Page 4 of A Lyon’s Promise (The Lyon’s Den)
C aptain Coventry strode through the open door into King’s office. “What’s this I hear about an evening appointment with Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”
King set down the file he was reviewing.
He had used every means necessary to obtain the background information about the two other men he would be challenging this evening.
In his bid to continue to protect Lucretia, he felt it his duty to gather all of the intelligence he could beforehand.
Forearmed was forewarned. It was a shot in the dark as to what Coventry had heard. He guessed, “Tremayne?”
Coventry shook his head. “Bayfield. He has a contact on her staff.”
“Ah, Snug, the sailor who mans the rear entrance.”
“Aye. Good man, Snug.” The duke’s London man-of-affairs paused for a moment before continuing, “I take it you have a vested interest in the outcome of one of tonight’s challenges, or wagers, whichever the Black Widow of Whitehall deems it to be.”
King sighed. “You remember how Hughes’s body was found folded up, stuffed in that bloody sea chest?”
The former naval captain’s one-eyed stare riveted on King. The set of his jaw indicated that Coventry remembered and had been as affected as King by the barbaric deed. “Aye. Even with the damning evidence against him, Stillman has yet to be sentenced.”
“His friends and connections in high places have been trying to forestall the inevitable,” King muttered.
“I hear he may have a connection on the high seas,” Coventry suggested. “There is a rumor he is bound for America.”
“I hear the smuggler, Ruan, put a price on Stillman’s head for bringing attention to his trade along the Cornish coast.”
“Not everyone living near the duke’s Penwith Tower is guilty of smuggling,” Coventry reminded him.
Easing back in his chair, King studied the captain. “What are your plans for the evening?”
Coventry slowly smiled. “Thought I’d visit Lyon’s Gate Manor. Need a ride?”
King grinned. “If you have a quarter of an hour, I’ll fill you in on the other two gentlemen vying for my future wife’s hand.”
Coventry’s single-eyed gaze met his. “Is her ladyship aware of your plans?”
“After tonight she will be. Make no mistake, Coventry, Lucretia and I will marry tomorrow, either by a vicar or over the anvil in Gretna Green.”
“The Borderlands are a fair distance from London. Shall I pay a call to the vicar on your behalf?”
King shook his head. “Already took care of that.” He rose from his seat and clapped a hand to the captain’s shoulder. “I’ve spoken to Weston, Lady Montfort’s intrepid butler. He’ll have her lady’s maid pack a bag for her.”
“Do you anticipate any interference?”
“None.”
“Excellent. Shall I swing by to collect you here, or at your town house?”
“Here—I plan to continue working until then. By the by, Thompson and Jackson will already be in place by the time we arrive.”
“Why don’t I send Bayfield? He’s well acquainted with Snug and can move about without raising any questions.”
King considered the idea. “One more man on the inside cannot hurt. I’d appreciate it.” Coventry nodded and turned to leave, but King stopped him. “Do you think I have reason to worry about tonight’s challenge?”
The captain shrugged. “Bessie is a formidable woman of sharp intellect and a very creative mind. I’d be ready for anything.”
King’s stomach roiled. “I was afraid of that.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I believe she is partial to you, and would like nothing more than to see you crowned the victor tonight.”
“So you think she will see that things go in my favor?”
Coventry snorted. “Not bloody likely—she’ll go hardest on you. What are you weaknesses?”
“Nothing that she would know of,” King admitted.
“I would not be so certain of that. I’d think long and hard about it. Moreland cannot stomach brandy—those who challenged him for Jemma’s hand thought they had won that wager.”
“But the wager was not to keep the brandy down,” King said with a smile. “It was to swallow it in the first place.”
“Aye. Any alcohol you cannot stomach? Any food? Are you afraid of heights, like Lieutenant Quinton?”
“Ah, Earl Stansbury. Formerly a lieutenant in the king’s navy.”
“Aye. Done any climbing lately?”
King laughed, then suddenly fell silent.
Coventry nodded. “Thought of something, didn’t you?”
“A weakness not widely known,” King replied.
The captain waited, eventually prompting King, “Which is?”
“In bare-knuckle bouts—or street fights—I always guard my jaw.”
Coventry inclined his head. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon will have obtained that information by now. Make sure that you are vigilant guarding your jaw tonight. I would anticipate her leaving that challenge to the last of the three.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“I’ll be back for you at half past eight.”
“I shall be ready.”