Page 21 of A Lyon’s Promise (The Lyon’s Den)

He did as she bade him, all the while fighting the urge to prod her to answer him.

Her serious expression and tone gave him pause.

He dared not risk having the dear woman believe he would countermand anything she said or did once they were married.

Lucretia was an intelligent, compassionate, beautiful woman who had been gravely wronged and held captive in a tiny cage.

If he was right, it had been for too many years to be believed.

Had her late husband’s staff remained because of a dictate from beyond the grave, or had it been from Montfort’s solicitors?

And if so, there had to have been coin involved—but from whom, and how much?

He took the matching chair across from her, surprised to see a table between them.

It was uncommon to see a table of this size between two chairs meant for the lord of the house and one of his cronies to sit in and argue over affairs of state, their latest acquisitions for their stables, or their pack of hunting hounds.

It must have been the one thing she’d changed in the room in the last ten years.

“I understand far more than you realize, Lucretia. I pride myself on finding the truth, and indeed am a protector of innocents whenever and wherever the need arises.” He paused for a moment and wondered—should he explain how he’d come to be one of the men competing for her hand this evening?

And would it be in his best interests to mention his prior connection to Mrs. Dove-Lyon?

Theirs was an acquaintance based on mutual respect—he had long admired her hiring of former military men who’d been injured.

In a way, King thought Coventry had done the same.

He knew it was the captain’s way to honor the fourth Duke of Wyndmere for taking him into his home after meeting the captain in the ward filled with seamen injured in the Battle of Trafalgar.

The duke had directed his middle son Jared, the sixth and current duke, to befriend Coventry.

The complete opposite of his older brother—who had chosen a path of self-destruction—Jared took the directive to heart and indeed befriended Coventry during his recovery, afterward including him in the duties Jared had at the duke’s various estates.

Coventry had once explained their friendship and how it came to be.

King knew it had grown stronger after the death of Jared’s father and, not surprisingly, further strengthened after the murder of Jared’s elder brother.

He decided to tell Lucretia about his connection to Mrs. Dove-Lyon after they wed. They had already discussed how important trust was to their marriage, and he would test it tomorrow night…before they consummated their vows.

“Thank you, Weston.” Her deep sigh had King turning. A glance at the heavily laden tea tray and he knew—there was a heaping plateful of iced teacakes.

“I take it Cook was still up anticipating your late return this evening.”

“Hardly,” Lucretia replied. “Montfort’s wishes cannot be overridden. Our scullery maids take turns tending to the kitchen in the overnight hours. Even his passing has not affected the status quo.”

“Do you mean to say that nothing has changed? Not even the requested sweets your cook bakes for your afternoon tea?”

Lucretia’s expression of resignation surprised him. He had thought her bold. Was he mistaken?

“As I have been reminded daily for a dozen years, Montfort House may be where I live, but it is not mine and never will be.”

King wondered if it was maliciousness on the cook’s part that Lucretia’s requests had gone ignored.

But was it something more? The servant’s way of reminding Lucretia that she had failed in her duty to Montfort, who had died without an heir?

There should have been one designated. Montfort’s male cousin or nephew could have gone abroad and not been located.

Good God, the situation became more tangled the longer he was in Lucretia’s company.

“Shall I leave room in your teacup for cream and sugar?”

The sweet sound of her tired voice felt like a caress. “No cream or sugar for me.”

Lucretia added a bit more tea to his cup and handed it to him. Their gazes met and held, and he noted the lovely golden ring around her pupils had faded. Her exhaustion was showing.

“Care for a teacake?”

King eyed the artfully placed stack of tiny cakes and decided to partake—but only until he found out whether the cook would take out her ire on Lucretia. He added yet another item to his list of matters he intended to take care of. “I would, thank you.”

Waiting for her to swallow the sip of tea she’d taken, he asked, “Other than the teacakes, does your cook serve other foods you do not care for?”

Lucretia pressed her lips into a firm line as she set her cup and saucer on the table between them. He sensed this was a topic she did not relish speaking of. Would the list be extensive?

“I do not care for kippers. For just one morning, I would dearly love not to have to see a plate of them on the sideboard.” She shivered, and he mentally added kippers beneath frosted teacakes in the column of foods their new cook would not serve in their household.

King set his cup aside, put his hand out, and pretended to write on it. “No teacakes—frosted or otherwise. No kippers.” Encouraged by her soft smile, he grinned. “How do you feel about oysters?”

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“Thank God ! If I never see another oyster, it will be too soon.”

Lucretia gasped. “That was not a jest earlier? You truly had to drink buttermilk and soured wine”—she paused to shudder—“before eating a plateful of oysters?”

“No jest. And it was a flagon of buttermilk, soured wine, and then a second one of buttermilk…before eating the plateful of the slimy things.”

She rose from her seat and walked over to place her hand on his shoulder. “My brave Gavin. And after the lifting and moving of the potted palms at the risk of wearing the soil on your frockcoat.”

“I am used to getting my hands dirty, in more ways than one. It is part of my job.”

She frowned. “After quenching your thirst and eating the oysters, what was the final trial Mrs. Dove-Lyon assigned to you?”

He appreciated her levity, but shrugged instead of responding to her question. He’d won—did it really matter what the challenge was?

Lucretia remained standing beside him, her hand firm upon his shoulder, her voice sounding troubled when she said, “If I had to confess a part of my past that I truly wish would remain firmly in my past, then you can at the very least tell me what the final challenge was.”

“A bare-knuckle bout. As Wayne did not drop his potted plant and somehow managed to consume all three tankards and that god-awful plate of Mollusca, he was the man to best. Which I did handily.” While she was frowning over his using the proper term for the phylum oysters were categorized in, he added, “Somehow, he found out about my weak chin. I have yet to delve into how he knew about it.”

