Page 19 of Lyon on the Lam (The Lyon’s Den)

Five years ago, Tavie hadn’t understood this reaction, when even the breeze against her skin made her twitch. Now she understood.

And she knew how wrong it was supposed to be.

Her heart banged against her ribs, deafening her to the city outside the carriage, as he took her hand and lowered it to his lips. His bare fingers were warm, and though the calluses from his youth had softened, his hold was strong and certain.

Matthew’s warm breath danced over her hand as he held her gaze. The shadows in his eyes mirrored the war between her heart and her conscience.

She lowered her head. He did the same. Their breaths mingled.

“People do this all the time.” His whisper brushed her lips.

They did. Society was full of wives who took lovers and found happiness, or at least satisfaction, in snatches of stolen time.

But love couldn’t be stolen any more than it could be purchased. “It wouldn’t be enough,” she said. But she couldn’t bring herself to move.

“St. James Street, sir,” the driver called down just before the coach rocked to a stop.

The door swung open before they could move. “Thank God you’re—Oh, so sorry.”

Matthew straightened and lowered Tavie’s hand, but he didn’t release it. “No. No. It’s fine, Will. May I present Octavia Wilton, the Baroness of Burridge? Tavie, this is William Davis, whom we’ve been discussing.”

The other man’s eyes widened for just a moment. “It’s a pleasure, Lady Burridge.”

Tavie ignored her shabby clothes and simple appearance, but she pulled free of Matthew.

Here, in London, he could still be her anchor.

But she could be a millstone around his neck.

“For me as well, Mr. Davis. Matthew speaks highly of you.” She took the liberty of using Matthew’s Christian name, since he had used hers.

Will’s smile dented his pink cheeks. “Thank you, your ladyship.”

The return to London meant the return of titles and societal niceties that they’d been able to ignore in Suffolk. Tavie already chafed under the weight of it, of the reminder of her tie to Albert, and this was only her first conversation.

“You’ve saved me an extra visit.” Matthew stepped from the coach and reached to help her to the ground. “But why the alarm?”

“My rider didn’t arrive,” Will said. “I told your mother—”

“Mother’s still here?” Matthew frowned. “I told Martin to accompany her back to the country.”

He’d sent his mother back to Suffolk? What if she had stopped in Hadleigh? Or worse, overnighted at the same inn? Tavie shivered at the thought and then realized they were walking to meet her anyway. She tugged to free herself from Matthew, but he tightened his grip.

“When she woke and realized you were gone, she refused to leave.” Will glanced her way. “Matters have arisen, Matthew.”

Fear left an icy streak down Tavie’s spine. “Has Lord Burridge caused a scandal for the family?” she asked.

Will stayed quiet, but paled for a moment before he stared at his shoes. Tavie pulled Matthew to a stop, forcing them all to face one another in the back garden, where sheets were spread over the lavender bushes. She needed to know what they were walking into.

“This is no time for decorum, Mr. Davis,” she stated, though she had the sense to lower her voice. All of London had ears. “You are now a party to my flight from my husband. Has he somehow interfered with the Foster family?”

“No, my lady. But there is news.” He glanced to the houses on either side. “We should be indoors.”

They entered the house and stood in a warm kitchen that had been scrubbed until it shone. Tavie ran her fingers along the work-worn table in the middle of the room. “You brought this from home.”

“It wasn’t a kitchen without it,” Matthew said.

Even when they were children, the wooden table had been soft as satin.

But the exterior had masked its stonelike strength, something Matthew had discovered when he attempted to carve the underside.

She’d kept watch for what seemed like forever, terrified they would be caught and that his mother would never again allow her to visit.

As they passed, she touched the underside of the upper corner. The initials were there, but they were more shallow than she recalled.

I won’t carve them in a tree, Tavie. They fall all the time. Mother will never let us leave this behind.

He’d done it right before her family had left for London. He’d been so tall that his feet had stuck out the other end, and his arms were so long that working the knife had proved difficult.

They’d been old enough to know better, but young enough to dream.

One day, this will be in our kitchen, and we can tell our children…

Matthew put his hand at her waist to guide her into the hallway, and then to the entryway. The highly polished stone floor was covered with a thick, brightly patterned carpet. The floral design sprang to life in the squares of sunlight created by open doorways and open drapes.

