Page 3 of A Lyon’s Promise (The Lyon’s Den)

Interesting . The Black Widow of Whitehall was not often surprised.

Another rumor that she had never been able to verify—that of King’s being enamored with the lady in question—had her selecting the second contract from the pile.

“I regret to inform you that Lady Montfort has already signed the contract. I countersigned before you arrived. I have three gentlemen selected to compete for her hand, and a very interesting set of challenges in mind.”

He strode over to plant himself in front of her desk, eyes blazing, hands clenched at his sides. Remarkable . It would seem that the Bow Street Runner did have a vested interest in whom Lady Montfort married.

“Give me the names, and I’ll have them brought in for questioning.”

She laughed. “On what charges?”

“Ah, it seems we both have information we are not willing to part with, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Sever the contract with Lady Montfort.”

“On the outside chance I am willing to entertain your suggestion, what reason shall I give the woman? Before you answer, remember that she was married quite young to a gentleman fifteen years her senior.”

He grimaced and inclined his head.

“And that the gentleman died of a virulent fever two years after they married.”

King remained silent. Was her supposition that he had an interest in Lady Montfort incorrect? Bessie suspected that Bancroft and Sons had been instrumental in Lady Montfort’s lack of suitors or offers for her hand.

She stared into his turbulent gray gaze and played her hand. “She has not had any offers of marriage in the decade since…until Lord Hughes proposed.”

“Those blackguards! Bancroft and Sons kept her tethered to them for the last ten years in order to rob her blind!” She muttered an unladylike curse that had King smirking. “I see that you’ve picked up a few new curses from your former military wolves.”

Bessie saw past his smirk to the worry the man tried to hide. She saw through the tough exterior to his heart. Gavin King was more than interested in Lady Montfort’s welfare. Why else would he demand that she sever the lady’s contract? “You want her for your own.”

When he remained silent, she wondered if she had been mistaken. A blank expression settled on King’s face. Had he no heart, or was it a ruse to throw her off the scent? For the first time in all the years she had known the Runner, his heart was involved.

Finally King said, “Lady Montfort and I are to be married.”

Surprised, she rose from her seat and rounded her desk to stand beside him. “I’d offer my congratulations, but must ask why she would retain my services if she had accepted your offer.”

His fierce frown was the answer. The dolt had not proposed yet!

“You have not asked her yet, have you?”

“I intended to—”

“Surely you must know what they say about good intentions, King.”

“It is going to be difficult enough when I tell her the full of what Bancroft and Sons have done to her fortune—let alone impart how many offers for her hand were refused. Given how lovely she is, it has to have been dozens!”

“I am certain that you believe you are doing this for her own good, but do show some discretion in the matter. You cannot simply blurt out the current situation and then propose—she will believe you are only doing so out of a need to protect her.”

King was silent while he considered her words. Finally, he rasped, “I’ll not have Lucretia fought over by any of the ill-suited rogues or bounders you select to vie for her hand.” His frown intensified. “Or are they offering only because of her fortune?”

He’d finally gotten to the heart of the matter.

Given her current status as the owner of the Lyon’s Den, Bessie had not met—or spoken to—Lady Montfort before today.

Wishing she did not know otherwise, she finally admitted, “She had been rumored to be well propertied. The new information is why I sent for you.”

Bessie was not wrong, and damned if the calculating woman did not have sources equal to his own. He would get to the bottom of the issue with Lucretia’s solicitors at once. The matter would be resolved in hours.

“In light of the salacious rumors circulating—have you heard any suggestion that Lady Montfort was involved in Stillman’s smuggling operation off the coast of Cornwall?”

“I had not.”

King felt relief wash over him. He inclined his head and walked over to the door. “As I plan to marry Lady Montfort to protect her, and will to my dying day, I would ask but one thing of you.”

“And that is?”

He did not hesitate, speaking with conviction. “Do not stack the chances of my winning her hand against me. A fair playing field is all I ask.”

“Is it?”

Her question bothered the hell out of him. The Black Widow of Whitehall would have made an excellent addition to the men reporting to him. Not wanting to admit anything further, he replied, “That is the reason I am giving you.”

The knock on the door paused their conversation. “Come in,” she called.

“Your ten o’clock appointment has arrived. Shall I show her to the ladies’ parlor?”

“Mr. King is just leaving—please advise her that I shall be with her shortly, Titan.”

