Page 11 of Enchanted by the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #93)

L ucius swayed in the chair he was sitting in, trying to focus on the card game in front of him.

He took hold of the crystal glass near his hand and raised it toward his mouth.

But with his vision suddenly blurry, he wondered what might have been slipped into his brandy.

He was never one to overindulge nor to allow his wits to become muddled from too much drink.

In fact, he never appeared drunk in public, but his current state was far from sober. Bloody hell !

Trying to concentrate on what was happening around him, he watched the dealer raise a hand to call over the pit boss.

The woman named Hippolyta sashayed over to his table and came to stand next to the dealer.

Nick whispered in her ear while a slow smile spread across her features.

Making her way around the players, she came to stand behind Lucius’s chair.

Placing a hand on his shoulder she leaned forward, and the overpowering smell of her perfume hit him.

“It appears, Lord Blackthorn, that you are in a bit of a predicament,” Hippolyta said softly.

Lucius rubbed at his eyes that were beginning to water. “How so?” he finally managed to say.

“You are short of funds to cover your last bet, my lord,” she said with a smile.

“Impossible,” he growled, searching for the pile of coins he had in front of him. But the woman was correct, since his few winnings were gone. When the devil had he bet so much? “I’m good for what I owe.”

“I’m sure you are, Lord Blackthorn, but you’ll have to discuss payment arrangements with Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” the pit boss replied. “Follow me, please.”

Lucius rose from his chair but weaved once he gained his feet. The absurdity of his situation made a curse leave his mouth in protest of his inebriation. He almost fell into the table before Hippolyta called out for two nearby bouncers on the gaming floor.

“Lysander! Francis! Please come assist Lord Blackthorn in order for him to meet with Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” she called to the men who swiftly came to do her bidding.

Lucius shook off their hands to give aid.

“I can manage, gentlemen.” Since he was still unsteady on his feet, the two bouncers walked nearby in case Lucius keeled over as they made their way to the far side of the room.

If that happened, the embarrassment would remain with him for the rest of his life.

He rubbed the back of his neck while the owner of the Lyon’s Den private office loomed ahead.

God help him with whatever she would demand of him.

The door opened just as Lucius was about to reach for the handle.

Valentine appeared, slightly green and just as unsteady on his feet as Lucius was feeling.

Clearly something wasn’t agreeing with the man.

Maybe Lucius hadn’t been drugged but he and his friend were suffering from some kind of affliction. It would make sense, he supposed.

“You, too?” Val muttered taking hold of the doorframe.

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Lucius replied, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He pointed into the room. “Dare I ask what she asked of you?”

Valentine’s eyes widened and he quickly slapped his hand over his mouth as he turned even greener. “ Urmph ,” he managed to say before running down the hall and—hopefully for the sake of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s establishment—outside.

Hippolyta waved her hand for Lucius to enter the office. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon is ready to see you now, my lord.”

Another curse left him. “Of course, she is.” Left with no other option other than to proceed into the room, Lucius entered while the door quietly shut behind him.

The room was nothing short of extravagant with a fine mahogany desk placed toward the rear of the room.

Bookshelves lined one wall, and two chairs and a small table were situated in front of a large fireplace.

Personally, it felt too warm to have a fire but maybe that was because of whatever drugs that had been placed in his drink, causing Lucius to feel overheated.

The room itself spoke of this woman’s wealth and Lucius wasn’t the least surprised that the Black Widow of Whitehall had spared no expense in her office decor.

The lady rose from behind her desk and waved her hand toward the chairs in front of the fire. “Good evening, Lord Blackthorn. Thank you for coming to see me.”

“Did I have a choice?”

A light laugh came from behind her black veil. No one ever saw this woman’s face and he was no exception. “Not when you lose at my tables or can’t cover your bet. But you are well aware of the rules here at the Lyon’s Den, are you not, Lord Blackthorn?” she purred almost too sweetly.

He nodded and waited for her to take her seat before sitting in the chair opposite of her. “What are your terms, Mrs. Dove-Lyon?” There was no point in delaying the inevitable.

“No idle chit chat first, my lord?”

“I prefer to settle my debts quickly and efficiently,” he declared, leaning back in his chair.

