Page 23 of Lyon on the Lam (The Lyon’s Den)

Mother was on the sofa nearest the door, visiting with Charlotte. Their wine glasses were half empty. Will was standing near the fire, a brandy snifter cradled in one hand and a delighted smile on his face while he watched his wife.

“I hope you still prefer whiskey before dinner,” Tavie said.

Matthew turned to accept the drink, pleased that she’d remembered, but his remarks died on his lips.

She’d given up mourning black for a purple, simply cut dress that he recognized. “Your mother still had that?”

“She refused to let me take my old dresses with me when I married, but she never lets anything go.” Tavie looked down as she smoothed her skirts. “It’s a bit out of fashion.”

“It was always my favorite,” Matthew whispered. “You looked like one of the last flowers in the garden.”

Her eyes glittered under the lights. “Thank you, Matthew.” She indicated the book. “I’m so glad you retrieved that. Just the thought of fetching it from Mrs. Dove-Lyon embarrassed me.”

Matthew let the whiskey slide down his throat. “I’d like Will to take a look at it.”

“Why?” she asked. “We’ve talked about this. It’s a mash of numbers that don’t prove anything. Not without some sort of corroboration. I can’t believe I ran across London in the middle of the night as though I were carrying the Crown Jewels.”

“No, you said it was a mash of numbers that don’t prove anything.”

“Well, you thought it from the moment you saw me.” Despite her words, her eyes danced.

Matthew felt his smile all the way to his toes. This was the girl he’d wanted to marry.

His tongue grew heavy with the need to kiss her. Her eyes widened until he felt as though he could fall into their green depths, like wandering into a forest and deciding to stay forever.

The pressure on his chest had nothing to do with his racing heart and everything to do with Tavie’s palm there. Matthew looked down at it and blinked. He had been falling toward her.

He always had been.

“I think you saw a pattern that you thought meant one thing, but might mean another.”

Her brow furrowed. “What are you thinking?”

Matthew couldn’t tell her what he was thinking, not yet. “I’m focused on too many things to see it, but Will can find it.” He put his hand over hers. “Do you trust me?”

Her nod sent his heart thudding, and her blush told him she could feel it. Perhaps hers was pounding as well.

He wanted to touch her and see.

And then Martin rang the damned dinner gong.

“After you,” Matthew murmured as he held the door to the library.

Tavie liked the room immediately. A low fire warmed it, and the oaken furniture glowed under the lamplight. Thick rugs muffled sound, and the floral pattern complemented the colors of the books resting on the shelves.

It was more than a design strategy. She walked alongside one of the walls, reading the titles. It was difficult on most of them because the gilding had worn off after years of use and the words blended into the spines. She recognized several from years ago.

This was a well-used space for a well-loved collection. It gave the room its scent.

The door closed, and she turned to face Matthew and Will.

Tavie couldn’t focus on Matthew and think straight. It had been a problem throughout supper, which had been delightfully informal. That had allowed her to chat with Charlotte and not be concerned with whatever direction Celeste Foster turned.

She needn’t have worried. After a bit, it became obvious that Celeste was much more interested in her than in hostess responsibilities.

That had left Matthew and Will to speak at length. Much to Tavie’s chagrin, Matthew’s voice teased her throughout the evening, to the point that she had trouble following Charlotte’s bubbly conversation. Every time his eyes met hers, everyone else in the room fell away.

Just as it did now.

She wrenched her focus to Will. “Where do we begin?”

He indicated a seat near the fire with the ease of someone who had been here often, waiting until she was settled before seating himself.

Will removed the ledger sheets from the book and skimmed the figures. Tavie knew what he was seeing: lists of dates when Albert traveled to France or when the comte went to Hampshire, and corresponding deposit amounts. Will frowned, either in thought or concern—it was impossible to tell.

“I believe this is enough to begin my research,” he mumbled. “There’s a wide enough range of dates to establish a pattern.” He looked up at her. “There are no records of payments.”

She shook her head. “At the time, I thought the deposits were more damning.” After all, a spy would never pay his contact.

Would they?

“And he’s not aware that you have these pages.

