Page 23 of A Lyon’s Promise (The Lyon’s Den)

Greeves’s right cross silenced the younger man. “I’ve got him.” He picked him up and tossed him over his shoulder.

The senior Bancroft tried to wriggle out of King’s hold, but King grabbed hold of the man’s shoulder and squeezed—hard. “Get moving!” He dragged him toward the door, and they followed the others down the stairs and outside.

Once clear of the building, King pulled the spare cravat out of his waistcoat pocket and bound Bancroft’s hands behind his back.

With a heavy hand, he pressed on the man’s shoulders, forcing him to sit.

Ignoring the vitriol pouring out of the solicitor’s mouth, he searched for Lucretia and found her standing beneath the glow of a lamplight.

Her honeyed locks shone like the sun. Walking toward her, he noticed her expression.

She must be hoping for the news that Montfort’s files had not been torched. He was going to disappoint her.

Tremayne had an arm around Jackson, holding him upright as they walked toward King and Lucretia. Her sharply indrawn breath alerted him to the fact that she’d noticed the man was bleeding. “What happened, Mr. Jackson?”

“It was pitch-black upstairs. I opened the door and felt a blade rammed into my side.”

Lucretia gasped again. “We need to bind your wound.”

“Can’t lift my arm,” Jackson said through gritted teeth.

“Hang on.” Tremayne reached into his boot and cut Jackson’s coat off him.

Lucretia ripped a strip off her chemise, folded it until it was a thick wad of fabric, and handed it to King.

“Use this to stop the bleeding.” King did as she asked while she ripped another strip of fabric from her abbreviated undergarment, mumbling, “Quick thinking, Mr. Tremayne. I would not have thought to use a knife to cut poor Mr. Jackson out of his frockcoat.”

Jackson sucked in a breath. “I know you have to apply pressure, King, but that bloody hell hurts!”

“Excellent,” King said. “You can feel your side. Now take a deep breath.”

“Whyever are you tormenting the poor man?” Lucretia demanded.

Jackson obliged King, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling. “The blade didn’t nick my lung.”

King nodded. “Your luck is holding. We’ll stop at Lieutenant Sampson’s lodgings on the way to Bow Street.

He’ll stitch that wound closed, and I’ll put you in a hack and send you home before I leave to question the prisoners.

It’s going to take a bit of time with the first lot of prisoners and now these four.

” Jackson winced as King shifted the makeshift bandage.

“This one is soaked through, Lucretia. We need another bandage before we try wrapping a length of linen around him.”

When he looked up, Lucretia was shoving another carefully folded bit of fabric at him. “Here.” He nearly swallowed his tongue when she said, “If you and your men would kindly turn your backs, the next strip I tear off is going to bare my knees.”

“I’d like to get an eyeful of that,” one of Bancroft’s sons proclaimed.

“Hold this, Jackson.” King strode over, plowed his fist into the blackguard’s mouth, and barked, “Apologize to her ladyship!”

The mumbled apology would have to suffice. He turned around and noticed that Tremayne, Greeves, and Bayfield had formed a broad wall facing him, with Lucretia safely tucked behind their backs.

“Finished, thank you, gentlemen.” The men parted, and she held up another strip of her ruined chemise to King. “I hope Mr. Jackson didn’t lose more blood while you rushed off to defend my honor.”

King had a feeling he would have to stay on his toes to keep one step ahead of the lovely woman soon to be his wife. “Jackson, can you lift your shirt?”

“Aye.” Jackson groaned, but managed to do so. King placed the clean, folded linen against his side.

“Hold this end to the fabric while I wind this other bit of fabric around Jackson,” Lucretia said. King watched her duck beneath Jackson’s arm and work her way back toward him. “Now add this under your hand.”

“You won’t always be ordering me around, love.”

She locked gazes with him. “I suppose we shall have to see that for ourselves, won’t we?”

Jackson chuckled, then moaned. “Have you run out of fabric yet to tie it off? I need to sit.”

“There, finished.” Lucretia brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. “That should hold until you—” Jackson dropped to the ground. “Gavin, do something!”

“He said he needed to sit. Let him rest while we sort out the carriages and guard duties.” King divvied up the duties, then turned to face Lucretia.

He was unsure of how she would take the news, but he wanted her to know the truth as he shouldered the blame.

“I’ve failed you again, Lucretia. Bancroft’s son managed to set fire to the proof we sought. It’s gone.”

Her intense frown was expected, but her words were not. “I am the one who sent us headlong into danger when it wasn’t necessary.”

“What are you talking about?” King asked.

“I’ve just remembered that Montfort always kept copies of important papers locked in the desk in his dressing room. I was only in the room one time, before Mrs. Riddleton shooed me out. I have no idea where the key is.”

Hope speared through King. “I believe we should start by asking your housekeeper.” He skimmed his fingertips along her jaw instead of giving in to the need to kiss the breath out of her. “Justice will be served once we have the proof in our hands.”