Lucretia bent to press a kiss to his jaw. “My dear Gavin, there is nothing weak about you.”

“That particular supposition would not hold up in a court of law. Though it is why I keep my guard up in situations where a fist, club, elbow, or knee could accidentally connect with my chin. Knocks me out cold—every time. My mum used to tease that my chin was as fragile as her mother’s favorite bone china cake plate. ”

She surprised King by cupping the side of his face in her hand. “You shall now have another person watching to ensure no one strikes you where you are most vulnerable.”

When she would have kissed his cheek, he turned his face and captured her lips. He savored the feel of her mouth beneath his, and the flavor of her—cream tea sweetened with sugar. He could not wait to sample more than Lucretia’s full lips.

His mind had shifted off to places best thought about later.

He regained control of his wayward thoughts, knowing he had to complete the list he had begun concerning his wife-to-be.

There would be many changes made—but none could happen until tomorrow afternoon, immediately after they were wed.

In fact, it might be best to pay a late-night call on Bancroft and Sons.

He kissed her with a passion that teased of more to come.

When their lips parted, her eyes slowly opened, showing evidence of her confusion and desire for more.

Needing distance to get a better hold on his control, he stood.

“I believe we should send an urgent missive to Bancroft and Sons about our impending nuptials. It would be best to discover if there is something you are unaware of that would prevent us from marrying tomorrow afternoon.”

“There is foolscap in the middle drawer of Montfort’s desk.”

King strode over to the desk, opened the drawer, and found what he was looking for.

“The quill is kept sharpened,” she added, “and the inkwell full—as it was while Montfort was still alive.”

King ignored the need to pummel a few of Montfort’s staff and penned the note to Bancroft. After sanding it, he carefully folded it and affixed the wax seal. “Do we trust this to Weston?”

“Absolutely. I would—and have, more than once—trust him with my life.” Her hands covered her mouth and tears welled, magnifying her lovely brown eyes.

“Ah, something else we need to discuss—your late husband’s ill treatment of you, both while he was alive and from the hereafter.

” Missive in hand, he wrapped his free arm around her.

“You shall never be mistreated again, Lucretia. You have my word of honor that my trusted physician will only be called if you fall ill, or twist or sprain a limb. Speaking of which, I do believe we should summon him to take a look at your hand—the swelling and bruising is more noticeable.”

“The only reason I will agree,” she admitted, “is because I trust you.”

“That is the only reason I would do so without you first suggesting it. I mean to take care of you, love. For now… Forever.”

The knock on the library door had King’s instincts on high alert. He immediately stepped in front of Lucretia as the door opened without her approval.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in Montfort House?”

The gray-haired harridan glaring at King had him speculating she was either the cook or the housekeeper—both of whom he suspected should have been let go years earlier, had Lucretia been able to do so.

“That is quite enough, Mrs. Riddleton,” Lucretia said. “Leave us.”

“Who do you think—”

Before the woman could finish the statement, King stalked over to stand within three inches of the shorter woman. “Lady Montfort gave you a directive, Mrs. Riddleton. I suggest you follow it.”

“Now see here—” The rotund woman who stepped in beside the housekeeper was wearing an apron—obviously the cook.

“The both of you may leave the way you came in,” Lucretia said, “before I change my mind and dismiss the both of you.”

The housekeeper frowned. “You would not dare.”

“She wouldn’t,” the cook added with an emphatic nod.

“Ah, but as we are on our way to speak with Bancroft and Sons,” King told the pair, “to discuss an obvious misunderstanding that has had my wife-to-be’s hands tied where the hiring and firing of her staff is concerned, I do believe it in your best interests to do as you are told.”

Both women paled, spun around, and hurried from the room.

“I believe there is much to be learned from our visit to Bancroft and Sons,” King continued.

“As their lodgings are above their offices, we shall ask Thompson to accompany us now and leave Jackson here to ensure that no one absconds with the silver.” At her smile, he added, “This meeting should be enlightening.”

“Oh, but it is well past midnight,” Lucretia reminded him.

“The perfect time to catch a rat—or rats—in a trap of their own making.”

“I am so glad that I do not have to meet with them alone again.”

“How many times have you done so over the years?” King asked.

“A handful of times,” she whispered.

King vowed to use all of his control when they arrived, to not go for the knife in his boot or the pistol tucked in the back of his waistband unless absolutely necessary.

There were times when he wished he could circumvent the law and take it into his own hands, but then Society would have nothing to hold it in check, should it become necessary.

“Come, love.” King whisked her out of the library to where Weston stood waiting with her wrap.

“You’ll catch a chill, your ladyship.”

“Thank you, Weston.”

The butler glanced at King. “I took the liberty of having her ladyship’s carriage brought around.”

“How did you know we were leaving?” Lucretia asked.

King’s lips twitched. “As any faithful servant would, he had his ear to the library door.”

Weston lifted his chin. “I would never do such a thing.” He sighed. “I have excellent hearing, especially at night when the house is quiet. Your voices carried. Thank you, Mr. King, for all you are doing for her ladyship. She has long needed a protector. I had hopes…”

Thankfully, the man did not finish the statement. The last thing King needed was Lucretia’s recalling all that had happened the night they met. She knew he had found Hughes as requested, but he’d be damned to eternal Hell if he would divulge the circumstances to her.

Weston opened the front door, pleasing King with the added flourish for Lucretia, who gave her butler a small smile. “Thank you, Weston. I am sorry to be keeping you from your rest.”

“Think nothing of it, your ladyship. I shall be on hand to greet you on your return.” His gaze once more landed on King. “You’ll be walking into the viper’s den. Watch your back.”