” It wasn’t a question, and Will wasn’t looking at her.

“Which means he’ll have it on his shelf with the others.

And that means there will be more to the pattern, if we need to go that far.

” As he spoke, he flipped through the sheets, over and over, quickly glancing down the rows of figures.

Then he nodded and stood to leave. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Tavie. I’ll come visit if I have questions.” He stopped near Matthew on his way to the door. “I’ll have answers soon, I think. I’ll send word.”

And then she and Matthew were alone. The tick of the clock echoed between them. The fire popped.

“How are things with your mother?” Matthew asked. He was closer than she’d thought. The carpets had muffled his footsteps.

“Much as you would expect. I think the shock of my disobedience has overshadowed Angeline’s arrival, at least for tonight.”

“Angeline?”

“That’s her name. The other Lady Burridge.” She tasted the bitterness even as she heard it.

“Tavie—”

“It’s fine. Really.” And it was. Mostly. Tavie had never wanted the title or the husband who went with it, but once the contracts had been signed she’d done her best to be the wife Albert needed. She had done everything he asked, and many things he didn’t.

And he’d tired of her almost as soon as they finished their honeymoon.

Matthew drew her from the chair and into his arms. “The bastard is ten times a fool, but, by God, I’m glad of it.”

His finely woven shirt was like silk beneath her fingers, and it contrasted with the solid chest beneath. Every breath made his muscles expand. Tavie knew she should move from his embrace, but she didn’t wish to. And when his large hand rested on her waist, the matter was decided.

His heat soaked through the layers of clothing that had always protected her, melting her in places that were best not to consider. Her nipples hardened, chafing against her corset until they ached.

“If I kiss you, I’ll only want more,” she said.

Matthew dropped his head to her shoulder. “I know.” His breath teased her skin, and his scent surrounded her.

His hair was another temptation. She reached for it only to stop it tickling her ear, but the thick strands clung to her fingers and pulled her deeper. It was like running her fingers through freshly hulled wheat—warm and satiny. Tears stung her eyelids.

“Sweetest boy.” She choked out the old endearment, and her rough cough sounded too much like a sob.

It was embarrassing.

He tightened his hold, sliding a hand up her back to bring her closer. His low groan rumbled through her, bringing indecent thoughts with it. “Darling girl.”

Tavie wasn’t certain how long they stood that way, but she would have stayed longer except for the knock at the door.

“We should go, Mr. Foster.”

Rather than leaping backward like guilty children, she and Matthew unwound from one another.

“Go where?” she asked him.

“Martin has set up a meeting with someone who has information I need.”

There was a secret in his eyes that gave her pause. “About me?”

Matthew was quiet for a long moment, but he never looked away. “Perhaps.”

“Then I should come as well.” She turned to leave.

He took her hand. “Let me go alone this time, please.”

“But you’re discussing me .” She wasn’t beginning a new life only to repeat the mistakes of the old one. “I’m not staying behind.”

“Tavie, we’re going to Lambeth.”

Apprehension shuddered down her spine. As much as she appreciated the help she had received there, and as much as the area intrigued her in the daylight, the memories of their escape were too fresh.

“We might find nothing,” Matthew said.

He wasn’t going into that section of London for no good reason. “Then I’ll know nothing more than what I do now. But I won’t have anyone, not even you, decide what I learn.” She squeezed his hand before pulling free. “You should straighten your hair before we leave.”

His laugh had always been her undoing. Now, in this space with only the two of them, doing something so domestic and enjoying each other’s company, sparks went through her until her lungs expanded.

They left the room arm in arm. “Tavie is coming along,” Matthew announced. “Do you think it will cause a stir?”

“Perhaps.” Martin lifted her cloak from its peg near the door and held it for her. “But it will make for an interesting evening.”

Their return to Lambeth was less jarring, thanks to the coach, but still nerve-racking given what might be waiting. It helped that Matthew was next to her, holding her hand.

“Who are we meeting?” Tavie asked.

Martin scratched a spot over his eyebrow. “At my last household I made the acquaintance of a maid who worked for a neighboring estate—Grace. She moved on to a new employer, Lord Stanton, and came with the family to London.”

