Page 7 of A Lyon’s Promise (The Lyon’s Den)
K ing spent the next quarter of an hour weaving in and out of the crowd, making a point of not making eye contact with anyone, unless it was one of Bessie’s wolves.
He trusted the former military men not to give him away.
After the number of times he’d come to her aid, her staff would have his back.
He felt reasonably certain no one would recognize him tonight, given the amount of alcohol being imbibed, and that he was not wearing the red frockcoat Bow Street Runners were known for.
He’d intentionally worn black, the only exception being his crisp white cambric shirt and cravat.
He hated wearing, and tying, the bloody thing. But needs must if he were to blend in.
He wondered if the other competitors for Lady Montfort’s hand had heard he was in the running and left before being humiliated.
Knowing Bessie, she would go the extra mile to do as he asked and not make things too easy for him.
While scanning the room, he noticed two men swagger into the main gaming room from the direction of the gentlemen’s smoking lounge.
A closer look had him amending that thought to stagger .
Though they did not resemble one another physically, their affectation of supreme importance denoted their station within the ton ’s hierarchy.
As they drew closer, King recognized them. “Bloody hell.”
The snort, quickly covered by the clearing of a throat, had him glancing over his shoulder.
“Are you shadowing me, Titan?”
The man gave a barely noticeable nod in the direction of the two puffed-up lords who appeared to have imbibed heavily.
“My competition?”
King caught the wolf’s smirk before it disappeared. It was all the confirmation he needed.
“You’re expected in the gardens in twenty minutes,” Titan said.
King lowered his voice to speak without being heard over the din of the groups of men wagering on games of chance.
“I recognized their arrogant stance—and the foppish appearance of one. I interrogated them two months ago, along with two other men who had gained entrance to the home of the duke’s ward by lying.
” He waited a beat, then added, “Emily Montrose became the duke’s ward after her father was murdered. ”
Titan’s jaw tightened as he stared at the pair.
“Garahan, Tremayne, and Bayfield caught them trying to sneak into Montrose House just after midnight. Bloody blackguards said they were invited.”
Titan turned toward King, his mask of indifference slipping for a moment, revealing anger and frustration. “Well connected.”
“And not sufficient evidence to hold them for more than a few hours after they produced what appeared to be a written invitation.”
The wolf frowned. “Forged.”
“Aye, but not enough time to prove it before word came down from my superiors that I was to warn Ainsley and Wayne to steer clear of the Duke of Wyndmere’s ward and be on their way.
” King paused as it struck him. “Once I was told to do the same regarding Johnstone and Greenwood. I knew their connections were at the highest level of the ton .” He glanced around him and back to Bessie’s head wolf. “Neither man is here.”
“Their names were mentioned earlier.”
King heard what the wolf did not say: Johnstone or Greenwood could have been the competitor he had replaced.
The last time he had seen Ainsley and Wayne, he had suspected an even closer relationship between them, but time was at a premium and he hadn’t had the time to look further into it.
But if there was even a whiff of an unholy alliance between those two men, he would have them clapped in irons.
King would not have Lady Montfort subjected to whatever their depraved minds planned for her!
“That wasn’t the first time I have been stonewalled by my superiors,” he said. “There is a distinct line as a commoner that I may not cross. I have only crossed it, questioning their command, a handful of times when I deemed it imperative to do so. Only successful once.”
“Like sticks to like,” Titan murmured, watching the two.
“If needed, I have the ear of more than one important member of the ton .”
Titan nodded. “Best not call upon the duke or earl unless circumstances are dire.”
King sensed Titan knew about the woman who put her life on the line daily to help those Society had chosen to banish, and that the duke had asked him to intervene on her behalf.
He would do all in his power to aid the Duke of Wyndmere, who strove daily to carry on his father’s good works, erasing the stain his deceased elder brother had left behind.
“The circumstances were at the time. Though her situation has changed recently.”
“O’Malley and his connections have the matter in hand, though I hear he nearly died protecting her.”
King shook his head. “She and Garahan swear O’Malley stopped breathing.”
“I’ve witnessed that and more on the battlefield.”
“I have it on good authority that until the light goes out of a man’s eyes and you hear the death rattle, there’s still a chance to save him.”
