Page 24 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

“L et go of me,” Anastasia demanded. “At once.”

“‘ At once ,’” Jeremiah mimicked, laughing in her face. Spittle struck her lip.

She itched to wipe it away but couldn’t. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you, pet. No woman walks away from me. Let’s you and me have a little talk.”

“Let go of me. I can’t think when you’re hurting me,” she said, twisting her wrists. His grip felt like iron.

He sneered. “Maybe I like you like this. A little pain never hurt anyone. Reminds me of a time you liked being pinned beneath me. You remember, don’t you?”

Anastasia turned her head. “Don’t remind me.”

He slapped her. “Don’t talk that way to me, Ana. Not when we know each other so well.”

Rage filled her. Anastasia stomped on his toes and reared back, falling. She struck her shoulder on the edge of the stone bench, which hurt, but it managed to break his hold on her wrists. Scrambling away, she turned and kicked as she tried to escape.

But curse her long skirts, he was on her, stepping on her dress. She was stuck. Rocks and little pebbles from the tended path bit into her skin and the ground felt cold.

Jeremiah gripped the back of her hair in his fist and pulled her head back painfully. “Teach you to step on me, Ana. I’ll show you what that feels like.”

“Stop right there. Get your hands off of her.” Mr. Hardwicke’s cold voice rang out in the garden.

Jeremiah froze. He slowly released her and stood, turning around. “Who the hell are…? Oh, it’s you. What the devil do you want?”

Anastasia wiped her mouth and sat up. Mr. Hardwicke stood at the entrance to the garden, and behind him stood Hermia, the dancer-like servant who had originally shown Anastasia around the Lyon’s Den.

“Your invitation to the Lyon’s Den has been revoked, Mr. Jemisin,” Hermia said. “Please leave. Immediately. We will see you out.”

“And who’s going to make me? You ?” Jeremiah asked.

Theseus, the man with the military bearing who watched the front door of the ladies’ entrance, stepped out of the shadows. There was no mistaking his defensive posture as he crossed his arms, even without saying a word.

“What’s this? Did she put you up to this? Ana’s nothing but a spoiled little minx. What’s she been telling you?” Jeremiah demanded.

“Come away, Mr. Jemisin,” Hermia said. “I suggest you come quietly. We’d hate to have to march you out in front of everyone.”

Jeremiah spat on the ground, spittle landing near Anastasia’s hand. He snorted and laughed. “Be seeing you, pet. We’re not done yet, not by a mile.”

Anastasia swallowed and avoided him as he walked off, led away by Hermia and Theseus. Hermia spared her a glance and murmured something to Mr. Hardwicke, who nodded.

In a second, Mr. Hardwicke crossed the small distance from the garden entrance to where she sat and soon was on his knees. “Are you well?”

She nodded and sniffed, blinking back a tear. Jeremiah had scared her.

“Did he hurt you?” Mr. Hardwicke asked. “I saw him grab you.”

“Only my pride. And my cheek.” She raised a hand and winced, then froze as Mr. Hardwicke reached for her. He gently stroked her cheek with his thumb and met her eyes. A beat, then two, passed. His eyes darted to her mouth.

She licked her lips. Her blood began to pound as he slowly leaned in, when… she sneezed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Mr. Hardwicke’s hand fell away. He recollected himself and said, “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s my fault for keeping you out here. You could catch a chill, and your aunt would never forgive me. Please.” He took her hands in his and helped her to her feet.

She shivered then and felt the night air touch her bare shoulder.

“Oh, no, my dress.” Her beautiful gown was dirty and scuffed.

The delicate fabric had torn slightly and needed mending.

Then she became aware of her hair, having tendrils fallen out of place due to her tumble. “And my hair. I must look a fright.”

“Not at all. But I do think you may wish to freshen up,” he said.

“Where can I go? I do not know this place very well.”

“I’ll find a female servant to escort you.” Mr. Hardwicke removed his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “We seem to keep finding ourselves in these situations, Miss Banks. That’s the second time you’ve pinched a jacket of mine.”

“I thought our servants cleaned it and sent it back to you. Did they not?” She tensed, then realized… “Are you… making a joke?”

“Yes. Would you rather I dunk you in the pond there for the full effect?” There was a slight pull at the corners of his mouth, as if he were trying hard not to smile.

She gave a little laugh, and it diffused the tension between them. “Thank you.”

He stood close to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. The proximity to him made her want to inch closer and snuggle up to him. She blinked and coughed. What was she thinking?

