Page 12 of Don’t Wake a Sleeping Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected)

A s soon as Alfred stepped into the gambling hall, he searched for Ada. The puffers should be in place by now but he didn’t see her anywhere. He was wasting precious gambling time and he knew it. He had only a few days to arrange the down payment. Failure to do so would result in the matchmaking he dreaded. He wondered if he had acted too hastily and should have exercised more patience. Had he made a terrible mistake and imperiled his future happiness where all he wanted to achieve was to secure it?

He hadn’t come to The Lyon’s Den to gamble; instead, he had come with the sole desire of seeing Ada once more. Memories of their last kiss left him yearning for more. He had never felt such intensity. Such an unforgettable kiss. Despite all he had known about women who gambled, Ada didn’t seem addicted to the thrill of the games. She was brilliant and asked pointed questions. Her figure was impeccable despite the modest dress she wore. Yet the cool blue velvet made her dark brown eyes sparkle with warmth. It was this warmth that Alfred needed or else he knew he’d never feel the same again.

One of the waiters tapped his shoulder. Alfred’s attention was drawn to the side of the hall.

Puck, one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s wolves, stood on his spot at the double doors to the gardens and signaled. As Alfred approached him, he opened the doors and Alfred stepped into the cool of the night. Puck shut the doors abruptly with a metallic clang, positioning himself with his back against the glass, as if to obstruct the view.

Perplexed by the maneuver, Alfred found himself on the marble steps to the garden. Tall trees blocked the lights of the Town and an owl hooted in the distance.

He heard gasping, and then a cough.

“Who’s there?”

Along with the view, Puck blocked the dim light that escaped through the glass doors and illuminated the garden. The wolves wanted Alfred here and he had to find out why.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

“Alfred?”

Ada. Her voice came out hoarse and forced, but it was her beyond a doubt.

She sounded strained as if she was suffocating.

“Where are you?”

Alfred’s mind raced. He had to find her and help. His own heart skipped a beat at the thought of her hyperventilating. What if he couldn’t help the person he…

Impossible. He barely knew her!

Alfred heard her make another gulping gasp.

Then nothing. She was stranded, robbed of air. He had about twenty seconds to get her to breathe. If only he could find her!

One, two, three, four…

He counted the seconds in his mind.

“Ada?” Alfred walked deeper into the garden, following the labored sounds in the dark.

Five, six, seven, eight…

He left the stone path and felt soft grass under his boots.

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve…

He still hadn’t found her. Icy fear overcame him. “Answer me!”

Thirteen, fourteen…

The choking sound came from behind him this time.

Fifteen, sixteen.

Rustling leaves. A branch snapped. Then another. She must have snapped them to signal.

Finally, somehow, he’d found her. She had grasped a handful of twigs and was bent over clasping her chest with one hand, the branches with the other. She stared at him, with horror, eyes wide. At any moment, she’d faint from lack of air.

Alfred’s medical training took over. He felt at her wrist for a pulse. Too fast. She was in shock.

He wrapped himself around her from behind and put pressure on her diaphragm. She melted into his arms, and he felt the tension drain from her limbs. His heart ached, but he had to be a doctor first. “Purse your lips. Try to inhale.”

He breathed in and out, demonstrating the directive and reminding her how to allow life back into her body—the delicate, small, oh-so-perfect body in his arms—too young to die.

She was slender and he could maintain the pressure on her chest with one arm. He brushed the hair out of her face and rested his free hand on her forehead. She leaned against his chest and inhaled deeply.

“What happened here?” He didn’t expect an answer. She had to catch her breath. Alfred felt for her wrist, her pulse was still too fast.

“I—nothing happened. It’s just…I got nervous, I guess, and then it felt like everything was closing in on me.”

Alfred held her tight, still attuned to her breathing. She’d been panicking. It hadn’t been a topic any of his professors explored, but he remembered that one of them mentioned in passing how this type of thing could happen to a person if they had a shock or something bad happened to them, or maybe if they were just sensitive. It had seemed important to know, and he’d taken note of it. Now, he was glad he did.

“There you go!”

He shouldn’t have, but Alfred cherished the weight of her body. He wanted to support her and make her whole again, no matter what or who put her in such a state. She coughed and turned around; her face so close that her lashes brushed against his cheek as she blinked.

