Page 1 of Lyon’s Obsession (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #91)

Such had been his life for more years than Alexander would care to admit to any in this room, though those with whom he shared his table already knew his story, just as he knew theirs. They were family: Lord Macdonald Duncan and his “adopted” sons.

“Where is your mind, Alexander?” Duncan asked.

“Likely on your Theodora,” Thompson said jokingly, while playfully slapping Alexander on the back.

Alexander despised when the “family” assumed he would one day propose to Duncan’s daughter Theodora.

It was not as if he was not fond of Theodora, for he was—very fond, in fact.

Yet, the day Lord Macdonald Duncan had dragged Alexander from the room he occupied in London’s rookeries to claim the Marksman earldom, Alexander had made a promise to bring his mother and sister to Derbyshire and permit them to enjoy the same respect and luxuries he did each day.

Only when his own family—blood family—were settled upon the Dutton estate would he consider marrying anyone.

“You know my thoughts on marriage at this time,” he said for likely the hundredth time, of late.

“I am but four and twenty. Each of you are older than I, and I do not see you speaking your proposals,” he said and then noted a frown forming on Duncan’s forehead.

“I adore Theodora, sir,” he said obediently, “and I give you my solemn promise never to mistreat her.”

“We are here to celebrate Hartley’s success,” Lord Richard Orson said before Duncan reprimanded Alexander for playing Theodora along. “Are you prepared for India’s heat, Hartley?”

“Absolutely… not!” Justin Hartley said with a grin.

“You still have three weeks before your departure,” Duncan said, “and still much to accomplish before then.”

“Yes, sir,” Hartley said while sitting straighter.

“But not tonight,” Lord Navan Beaufort said. “Tonight, Hartley may choose one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s ladies, if he likes. I will pay the necessary fees.”

Hartley appeared quite embarrassed, but simply said, “I will choose my own bed tonight.” They all knew Hartley’s parents understood the young man’s unusual hours, but they would never approve of their son lying with a paid partner.

Mr. Robert Hartley was a vicar, who recently inherited a barony, quite unexpectedly.

His lordship would be aghast just to learn that his son dined at the Lyon’s Den, but would view it as part of young Hartley’s duties to the Home Office. “Though I thank you for the offer.”

Duncan shook his head in mild disapproval of their antics. “It is time we all call it an evening.”

Graham accepted the accounting set before them.

“You are not required to pay for all of us,” Alexander said with a frown.

“We may settle on Sunday at our weekly supper,” Graham assured.

“I thought you were to be on an assignment on Sunday,” Orson observed.

“I know where each of you live,” Graham said in his customary understatement.

Knowing Graham would not budge, they each tossed a few coins on the table and made their way across the dining room and past the gentlemen’s lounge and the smoking room towards the exit, where they encountered Mrs. Dove-Lyon, the Lyon’s Den’s proprietor.

“Good evening, my lords,” the woman said.

Alexander could not quite understand how a woman of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s age could run such an establishment as the Lyon’s Den, but he kept his opinion to himself.

He had exacted more than a handful of deeds of which he was not proud when he lived with his father in the rookeries.

Survival on London’s streets was not easy.

“I hope each of you enjoyed your evening,” the woman continued.

“Matchless,” Duncan declared. “Our Mr. Hartley has earned an important position in the British embassy in India. Though we will be sore to lose him, it is an excellent opportunity.”

“Did you each permit Mr. Hartley to win a few rounds so he might ‘enjoy’ the pleasures of India?” the woman boldly asked.

Alexander wished to comment on how they had already had the conversation on what Hartley might “enjoy,” but Thompson’s hand on Alexander’s shoulder had Xander swallowing his words.

Instead, Thompson asserted, “Hartley must have the ability to read through the back of each card, for he won more than he should.”

“Very good, Mr. Hartley,” the woman said with a small smile on her lips. With a nod of farewell to their group, she said, “If you have a moment, Lord Duncan, I would have a word with you. I had planned to send a note around at the beginning of next week.”

Thompson slapped Duncan on the back. “Perhaps a lady of the ton wishes a proposal from your lips.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s posture did not relay her thoughts on Thompson’s jibe, and it was impossible for Alexander to read the woman’s facial expression due to the veil she always wore in respect for her late husband Colonel Sandstrom Lyon.

“Not likely,” Duncan remarked. “I have known my one great love.” He nodded to each of them. “Claim your coaches. I will be close behind.”

Richard Orson slapped Alexander on the back. “If you plan to travel with me, I am prepared to depart.”

“Come, Hartley,” Navan Beaufort called. “I will see you home safely.”

