Page 17 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

T he cloudy, misty morning would not stop Amelia from taking a walk in the park. She needed to get out of this house, out of sight of Graham—as she couldn’t help but think of him now—while she gathered her thoughts about that kiss and what it could have meant. Did she believe Fran? Fran had said many things last night that still rattled around her mind like spilled pearls. She had educated Amelia in all the ways a man and woman could share their bodies with each other, and while not scandalized by the information, she was confused. Not everyone married for love, but it was difficult to imagine the women of the ton enjoying their husbands in such a fashion. Except for women like Julia Whistler.

She appeared to be enjoying her widowhood. Likely Julia had enjoyed some time with Graham, based on their closeness at the musicale. It bothered Amelia, and she was jealous, though she refused to examine why.

Another thought occurred. He wouldn’t compromise their secret for Julia, would he? Had he? It would be a gross betrayal if he had. No one could know what they were hiding, not even former paramours.

It all made Amelia curious about what other facets of himself Graham hid beneath the stone exterior he seemed to reserve just for her. He’d been different with Julia, more relaxed. He was never that way with her. He seemed to have a secret alternate identity of illicit expertise, and yet he presented to her a stick-in-the-mud facade. And the idea that Graham was somehow masterful at all the things Fran had described last night had also kept Amelia awake into the early hours.

She didn’t understand these complex emotions, but all of it was uncomfortable and she didn’t want to look at him. If she did, she’d think about that bloody kiss again, and then she’d think about him doing the other things she’d learned about.

She’d rather eat raw eggs.

So here she marched, the damp sidewalk crunching under her boots as she headed toward a smaller park near the house. There was a lily pond surrounded by lovely willows, and though quite public, it felt private and peaceful. Just what she needed. She needed peace, calm, and a place to get her head back in order.

She stepped onto the gravel path and slowed, taking a deep breath as she let the strain leave her shoulders and drew in the moist air, fragrant with grass and dew. Before seeing the pond, she heard the ducks softly quacking at each other. Soon there would be ducklings to fawn over.

Following the curved path around the pond, Amelia stopped at her favorite bench, nestled between two willows. She sat, unbuttoning her pelisse and leaning back. She didn’t know how long she sat there, but the sounds of the surrounding neighborhoods grew louder, the mist thinning as the sun dried the grass and streets. A shadow of a man fell over her, and she jerked, clutching her reticule. She’d followed Fran’s advice and put a small sheathed blade from Sam’s collection in her reticule.

Amelia twisted toward her foe. “I’m armed,” she blurted.

The man grinned, twin dimples winking at her beneath piercing blue eyes, shadowed by a black, John Bull top hat. He was neither young nor old, and his station was ambiguous. Was that intentional? Those with wealth displayed it with their fine clothing. His was well-made, but not overtly expensive. Amelia summarized that all in a blink. A useful tool Sam taught her when facing opponents over cards.

But all of that paled in comparison to his stunningly gorgeous face. He was a pretty man, but his beauty was not the kind to put one at ease. His attractiveness had a dangerous edge. His focus was too sharp, his smile too practiced and smooth.

“I should hope so,” he said teasingly. “May I sit?”

“No,” Amelia said warily.

“Please, I have an injury, and if it helps, I am acquainted with your brother, Lord Alston.”

Amelia watched him as he sauntered around the bench and sat down. Not too close to her.

“How do you know my brother?”

“The Den.”

She cocked her head. “Forgive me, I’ve heard of the Den, but I don’t know what it is.”

He stroked his chin. “Truly? You must not know your brother very well. He spends quite a bit of time there.”

“I’m his twin. Of course I know him, but since he is my brother, I don’t care to know where he is every moment of his day.” And especially not now, after what she’d learned from Fran last night. Fran assured her that her brother was quite successful with women, if rumors were true. Amelia had gagged.

“No, of course. The Den is the Lyon’s Den, a gaming club run by Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, the Widow of Whitehall.”

“Who?”

He frowned at her. “Are you sheltered miss?”

“No more than any other woman of two and twenty, or so I thought,” Amelia muttered. She really had been na?ve. “Can women play there?”

“Certainly, though your brother might not approve. Speaking of which, I have not seen him there as frequently lately. What has he been doing with his time if not divesting idiots of their ready cash?”

Amelia felt the now-familiar prickle of panic, but she schooled her voice. “Oh, he was called away to Scotland. The estate there is having well-water issues, from what I’ve been told.”

He cocked his head. “How boring.”

“I assume so, though Stirling is beautiful.”

“Oh, is that where he went? It’s lovely. Why did you not go with him?”

Amelia considered that. “I didn’t want to miss the season.” There was something rather intriguing about this man’s stare. She couldn’t look away. “My brother said he doesn’t know how long he will be gone and that I should stay and enjoy myself.” Why had she said that? On reflection, she was beginning to reveal rather too much about herself and Sam, all while looking into this man’s eyes. She ripped her gaze away and peered out at the gliding ducks.

“Interesting,” he replied.

“Not really.”

In her periphery, she noticed him turn to face the pond as well. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. She studied him more closely, now that he wasn’t looking at her. He had thick arms, which she found attractive. What did he do to build such muscle, and why did she like it?

Graham also had muscular arms.

She shook herself out of that thought.

“What is your name?” she asked him abruptly.

He angled his head toward her, those dimples appearing again, and she wanted to sigh blissfully. That kiss had changed her. Her eyes were open to appreciating handsome men in an entirely new fashion. She focused on his lips, and his grin broadened.

“Tristan Chase,” he said. “You should come to the Den.”

Her stomach fluttered. Was this flirting? “Perhaps I will.”

“Splendid. If you see your brother before I do, please inform him that Mrs. Dove-Lyon is intent on speaking with him.”

“I will,” she said.

He stood and tipped his hat at her before striding away.

Amelia pressed a hand to her dancing stomach. He had nice, broad shoulders, too. Was that something she liked on a man? Yes, yes, it was.

Graham also had large shoulders.

Remembering Graham, she blinked. She was engaged—to the world at least—and yet she’d made no mention of it to Mr. Chase and enjoyed their bit of banter, if that was the right word for it. She had so many more questions for Fran. Fran would definitely want a detailed description of Mr. Chase. Amelia smiled as she stood and made her way back toward the house. She chewed her lip, guessing at the wicked things Fran would say. Running her hands through the dripping leaves of a willow as she passed, she stepped on something squishy. Wincing, she turned to wipe her boot on the edge of the grass. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. It was fast, like a shadow, but one thing had been clear.

A John Bull top hat.

Suddenly, Mr. Tristan Chase was not the handsome, flirting fellow she met on a park bench. He was a stranger she’d given more information to than she should have. Cold slithered down her spine as she wiped her shoe and stiffly resumed her walk. She slowed, turning her head left and right as if taking in the sights.

Was he watching her now? Had the shadow been someone else? She couldn’t tell if it were her imagination or if it truly felt as though someone was watching her. Or following her?

She crossed a street, passing a flower cart and pausing to turn and smell a flower. She peeked back toward the park, and there he was, exiting the park and turning right, but he looked right at her and winked.

Then he had been following her?

She turned and walked swiftly toward her house. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she must tell Graham. He would know what to do. And if this man knew Sam, he had to know Graham as well. Then she’d have to confess everything she’d said to Mr. Chase. Hopefully she hadn’t ruined their scheme, but the chill in her stomach wasn’t reassuring. Deep down, she knew she’d done something witless again.