Titan scanned the room. “Aye. Seen it myself. Have you?”
“I have.” Changing the subject, King said, “Ainsley is the taller of the two. The other is Wayne. It will be interesting to see their reaction when they realize who they are up against.”
“Be on guard,” Titan murmured before moving toward the private rooms on either side of the musicians.
King strode toward the gardens. He had just enough time to ensure that no one would be sneaking into the Lyon’s Den through the accessible windows leading to the gardens and kitchen—the next area he planned to check before presenting himself to Bessie and his challengers.
King was hailed before he could go too far into the gardens. Turning around, he stalked toward one of Bessie’s wolves—must be a new recruit, as he did not recognize the lad.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon wishes to see you at once. A matter of some urgency.”
“Very well, lead the way.” Had Bessie had changed her mind? Would she give him advance warning of what challenges he could expect, or the wagers he would have to make? He slipped his hand to the pocket of his waistcoat. He hoped the coin he’d brought would be enough.
As he walked behind the younger man, he noted that Ainsley and Wayne had moved. A quick study of the room confirmed what he had feared—they were gone. King’s gut iced over. Worry for the gentle lady he needed to protect filled him, though he hid it behind a neutral expression.
Rather than move in and around the tables toward Bessie’s private room, the man he followed headed toward the musicians, and the private room closest to the rear entrance.
The wolf knocked on the door. “Enter.”
King recognized Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice as the wolf opened the door and motioned for him to step into the room. He pinned Ainsley and Wayne with his gaze and had the satisfaction of seeing both men pale. Ainsley’s hands trembled, but Wayne lifted his chin in silent challenge.
Challenge accepted!
“Ah, there you are, Gavin. Allow me to introduce you to the two other gentlemen seeking to win Lady Montfort’s hand this evening.”
If he could see through that blasted black veil she wore, he knew she would be holding back her laughter. He nodded to the taller, leanly built man, dressed in a puce-colored frockcoat and an equally garish puce, mauve, and black plaid waistcoat. “Ainsley.”
“The Honorable Gerald Ainsley,” Bessie corrected him.
King did not bother to apologize. He knew what lay in the blackguard’s heart.
Highly intuitive, Bessie turned toward his other competition. King held the man’s arrogant gaze. “Wayne.”
The highly affronted man corrected him, “Baron Anthony Wayne.”
King returned his attention to Bessie. “What challenges or wagers have you devised to test our worthiness this evening?”
The baron took a step closer to King with the obvious intention to intimidate him. “I am far more worthy of Lady Montfort’s regard and hand in marriage than a commoner who spends his time among thieves and brigands.”
Encouraged by his friend’s bravery, Ainsley took a half step closer and stumbled. Righting himself, he echoed the baron’s claim: “As am I!”
King turned his back on the men and addressed the proprietress. “I’m ready to meet whatever you toss in my path, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.” He motioned for her to exit the room first, and when she had, he quickly followed and extended his arm to her. She slipped her arm through his, and he nodded. “Lead on.”
The grousing and grumbling behind him would have been laughable, but his mind was engaged trying to recall all of the rumored challenges and wagers he’d heard of over the past few years. What had Bessie planned for them to do?
“Thank you, Mr. King, this way. Lady Montfort will be in the ladies’ observation gallery. This is the first time she will see the gentlemen I have selected for her.”
“King is not a gentleman,” Wayne countered.
“He is a lowly Runner, a step above a watchman,” Ainsley added.
Bessie paused below the gallery. “Mr. King served in the king’s regiment and was kind enough to offer his escort.”
“My mother taught me quite young that manners always matter, Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” King replied. “It was my pleasure to assist you.”
She inclined her head and slipped her arm free. “Now then, if you will all look at the center window, Lady Montfort is wearing the deep-rose gown. It quite complements her fair complexion, honey-blonde hair, and warm brown eyes.”
She stepped back so the three men could study her.
King locked gazes with Lady Montfort and saw her shock of recognition.
Was it fear or anticipation? God, let it be anticipation.
He could not bear for her to fear him. The other men were murmuring comments about her full curves, which irritated him, but he blocked it out.