“The watchman noticed the smoke. Help is on the way to put out the fire,” Bayfield announced, walking toward them. “There are volunteers at the ready, coming with ladders, fire hooks, and buckets.”

King nodded—buckets indicated there was a water source nearby. A glance at his intended and he noticed the blood on her hands. “I need someone to fetch a bucket of water for us. Lucretia was tending to Jackson.”

Bayfield was quick to respond. “I’ll go.” He returned and set the bucket of water beside Lucretia. “To rinse your hands, your ladyship.”

She hadn’t noticed her bloodstained hands. Thinking that would be what finally had her losing her composure, King was not prepared for her matter-of-fact reaction when she calmly asked, “Do you have a handkerchief that I may borrow?”

“Of course.” Bayfield waited for her to dunk her hands and scrub them before offering the cloth to her.

King watched Bayfield assisting Lucretia, thankful Coventry’s men had accepted her presence and were treating her as they had every one of the women the duke’s guard rescued. The duke was not the only one who had men working for him that he could be proud of—he and Coventry did as well.

King glanced over to where Jackson had dropped to the ground, though the man was still sitting upright. “Jackson?”

“I didn’t lose that much blood.”

“See that you don’t lose any more while you’re waiting for me to finish up here.”

The grunt assured King that his man was not in immediate danger of keeling over on him. He scanned the area. “Where are Bancroft’s sons?”

Bayfield helped Lucretia to her feet and pointed to a lamppost on the other side of the street. “I tied them to the lamppost. I did not want to lose track of them while speaking to the watchman.”

“Good thinking,” Tremayne said.

King agreed. “Thank you, men. Now then, time to deliver this rabble to Bow Street.”

Lucretia’s frown had him wishing he was not the man in charge of the situation, but he needed to get to his office and start interrogating the group who’d tried to kidnap her.

Then he’d question Bancroft and his sons.

Once he had obtained the information he required, he would rejoin Lucretia at her home, no matter if it was as dawn broke over the horizon or later in the morning.

His need to ensure she was well, and had not suffered adversely from the events that had transpired tonight, was paramount.

King compartmentalized each of the situations tied to tonight: the challenges at the Lyon’s Den.

Winning Lucretia’s hand. Lucretia’s nearly being kidnapped and the foul things the four reprobates had planned for her.

Discovering Bancroft’s guilt as his son set fire to Montfort’s legal papers.

Through it all, his admiration for Lucretia was growing.

She had shown stoicism when faced with evidence of the willful destruction of the proof she needed to restore her inheritance.

She exhibited bravery when learning that there were those, yet to be identified, who would cast aspersions against her reputation with an eye toward ruining her.

She had witnessed the violence Bancroft and his sons exhibited, and the immediate response from King and his men—and Coventry’s as well, yet still the remarkable woman found the wherewithal to gift him with a tender smile.

Emotions he had not experienced before swamped him. He had to clear his throat to speak.

“I shall be a while, Lucretia, but will return to Montfort House as soon as I am satisfied with the information I intend to extract from Bancroft and his sons.” He stared into her lovely face. “Do try to get some sleep.”

“I’ll ask Cook to prepare a special breakfast for you. Do you have any favorites?”

His lips twitched as he reached for the hand she’d placed on his chest. Lifting it to his lips, he replied, “I’d adore a plateful of kippers.”

Her shocked look had him chuckling.

“Forgive me. It was a jest…albeit in poor taste, but I could not help myself. Normal fare would be fine with me— sans the kippers. Cream tarts or berry tarts would be a welcome addition…for the both of us.”

She shook her head at him. “We shall discuss your sense of humor later.”

He leaned down until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You will need your rest for the coming evening. You won’t want to be tired after we are wed, love.” He nipped her earlobe. Encouraged by her soft moan, he added, “Later.”

Greeves returned with Lucretia’s carriage, which had been moved to the alleyway next to Bancroft’s building. Tremayne had secured transport for their prisoners, and was riding beside the hackney driver.

When Lucretia’s carriage rolled to a stop beside them, King held out his hand to help her inside.

Closing the door, he turned to his men. “Thompson, Greeves, I’m charging you with escorting Lady Montfort home.

Once there, I need you to stand guard until I return from handling the situation at our offices. ”

“Aye,” Thompson replied. “I’ll ride up front with the coachman.”

“I’ll take the roof,” Greeves announced.

Nodding to her coachman, King sent them on their way. With Lucretia’s safety assured, he turned to face the men who’d thought to get away with bankrupting the woman who was becoming more important to him by the moment. She had done nothing to deserve such treatment.

Tremayne spoke up. “Coventry, His Grace, and the earl will be interested in the outcome.”

“Aye,” Bayfield agreed. “We’ll accompany you to Bow Street.”

The group made short work of loading the prisoners into the cramped hackney. Tremayne road beside the coachman, Bayfield on the roof, while King rode inside. He was eager to hear what Bancroft and his larcenous sons had to say—if anything.