A tall, regal man came to the bottom of the stairs. “Welcome home, Mr. Foster.” He bowed to Tavie. “Miss.”

If he was shocked by her presence, or her appearance, he didn’t show it.

“Thank you, Martin,” Matthew said. “You’re supposed to be in Suffolk.”

“Mrs. Foster insisted that we stay.” Martin’s expression had Tavie struggling not to laugh. She’d seen far too many tutors make that same face, usually because of her. “She said—”

“I told him that, though he was imposingly handsome and was simply following your directions, he was—after all—a butler and that I was in charge in your absence.” Celeste Foster descended the stairs.

Her words were light and her smile was wide, but the rest of her face was a blank mask. “I knew you were getting into trouble.”

She lifted her cheek for Matthew’s kiss, her eyes never leaving Tavie’s face. “Shall we talk in the drawing room?”

The walk was short, and the carpet muffled most of their steps.

Still, Tavie found time to wish for her favorite new dress.

It was green satin and simply fashioned, but the heavy fabric, petticoat, and corset were an armor against Society and its opinions.

She suspected she was going to need that protection now.

“We’ve had a chilly journey. Please have Cook bring tea and scones,” Matthew said to Martin. “And ask the maids to make up a spare room and draw a bath for our guest.”

“Certainly, sir.” The butler closed the door behind them.

“I suspected you two were together, wherever you’ve been.

” Celeste sat in a robin’s-egg-blue chair near the window.

It must have been her favorite, given the needlework perched on the upholstered arm.

It also gave her a fine view of the street and the front stairs.

She had been waiting for Matthew’s return.

“Your son was a gentleman, Mrs. Foster,” Tavie said. “And I apologize for tangling your family into this mess.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that Matthew behaved. I would expect nothing less. And I believe I gave you leave to use my Christian name years ago.”

She had. Tavie had been ten, and she’d never felt more like an adult. “Thank you, Celeste.”

“As for the mess…” The older woman paused as a thin, pale maid entered the room with a tray piled so heavily that it was a miracle she could carry it alone.

Tavie took a seat on the end of the settee, nearest the low fire, and Matthew sat beside her. He was close enough to touch, but there was a respectable space between them.

Once they were alone, Tavie looked from Celeste to Will, and back again. “What’s happened?”

“Baron Burridge’s mistress has arrived in London,” Celeste stated flatly.

It was a short sentence, but it was full of confusing information.

“Mistress?” Tavie asked, starting with the most glaring word. “ Albert has a mistress?”

Though she couldn’t confess to loving her husband, it stung to think he’d sought comfort with someone else. She had performed every duty expected of a wife.

All but one.

Celeste cocked her head. “Is that not why you left? Because if I’d discovered Charles had a lover, I would have run.”

Matthew snorted a laugh. “After you flayed him alive.”

Tavie stole a glance at Matthew. If he’d found love with someone else, she would have left London rather than see them together. “I wasn’t aware Albert had taken a lover.” If he had someone hidden in London, some malicious ton gossip would have made certain she overheard the stories.

But Celeste said this mistress had arrived . The only place he visited with any regularity was…Abbeville. She looked to Will. “She’s come from France, then?”

“Yes, Lady Burr—”

Tavie cut through his explanation. “Tavie, please.” The title had always felt like an ill-fitting shoe; now it was too ugly to wear.

He smiled before dipping his head in acknowledgment. Then he grew more serious. “She has arrived from France…Tavie. Napoleon’s march north sent them fleeing.” He cleared his throat and looked at Celeste.

Celeste leaned forward and closed her fingers around Tavie’s. They were warm and strong, but her eyes were soft with pity. “She’s brought her children. A son who is almost four, and a daughter who is barely walking.”

“And she’s claiming to be Baron Burridge’s lawful wife,” Will said. His eyes were a bit too bright. “She has a certificate of marriage from a rector in Abbeville. London’s full of gossip that Tavie did herself in from the shame.”

Matthew sat straight. “What?”

“Her parents have offered a reward for news of her,” Celeste said. “And Dorinda has all but claimed that the French girl has hypnotized Albert and pushed Tavie into the Thames.”

The room dissolved into noise and color. Tavie’s only anchor was Matthew’s hand on hers, and only one word echoed through her mind.

Children .