“Miss Banks, I…” He started, when Hermia reappeared.

“Miss Banks, Mr. Hardwicke. Just to let you know that Mr. Jemisin has been escorted from the Den. He won’t be allowed in. Miss Banks, I hope you are all right. May I escort you to a private dressing room to refresh yourself?”

“Yes, please. That would be very helpful,” Anastasia said, walking forward. She paused and began to shed the coat, when Mr. Hardwicke said, “Hold on to it for now. I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”

She nodded her thanks and followed Hermia through a back corridor and up a flight of stairs, where, safely away from prying eyes, the servant showed her into a private dressing room.

Waiting for her was a maid, who introduced herself as a seamstress, a steaming bath, and another maid to help her undress.

A short time later, Anastasia was washed, clean, and in her shift, which miraculously had not gotten damaged from her tumble.

She sat in her now hastily washed, dried, and mended dress as the seamstress made a final alteration to the torn sleeve, whilst another maid dried and put up her hair.

But as she sat patiently, her thoughts dwelled on Mr. Hardwicke.

She was lucky he’d been there. What had he been doing there in the first place?

Had he seen her enter the garden? It sounded like he’d found her just after Jeremiah had slapped her.

In any case, she was lucky, a thought that brought tears to her eyes.

Anastasia had had a little cry in the hot bath and had scrubbed her cheek extra hard where Jeremiah had touched her.

She wanted to wipe all remnants of his hand from her skin.

Even seeing the bare skin turn pink from the hot bath and her scrubbing, she still felt tainted and impure just having been touched by him.

Her temper rose. How dare Jeremiah have been so horrible to her? Could she call the watch and press a charge against him? The London Bow Street Runners and the watch were more focused on serious crimes, not a momentary slap between a man and a woman, she decided.

She was just about ready to rejoin the main room, when her aunt came sailing in. “My dear girl, whatever happened?”

“I… tripped and fell off the stone bench in the garden. It was silly of me, being in a garden at night. I could hardly see and tore my dress and got filthy in the process. Hermia was kind enough to show me to this room where I could restore myself.”

“That is very kind. But I heard that a young man was involved.”

“Yes, Mr. Hardwicke found me almost as soon as I’d tumbled.”

Her aunt came closer. “That’s not what I mean. Hermia informed me that a Mr. Jemisin was there, too.” She turned to the servants. “Are you done?”

The maids nodded and left the room. Once alone, Aunt Mildred asked, “Are you well, Anastasia?”

Anastasia nodded. “I am now. Mr. Jemisin and I… had a disagreement. He was escorted out.”

“He didn’t… hurt you, did he?”

“Only my pride. And my cheek.” She held a hand up. “But please do not tell Betsey. She’s been so happy the last few days. I wouldn’t want something like this to hurt her.”

“Hmm. I don’t like it. Why should you protect a man who raised a hand to you?

Maybe you were right all along. If the elder Mr. Jemisin acts this way toward a young woman, how can we trust his younger brother?

” Aunt Mildred breathed in noisily through her nose.

“I shall watch Betsey and her young man carefully. And if I see any hint of impropriety, he’s done.

Betsey can throw all the tantrums and fits she wants.

I will not see her connected to such a man. ”

“Hear, hear,” Anastasia said, slapping her thigh.

“Now let us go back downstairs. There is a young man who was inquiring after you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He says you borrowed his coat.”

Anastasia smiled and glanced at Mr. Hardwicke’s coat, which now lay off the back of a chair nearby. “Yes, let us go return it to him.”

Downstairs, they were met by Mr. Hardwicke, who inquired after her health and reclaimed his coat. “If you are cold, you are welcome to keep it,” he said.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” She pressed it into his hands.

But as their hands met beneath the coat, his hand enveloped hers and held it a moment.

She looked into his eyes. They were brown. And kind. A warm shiver traveled through her, right down to the tips of her toes. Then a cough came from nearby, and they broke the connection. She stepped back. “Mrs. Sherwood, good evening.”

“What are you doing with Mr. Hardwicke’s coat?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“I was out in the garden and was cold, so he offered it to me,” Anastasia said. She still felt his eyes on her.

“Interesting. Did I hear that you had Mr. Jemisin thrown out of the Lyon’s Den?

That’s a bit high-handed, wouldn’t you say?

” Mrs. Sherwood said. She wore a midnight-blue gown with a gauzy overlay, and golden, shining thread about the waist with a thin, gold strand of necklace that dipped to her chest. “I would never dream of having a man thrown out of a party, just because I did not like him.”