The room tipped slightly and the widow appeared to turn into two identical widows, except one of them appeared somewhat shimmery on the edges.

He chose to direct his attention to the more solid woman in the hopes she was the correct one.

“I have a woman client—”

No! He tried to rise but his legs refused to support him, so he ended up sprawling against the back of the chair.

Blast it. He gripped the upholstered arms and leaned forward.

Slightly. The two women melded back into one.

He blinked. “I have no intention in allowing a card game to rule when I get married,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

Silence came from behind the veil before she finally continued, “Which is why I am hoping your friend Lord Carrington might suit my planned betrothal better than you. That is, unless you choose to reconsider.”

“I think not.” Lucius folded his arms over his chest. And his legs. There. His posture would prove he was serious in his refusal.

It appeared to work, as her head bobbed in agreement.

“Very well. I do need your help, however, with a delicate matter.” Her words seemed to swirl around his head and to ring in and out of his ears with an echo, as she appeared to shrink before she once again, duplicated.

Good Lord, it was terrifying enough when there was only one Mrs. Dove-Lyon.

Lucius wasn’t sure he could handle two of them.

He squinted at the pair. It didn’t help.

Need your help…delicate matter. Del…del…help! Then he remembered. Both of the Mrs. Dove-Lyons were waiting for his response. He drew himself up. I am Lord Blackthorn. I can do this.

“You are well-connected with everyone who is anyone in Society. I highly doubt I can be of much help when your connections will outweigh my own,” Lucius said.

Don’t agree to anything, he told himself. Stay focused!

If only Mrs. Dove-Lyon would stay still and stop turning into a fuzzy-edged twin. And if only the room would stop tilting. And spinning. Bloody hell.

“You underestimate yourself, Lord Blackthorn. As I said… it’s a delicate matter and I need someone who can be discreet in order to find the truth of the matter,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon proclaimed as she stood.

Lucius leaned as far back in the chair as he could and dug his fingers into the arms of the chair. He wanted to tell her, Stop! Don’t move! But then she went to the sideboard to pour herself a sherry. “Would you care for a drink, my lord?”

His stomach lurched and he remembered Valentine’s quick trip to…

someplace. A drink? Good God, no. “No and…” What was it he needed to say?

Oh. In spite of everything, he remembered.

There was a debt to be paid. “Please get to the point of how I can repay my debt to you,” Lucius said fighting impatience.

“My client, Mrs. Cassandra Vaughn—”

Whatever else the widow began saying was suddenly drowned out.

Cassandra. A vision of the lovely lady swept into his mind.

Her beautiful green eyes—the perfect color—her shining blond hair, her tempting figure that he would never see…

and the idea that the widow would be pairing his friend Val with the lady.

He frowned. It was inconceivable. A man he knew—a friend!

—would be paired with the woman who had rejected his offer only a few days earlier.

Not as a wife— Good Heavens, no —but as his next possible mistress. His. She was his!

“My lord!” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice cut through the fog, ringing like bells. “I’m speaking to you!”

Blinking his eyes, Lucius realized he hadn’t heard a single word the woman—only one, now—standing before him had said. If she’d said anything. It was hard to know. Once again, he squinted at her.

“You really must pay attention, my lord, if you want to settle your debt with me,” the lady told him, and he swore he could hear the smugness in her tone.

“Tell me again, madam.” He managed to stand and then moved in front of the fireplace hoping it would help him to keep his wits about him and perhaps get him out of this drugged state.

The widow’s heavy sigh swung her veil away from her face.

For a moment her chin was visible, but nothing more.

Lucius leaned an elbow on the mantel of the hearth.

He stared down into the flames. If nothing else, the mantel gave him support to stop swaying on his feet and staring at the dancing flames meant he didn’t have to look at a dancing, morphing Mrs. Dove-Lyon.

“Very well,” came her reply before she continued.

“As I was just informing you, Mrs. Vaughn’s previous marriage is steeped in old rumors that her husband’s older brother wasn’t the executor of her husband’s will.

It’s also possible he was illegitimate, but that had never been proved nor publicly discussed. ”

“Then Mrs. Vaughn should hire an attorney to look into the matter,” Lucius replied, sweeping his hand across the back of his neck to wipe away the sweat that had formed there.