Page 13 of Don’t Wake a Sleeping Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected)

A da felt safe, wrapped in Alfred’s arms, something she hadn’t experienced in far too long. As if he were the only person in the world who could give her room to breathe. She came into her own when she was near him. She hadn’t been truly secure since her father died. That’s when her episodes of breathlessness started.

Ada lifted her gaze. It was too dark to see beyond the building facades and more than a few feet ahead.

Alfred walked fast and pulled her along, their fingers entwined. It was more urgent than their stroll from Regent Park to Marylebone. This was a sprint. After her breathless terror, the brisk night air was invigorating.

“Where are you taking me?” She gurgled a laugh as the wind brushed some hairs across her face. It was exciting to let him lead her through the night. She was in his hands and quite liked it. She’d been alone since her father died, and since then she hadn’t felt safe—until this night when Alfred held her and her breathing regained a normal rhythm. Could he have the same effect on her life?

“Home.” He sounded determined to commit mischief. It was exhilarating.

Step by step, as they rushed past buildings, Ada relinquished her forced independence, trusting him with everything she had—the way she used to trust her father. Alfred made her feel safe as nothing had in so long. She was desperate to forget the risks and to give herself over to wandering the night with a man she barely knew who her insides to a boil.

Alfred was young, kind, well-bred, probably an aristocratic third son who had to study medicine since he couldn’t inherit. Anyone with such elegance and poise was surely of noble blood. Plus, he was well-respected at The Lyon’s Den as The Cavalier. But the connotation made no sense. Alfred wasn’t arrogant, and he cared deeply about others. Why did he bear such a nickname?

Ada ran the word through all the languages she spoke. In French, a cavalier was a rider. Cavaliere in Italian was a knight. That came closer to the Alfred she knew. He was chivalrous, even guiding her through an uneven path in the London darkness. The German word debonair summed it all up: helpful, gallant, and an absolute gentleman!

“Do you speak any German, Alfred?” Ada asked as they turned a corner and came upon Regent’s Park.

“Why do you ask?” He stopped and they stood looking into one another’s eyes under a flickering street light. “I understand it, yes. But I don’t speak German.”

Ada’s instincts from Konigsberg returned. Every time someone said “German” with such disgust, they were Jewish. But she knew better than to hope for this gorgeous aristocrat to understand the context.

In Prussia, there were two kinds of people: Christian German-speakers, and Jews who spoke Yiddish, a language so close to German it sounded like a dialect. The Gentiles hated the Jews and disallowed the study of German, forcing them to maintain their telltale Yiddish dialect. If her teachers hadn’t trained her to speak like a German, Ada would have slipped into the familiar Yiddish every time.

She mustn’t ask more questions lest she give away her heritage and lose any chance at allowing the handsome Englishman to seduce her. For that’s what she hoped he’d do tonight. She braced herself for a night of carnal pleasure, like in her romance novels.

Oh, how she used to cherish the sweeping gestures of the Englishmen in those books, the scenes fueling her dreamy imagination isolated on ships going back and forth across the channel. If Alfred gave her even one night like that, she’d exist on the memory for the rest of her life. If only he’d show her once what it was like to be a cherished woman, she could feed her heart on the memory as she went into a loveless marriage with the candidate Aunt Bessie chose.

One night. A few hours of passion. A harmless realization of her desire.

The knots in her stomach unraveled one by one. She exhaled a breath she’d held unknowingly and with it, her fear. However far Alfred would take her this night, she’d go along.

He let go of her hand and touched her elbow gently, so she turned to a few steps leading up to an entrance.

Shrouded in darkness, Ada had followed him along St. James and Piccadilly. When they stopped, she recognized Berkeley Street.

“My brother and I are renting a townhouse,” he said. “We can’t afford more right now but it’s serviceable.”

Yes, a third son without an inheritance. A nobleman. Her insides churned. She wanted him even if it was forbidden on every level.

“It’s perfect,” Ada said, admiring the carved oak door with a fanlight above. She didn’t want to think of her hole of a room in the attic and the cot without a pillow. And she didn’t want to go back there either.

The house was dark as they entered, and Alfred pushed the door shut behind her. He turned the gas lights on and Ada took in the surroundings of the hall. A worn but clean runner softened the tiled floor. Elegant ochre wallpaper lined the foyer. There was polished walnut paneling along the lower third of the walls. It was cozy and welcoming.

“Please.” Alfred invited her into a small drawing room. An area rug covered nearly the entire parquet flooring. A chair rail marked the walls that gave way to apricot wallpaper, complementing the deep blue curtains. The ceiling was plastered flat and the only lamp in the center was modern gas. Albeit not fancy, the room was bright and friendly.

“I love it, Alfred!”

He blushed adorably as if intimidated by the compliment. Was he used to more? Embarrassed by the size or quality of his home? He had the good looks of a fairy tale prince but surely she didn’t expect him to bring her to a castle.

“Would you like me to make tea?”

He’d make her tea? Make it himself?

She shook her head.

“Then, I need to speak with you.”

He took her hands and pressed them to his heart. This was not going as she’d imagined. In her books, the girl would be pressed against a wall by now, being ravaged and disrobed. She looked at the settee that looked rather inviting, with tasseled pillows in both corners but remained standing. The scene was rather more civilized than she’d hoped.

But when Alfred spoke his words came out urgent and heavy. “Ada, something has happened that… Ada, between us…”

He lifted her hands to his mouth. With reverence—there was no other way to describe the motion—he kissed her knuckles.