“You had a shock,” Alfred whispered. “Did someone hurt you? Where is he?”

She shook her head but rested her face on his chest. Alfred held her tight, still attuned to her breathing. What had caused her to have this reaction? He pondered it, but as her inhalations became more regular, the lover within him overcame the doctor. It didn’t matter how, or why it had happened. He just wanted to make her better, by making her feel safe and calmed.

At that moment, all he desired was to be hers. He yearned to offer much more than support. He knew that all the love he wanted to give her wouldn’t be a match to her worth, yet nothing stirred his heart more. She was so precious in his arms.

Alfred realized that this was the closest he’d ever held her. Even when they kissed, he hadn’t truly wrapped his body around hers. Although he’d only known her for two days, he couldn’t envision being without her. He allowed the soft embrace to linger. Ada seemingly welcomed the support and rested against his chest. His heart cracked again, but it didn’t break. A whole new feeling hatched within him, one that he, as a man of science, dared not name. Surely it was too soon to think like a romantic.

Another minute passed. Alfred dropped his face onto Ada’s head and inhaled her tantalizing scent of almond and burned sugar.

It was neither right nor proper, but she was the woman he’d love to hold forever.

But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Unless he could get enough money to renege on the deal with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. He should go back inside and gamble, but he couldn’t move even an inch. He shouldn’t, mustn’t… but he wanted to kiss her again. At least for now. Even if his bride were a stranger, he’d honor their vows. Except that he was no longer willing to uphold his end of the bargain with the matchmaker. His heart had found a direction that his life had yet to follow.

Alfred had made a mess of things. He knew that now. He’d entered an oral contract that he was going to breach. He’d pay the price and lose the money. There would be no line of credit. He wanted to treat patients. He was good at that, so good, he’d do it for free.

How could he have asked for money to bandage a little boy’s hand? Didn’t his mother have enough to worry about?

He’d studied, practiced, and passed every exam. For what? It was circular reasoning, a vicious cycle of what-ifs that led nowhere.

Alfred pushed reason aside and squeezed Ada tighter. He tingled with euphoria, as if every bit of contact with her was a victory for his worried soul.

Worry indeed. He only had days and was falling fast for the girl he held, whom he mustn’t have. And yet, his body was again at odds with his mind.

A light in the corner of his eye irritated him. Alfred looked up at the windows of The Lyon’s Den. Busy people were illuminated from within. Then he noticed a silhouette at a second-floor window. A veiled female held the curtains aside and then dropped them when he saw her.

“How did you find me?”

Ada’s voice was muffled by his coat. He unbuttoned it and wrapped the material around her. The dress she donned was identical to the one she had worn the previous night.

“Puck.”

“Good old Puck,” Ada spoke as if he were an old friend.

“Puck serves the fairy king Oberon. But he was angry with the fairy queen, or was that someone else?”

“In the Shakespeare play? I think that was it. Titania couldn’t have what she wanted.” Her mind was sharp as ever, and the extent of her knowledge astonished Alfred anew. “Puck got the king what he wanted, didn’t he?”

“Maybe,” Alfred shrugged, wondering whether Mrs. Dove-Lyon was Oberon in this story. “I forgot the details.”

For a moment, he thought Puck, the wolf, watched them through the glass doors. Had he seen them holding each other? Alfred was certainly being watched. If he didn’t make enough in the twelve remaining nights, he’d have to marry a stranger. The closer he held Ada, the further his chances with her slipped from his future.

Ada lifted her head and said, “Take me away from here, Alfred.”

He’d lose a night of gambling but gain a night with a girl he… no, it was impossible. He wasn’t some feckless boy who’d lost his heart in a day. But neither was he so na?ve as to let the opportunity pass to be with a woman as exquisite as Ada.

“Let’s go.”

He took her hand and pulled her to the nearby garden gate. With a loud squeak that disrupted the quiet of the night, Alfred led Ada away from The Lyon’s Den. Away from prying eyes. Away from the world. The looming thought of facing Mrs. Dove-Lyon made Alfred shudder. But tonight was about love, and he was determined to live in the moment without contemplating the uncertainties of tomorrow.