, and had discovered years ago that forgiveness withheld often did more damage than good.

Resting his chin atop her head, he sighed. “Lucretia, there is no shame in admitting the actions of another. Just because one is tied to their spouse by their vows, that does not mean one shares the same beliefs, or acts in the same manner as one’s spouse.”

She was silent long enough that he lifted his head and tipped her chin up so he could watch her expression as he asked, “Do you understand, or shall I state it more plainly?”

“I understand,” she whispered. “Can you forgive me for lying to you?”

King traced the line of her jaw, swept a lone tear from her cheek, and asked, “Will you tell me why you felt it necessary to do so?” Another tear trickled across her satiny-smooth skin.

He sipped it from her cheek, then pressed his lips where it had been.

“Our marriage will not survive, would slowly eat away at the very heart of the both of us, if we do not build it upon the firm foundation of faith, trust, and love.”

Her sharply indrawn breath was the sound he had waited for. He’d shocked her. Excellent! “I will never raise a hand to you, Lucretia, nor will I belittle you with words that could slice just as sharply, deeply as the blade I carry in my left boot.”

“Why do you carry a knife in your boot?”

“In my line of work, experience has taught me to carry a pistol, and keep my blade hidden.”

“I see.” She bit her lip, and he could tell the moment she decided to accept his words as he had intended them—as the unvarnished truth. Relief speared through him. “I was married at the age of seven and ten…before the end of my first Season. My father was delighted to accept Montfort’s offer.”

“Did he make you doubt your worth before you said your vows?”

She shook her head. “No, that came later. After…”

“After what?”

“The first time it became evident I had not conceived.”

The sadness in her voice had his urge to pummel the man roaring to the surface, while his intellect reminded him he would have to exhume the man’s body first. “It is unconscionable that a man would act that way, Lucretia. A husband should treasure his wife, not belittle her because of something beyond her control.”

She shook her head. “He always blamed me, but it was the number of times he summoned his physician to examine me to discover why I could not manage to conceive that bothered me. You see, it was the only reason he’d chosen to marry an empty-headed chit barely out of the schoolroom.

” She paused as if to catch her breath before whispering, “It was mortifying being subjected to such time and again.”

The hurt and acute embarrassment Lucretia had suffered, at the hands of the man who should have been her last barrier of protection, fired up King’s need to grab a lamp and shovel. For the first time in his life, he considered committing a crime—desecrating a man’s grave.

“I would never treat you in such a foul way, Lucretia. It is a despicable thing for a husband to treat his wife in such a manner. You have my word that I will honor you, protect you, and love you from this day forward.”

Rubbing a hand up and down her spine, he finally felt the stiffness leave her limbs as she curled against him. The small white hand lying over his heart had a profound effect on him.

“I will never lie to you again, Gavin. I promise to honor and love you for the rest of my life.” With her words, and now with her unconsciously trusting him by relaxing in his arms, Lucretia had branded him as hers.

He leaned close. Inhaling the faint scent of lily of the valley, he willingly relinquished his heart to her.

Their vow taking before the vicar would be a formality.

In his mind, they had already made their promises to one another.

What they would do alone, in the sanctity of their bedchamber, would seal their union.

And though he had not given voice to the long-ago need, King had always wanted to have children.

As the carriage wended its way through the streets, he sent up a silent prayer: Lord, if it be your will, please bless Lucretia and I with a family to love.