“Stanton?” Tavie asked. “The earl and his family have a townhouse near Albert’s.”

Martin nodded. “Grace has grown close to one of Lord Burridge’s staff, who has agreed to meet with us. She wouldn’t go into details.”

Tavie ran through the maids and serving girls in Albert’s house, wondering who would have known about his secret life in France.

The only possibility was Mrs. Hatch, though the housekeeper would never stoop to gossiping with a housemaid.

And, despite her slavish devotion to Albert, he would not have confided in her.

As they went deeper into Lambeth, the streets grew more crowded and the coach slowed to allow pedestrians to pass.

During Tavie’s brief stay earlier in the month, the juxtapositions of the area had fascinated her.

Lambeth during the day focused on shops and markets.

During the night, the pubs were bright and noisy, drawing single men and women for rowdier entertainment.

In Mayfair’s quiet streets, Society looked down on the rougher working-class crowd who spent all their wages on vice . It had been an easy judgment to make. However, meeting Hildie’s lodgers and having them protect her had given Tavie a new perspective.

Most of these men and women worked hard for long hours and simply wanted to relax before doing it again the next day. Their celebrations might have been rowdy, but they reminded Tavie of the country dances she once enjoyed before Mother had begun to look down her nose.

The coach stopped in front of a well-lit pub. Martin stepped down, and then Matthew. He reached back for her. “Stay with me.”

Tavie nodded. While she had been disabused of her prejudice about the area, she wasn’t foolish enough to trust everyone around her. The warren of shadowy alleys hid dangers and threats. Even in Mayfair, London at night was frightening.

The cowl of her cloak blinkered her to everything but the doorway ahead. Each time it opened, music and laughter tumbled out to the street.

Once inside, Martin scanned the crowd for a moment before focusing on a shadowy corner. “This way, please.”

Matthew put her between them, and Tavie kept her focus on Martin’s back as they wound toward the back.

They reached the table, and a rosy-cheeked young woman tilted her cheek for Martin’s kiss. Tavie guessed that she and the young maid were the same age, but Grace looked more like a milkmaid than a housemaid.

Tavie lowered her hood and offered her hand to the lady by way of introduction.

“Bloody hell,” the man opposite her blurted. He slapped his hand over his mouth as the color leached from his face. “My apologies, Lady Burridge.”

Her heart sped. She’d expected one of the maids, not the junior footman. “Think nothing of it, Russell. I know this must be a shock.”

“Mrs. Hatch told us all you’d left for the country and wouldn’t be returning.” The young man’s dark eyes were wide. “But she and Trudy have been whispering for weeks below stairs.”

Just the mention of her maid’s name made Tavie’s blood run cold.

“I’m just so glad to see you alive and well, m’lady. Wait until I tell the others.”

“We’d ask that you not do that just yet,” Matthew said. “I believe the lady’s safety depends upon it.”

The younger servant nodded without hesitation. “I agree, sir. You have my word.”

Tavie frowned as she looked between them. “Surely he could tell them I haven’t drowned in the Thames, Matthew. My return will be in all the scandal sheets soon enough.”

“Begging your pardon, Lady Burridge, but several of us have been worried after you for quite some time. Watching you fade had us alarmed.”

His words raised so many questions, not the least of which were the identities of the servants who had liked her enough to worry over her health.

However, considering them brought an added weight of guilt.

She thought she had hidden her unhappiness and ennui from those around her.

“I apologize, Russell. I didn’t mean to alarm anyone. ”

The young man cocked his head to the side, like a spaniel interpreting a command. “My lady, they were making you sick on purpose.”

The roar in Tavie’s ears drowned out the rowdy crowd as she tried to make sense of the boy’s words. One at a time, they each were understandable. Strung together in that sentence, however, they make her head swim.

Matthew held her hand in an iron grip, almost crushing her fingers between his. “How, Russell? How did they do it?”

“Mr. Bishop kept poison for the vermin in the garden.” Russell leaned forward. “I came into the kitchen one afternoon, looking for scones from breakfast, and I saw Mrs. Hatch mixing Lady Burridge’s tea. The poison was on the bench beside the kettle.”