This was even better than in the books. For a moment, Ada watched, but then the warmth she felt became a need to possess. She wanted to lay claim to him if the world would think her deserving. Nothing mattered except him. She opened her hand and put her open palm on his beautiful cheek, along the length of his chiseled jaw. He was so handsome her heart ached. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he met her gaze with a heaviness that unsettled her.

She stood on her toes and arched toward him, her lips close to his. But he didn’t close the distance. She expected a kiss, but it never came. Instead, Alfred swallowed hard and furrowed his golden brows.

“I’m Jewish,” he said.

Silence.

Her mind went blank. Then thoughts—nonsensical ones—slowly began to bubble in her mind. No. He couldn’t be. Could he? Ada blinked as if the sight of him could allow her to process what he’d said. He couldn’t… was he? Really? Jewish? She didn’t know what to say and she realized it was because she had too many things to say all at once. His blond hair, clean-shaven face, and fashionable waistcoat were not what most Jews wore in London. Plus, he was blond… but so was she. It was impossible after all, and yet too good to be true. Ada had lost so much since her father died, she barely dared to hope that… she must have misheard and shook her head as if she could send the thought away.

He lowered his gaze to avoid hers. “I-I didn’t want you to be disappointed when you see me…” His shoulders slumped and he lowered his head. He seemed defeated and deflated. She could hear the hesitation in his voice, the sadness, and—it pained her to realize—self-disgust. “I mean, if we go upstairs, I thought you should know.”

Ada’s chest tightened again. Not with panic but with anticipation mingled with alarm. It was true. He was real. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. She was overwhelmed with feelings, not the least of which was that something momentous was happening, something that could change her life forever.

She was a gambler. She was always in control of her emotions, her thoughts. Except now. She fought to get herself under control but was still too overwhelmed by the incongruity of the moment. But Alfred was perfection, and no longer beyond reach. In this moment and with him, all the bad things, the evil Silvers, and her shabby cot didn’t matter anymore because she could be the old Ada again, the one who held the trump card, spoke several languages, and was cultured, unlike most girls her age.

She raised her head and straightened her back as the pride and energy returned. Finally, after everything that had happened, she could open her heart.

But why did he seem to perturbed?

“Ada, have you ever been with a man?”

She shook her head, confused that he didn’t feel the euphoria that took her in a wave at this very moment.

“That’s what I hoped. But I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.”

“D-Disappointed?” Ada grimaced, she didn’t understand.

“When you see me. I’m circumcised. We all are. My brother—”

“Stop talking.” Her words came out before she even realized she was about to speak. But she didn’t want him to ruin this moment or say something deprecating about his Jewishness because he thought she was a Gentile and would expect it. He thought himself less-than in her eyes—but he’d become as regal as a king. She just needed to let him know how she felt at this moment…if she could gather her thoughts and words.

His eyebrows shot up as she reached to clutch his face in both hands. Thoughts whirled in her mind. Too much had happened for her to process. He wasn’t at all what she’d imagined. He was neither forbidden nor unattainable.

Ada’s arms grew cold, but the passion she tried to stifle heated her heart. She tried to keep herself focused, to gather her thoughts and her emotions, and try to gain a semblance of control. But his words, “I’m Jewish” kept sounding, joyously, like bells in her ears. She hadn’t imagined it after all. It all made sense now, her mysterious and overwhelming attraction to him. It wasn’t just that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Or the fact that he was attracted to her despite her lowly status. There was more to their attraction than simple chemistry. They were alike.

He was perfect.

“Please say something.”

He swallowed hard, a frown on his beautiful forehead with a few unruly, golden locks hanging nearly to his eyes. Ada brushed the curls on top of his head with her fingers. It all made sense now. She was fated to meet him, wasn’t she?

The realization made the pain perfectly agonizing. Aunt Bessie was probably looking for her husband at this very moment and yet Ada’s heart had already found him. For that was what she wanted with Alfred, everything. If he was Jewish, she could let her heart spring into love with all the vigor that she’d been forcing herself to contain.

She blinked into his gorgeous blue eyes, a rare color for Jews, but not impossible. He was so handsome in his evening coat and tight cravat, but his golden hair betrayed the mischievous traits that even the elegant clothing couldn’t mask. He watched her expectantly as if he were awaiting a death sentence.

“I have nothing to say.”

He slumped, letting go of her hand.

“No, wait. I mean, it’s too good to be true but I have nothing to say.”

He froze. “What do you mean?”

“I’m Jewish, too. I just live with a Christian family here in London. My father died. I have nowhere else to go.”

Alfred stumbled backward as if she’d hit him. He bumped into the upholstered armchair behind him and grabbed the backrest. His chest rose and fell quickly.

“I grew up in Prussia. Ikh bin vi ir. ” I am like you, she whispered in Yiddish, hoping he’d trust her.

His expression, like that of a deer caught unaware, blinked in surprise yet overcome by a sense of doom.

“Alfred?”

He combed both hands through his hair and looked at her with those big, clear eyes. Was he scared?

“I-I gambled… I struck a deal with the widow.” He tightened his fists. “If I don’t win enough money for the down payment of the practice, I have to—”

“I know.”

Ada understood immediately.

“How long?”

“Two weeks, minus today and yesterday.”

“Twelve days then,” she concluded, crossing her arms to steady herself. It would have been too good to be true, of course.

“I have the same deal with her… not even two weeks, though. In fact, I don’t know how much time. That’s why I panicked in the garden today… when you found me.” I know she’s going to find a man for me to marry and I’m scared because…”

She trailed off. She’d been about to tell him. Because I knew that man wasn’t going to be you .

Now that she knew he was Jewish—allowed to love him—everything was suddenly worse, not better. She’d have to marry a man she didn’t love, forever separated from this man, whom she knew she’d love forever.

Her dream had turned into a nightmare.