“Of course.”

King stood between Mrs. Dove-Lyon and the door. “I need your assurance that you will do as I ask, Bessie. You do not know the lady as I do. Marriage to the wrong man—for the second time—would douse the light and kindness in her heart and soul.”

Bessie stared at him but did not agree or disagree. “I will add your name in place of one of the other men I have selected.”

He had to fight to hold on to his control. Frustration nearly choked him. “If you change your mind, be prepared to be tossed in one of our holding cells.”

Bessie held up a stack of documents in her hand. “You do realize the uproar that would cause among the ton , don’t you? I have pending contracts through the next few months. Your actions would wreak havoc.”

King knew the woman had far more contacts within the ton than he had—so many grateful titled gentlemen and ladies whose daughters had married well despite their willful, bookish, and hoydenish daughters.

One word whispered of her successes had spread like wildfire. “I’m willing to take that chance.”

She replaced the documents on her desk and turned to face him.

“I do not believe you realize the number of contacts I have within the stews, the docks, the Dark Walk, and the working class. Every single one of them would support me if I ask them to stop passing on information to your Runners. Pity—until today your reputation had outshone the others.”

“Are you threatening me?” He could not credit it. Here in her office, in the middle of the notorious Lyon’s Den, the founder—its mistress—was threatening him!

“Of course not, Gavin,” she purred. “I’m blackmailing you.”

Titan knocked again. “Shall I bring her ladyship tea while she waits, or will Mr. King be leaving soon?”

“Escort Mr. King out.”

Titan motioned for the Runner to precede him.

King had to make a split-second decision to seem to acquiesce to the woman, or else God only knew what would happen later tonight, when Lucretia returned. He wasn’t beaten, but for now he would let Bessie think she had won. “What time shall I return tonight?”

“Nine o’clock on the dot. No excuses will be tolerated. If you miss the appointed time, you will be barred from entering the premises.”

He lingered in the doorway. “That would be your second mistake.”

The Black Widow lifted her chin, her voluminous veil hiding her expression. He imagined she was glaring at him. “Oh? And what was the first?”

“Your threat to blackmail me.”

“I never make idle threats, Gavin. I make promises.”

They parted ways just outside her office door. He followed Titan through the main gambling room toward the rear entrance of the Lyon’s Den. Its owner glided in the opposite direction. He wondered whom she was meeting with.

Titan had escorted him to the long hallway and nodded to Snug, who stood guard at the back of the building, screening those attempting to enter. “Do you know what your employer has in mind for tonight?” King asked.

Snug reached inside his coat pocket and offered his flask to King. “A tot of rum will take the edge off. Mrs. Dove-Lyon is fair—unless she isn’t.”

“She’s stubborn.”

“Aye.”

“Never gives ground.”

“That too.”

King took a swig of the proffered rum and handed it back. “I had no intention of returning tonight.”

Snug nodded. “But you will be here at nine o’clock sharp. Mrs. Dove-Lyon doesn’t tolerate tardiness.”

“If you know the time, then you must know what challenges she plans for myself and two other men.”

Snug shrugged. “Not all of us were fortunate enough to return from battle unscathed, as you did. I like my position here. No one else treated me or the others working here as if we mattered once we returned scarred—useless to most, but not to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

King knew it was true. He’d hired his comrades in arms before others—but the higher-ups drew the line, refusing to hire those with missing limbs.

“Although she and I do not always agree, Bessie’s commitment to helping those in the military—especially men who have been injured in service to the Crown—is commendable and something we both agree on.

Thank you for your service in the king’s navy, Snug. ”

The older man met and held King’s gaze for a few moments before giving a nod. “I had the honor to serve with some of the bravest men I know. Never did learn how to swim, though.”

King shook his head. “How many shipboard men knew how to swim?”

Snug shrugged. “Not many.”

“But they went into battle onboard some of England’s finest sailing vessels.”

“Aye. That we did. Not all of us made it back. Some were buried at sea.”

“I’m well acquainted with three naval captains: Coventry, Bayfield, and Broadbank. Fine men that I have had the pleasure of working with.”

“Captain Broadbank met his wife here. He’s a viscount now.”

King chuckled. “That he is.” And that decided it for him. He would return before the appointed hour, agree to whatever challenge or wager Bessie had in mind. Damned if he would accept any outcome but success—winning the hand of Lady Lucretia Montfort!