Page 18 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

G raham was at Alston’s bedside, reading and sipping coffee when Amelia entered, frantic as she discarded her gloves and coat that Petrov hurried to scoop up.

Graham stood, all thoughts of the night before and the torture it was causing him forgotten as he took in her flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

“I was followed at the park, but before that, I met a man.”

“When were you at the park?”

She went to Alston’s other side and Graham sat down in his chair.

“This morning.”

He felt his apprehension rising already. “Continue.”

“I was sitting when a man joined me, introducing himself as a friend. No,”—her eyes cast down as she searched her memory—“an acquaintance. He said he was an acquaintance of Lord Alston’s from the Lyon’s Den.” She paused and raised a brow.

“That’s plausible. He’s there frequently throughout the week. As am I.”

She tilted her head. “Isn’t it a gaming hall? You don’t play cards.”

“No, but I like to watch your brother play, and there are many types of entertainment there.”

She looked up in surprise, a blush flooding her cheeks. Graham narrowed his eyes at her as she shook herself out of whatever she’d just imagined.

“Do you know Mr. Tristan Chase?” she asked as she lowered herself to the chair.

Graham sat back and covered his eyes. “Damn.” This wasn’t good.

“Damn?”

“Damn,” he repeated. He should remind her she shouldn’t curse, but he didn’t have the energy, and he doubted he’d rid her of the habit she’d learned from her brother anyway.

“Who is he?”

“A spy.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“Not for the crown. For Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

“The Black Widow of Whitehall,” she murmured.

“You know her?”

“He told me about her.”

Graham sat forward. “Just how long did you spend conversing with this gentleman?”

She bit her lip. “Not long. But before I knew it I was talking about Lord Alston being away and he’d wanted me to stay in town for the Season...”

He glowered at her. “What all did you say to him?”

“Just that he had gone to Stirling, that there was a problem with the estate there. Then he recommended I visit the Den and that if I saw my brother, to inform him that Mrs. Dove-Lyon would like to meet with him.”

Graham considered her words. “That was all?”

“It wasn’t just what I said to him that worries me. He left the park first, and then I started to walk home. But then I noticed he was following me. And I think he wanted me to see him following me, to frighten me. It was a warning of some sort.”

Graham stilled. “What does the Widow want with Alston?”

She pressed her lips together. “Is she anything like Julia? Maybe she’s interested in his skills outside of cards.”

Graham held her stare. “I beg your pardon? What does the viscountess have to do with any of this?”

“Don’t pretend innocence. You’re not good at it. I’m talking about romantic interest.”

His jaw flexed. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon is the proprietor of the Lyon’s Den. She doesn’t fraternize with the members, as far as I know, and she’s... actually, I don’t know how old she is. She is always veiled in black.”

Amelia leaned forward. “She’s veiled? Always? How fascinating. I think I’d like to meet her.”

Graham could almost chuckle at her giddy curiosity, but there was far too much weighing on him. He finished his coffee and stood. “I’ll go to the Den and look into the matter. What are the required engagements for the day?”

“Ugh, don’t say that word,” she muttered. “There are no plans. We are free to avoid each other all day. Isn’t that splendid?” Her smile was falsely cheery as she stood.

“I suppose,” Graham replied. “I have to see my man of business, and then I’ll go to the Den while it’s quiet and see if I can meet with Mr. Chase.”

“If you’re lucky, he might be right outside our door,” she teased.

“If he’s lucky, he won’t be.”

She raised a brow at him.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Or don’t.” She took his leftover scone and his chair, picking up the book he’d been reading, and dismissing him with inattention.

Graham sighed and left the room. This was probably better, returning to their comfortable dislike. Safer, too. He didn’t want to broach the subject of the kiss, but he had a feeling that what had happened between them last night would fester like a wound and would need to be dealt with. Sooner or later.