Benjamin Thompson said, “I will ride with Graham and leave you my coach, Duncan.”

“Much obliged,” Duncan said. Alexander noticed his lordship had thought to embrace each of them, as was his custom when they all dined together, but did not do so in such a public setting.

They were still talking over each other as they exited the Lyon’s Den together.

Alexander sucked in a quick breath of chilly night air.

It was unusual for a breath of London air not to be filled with smoke and only God knew what else, but Alexander was thankful for the air’s crispness, for it assisted in clearing his head from the alcohol he had consumed.

“Would it not be something if some woman wanted an arranged marriage with Duncan,” Thompson declared in gleeful tones.

“Soften all his hard lines,” Graham suggested.

“Would he discipline her as he did us? A board to the rear,” Beaufort said, and they all broke out in laughter, each enjoying the double entendre, though Alexander had always thought he would never punish a child thusly.

As his father had sunk further and further into depression after committing the most unbelievable act against his own family, Alexander often knew not just a “switch” or even a “paddle,” but rather Robert Dutton’s fists.

Nearly bent over in foolish, drunken laughter, when they reached the curbing to cross Cleveland Row, they had not expected to pass a large, boxy-looking man, wearing a dark wool coat, the garment nearly reaching the top of the fellow’s boots, as well as a hat more indicative of someone working in the farm fields than entering a gentlemen’s club.

The fellow walked stiffly in the direction of the entry meant only for men.

Alexander turned quickly in irritation, for the man had bumped Alexander’s shoulder.

Along with the others, he presented the fellow a “What the devil!” look, for the stranger had not stepped to the side, but, rather, had walked straight into their group, expecting them to give sway.

As Lord Duncan’s “sons,” and all of them earls of the United Kingdom of Great British and Ireland, none of them were expected to step aside for many in society beyond the King and Queen, the Prince Regent, and a few dozen marquesses and dukes.

“Who in the devil does he think he is?” Thompson growled. “A bloody duke or a prince?”

“Needs his arse kicked for not showing proper respect,” Beaufort declared. “And I am the man to do it.”

Beaufort started in the direction of the rude man, but Thompson caught his arm. “Just drunk,” Benjamin reasoned. “You know how a man deep in his cups attempts to walk straight. Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s man Titan will settle what is what.”

Alexander was still not satisfied, but, as usual, he followed the others’ lead. He had been the next to last of Duncan’s rescues and was late in learning the “ways” of the family; therefore, he often performed as the others prescribed.

They had all turned for a second look at the man who had dared to offend them. It was then that Duncan stepped from the club to raise his hand to catch their attention. “Wa…!”

Yet, before Duncan could finish this command, a gunshot rang out in the night’s stillness. A flock of ravens took to the air as the sound of the gun’s explosion ricocheted within the walls of the street’s corridor. To their horror, Duncan stumbled forward and collapsed, holding a hand to his chest.

Though Alexander realized the man in the long coat was running away, neither he nor his “brothers” moved for a handful of precious seconds.

“Hartley, with me,” Beaufort finally called as they darted off after the shooter, going around the left side of the building in the direction of the garden and the kitchen. The shooter was turning the corner of the building before any of them had moved.

Richard, Thompson, and the Lyon’s Den’s Titan rushed to Duncan’s side, while Graham kept the onlookers away.

“The other side,” Hartley called as he trailed Beaufort around the left side of the building, and Alexander darted off to the right, following Hartley’s orders.

Finding his footing, he quickly circled the building, gun leading the way when he reached the back of the gaming hell.

Hartley and Beaufort appeared on the other side of the building. They all looked on in frustration. “Where did he go?” Beaufort exclaimed.

Hartley ordered, “I am going back to check the garden. Beaufort will follow the path to the adjoining streets. Marksman, see if the man went inside. Be careful.”

But they were too late, for people were already streaming from every exit of the establishment, afraid of also being shot or being discovered in a gaming hell. Both Hartley and Beaufort shrugged their shoulders in disbelief.

“Look anyway,” Alexander ordered. “Look in niches and behind every bush and door.”

Even if he did not respect Lord Macdonald Duncan for all the man had executed in Alexander’s name, Xander would feel the same, for Duncan was Theodora’s father, and Alexander had made himself a promise to protect her at all cost. Theodora could not survive her father’s death.

Therefore, Alexander meant to rewrite history, if necessary, to assure Theodora’s happiness.

When Beaufort and Hartley did not move, even as people streamed around them, Alexander growled. “Duncan cannot die! You all promised Lady Elsbeth that we would protect him. Now, find his shooter!”