Page 2 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

G raham woke with a start, the first streaks of dawn piercing the lace curtains of Alston’s room. He shot to his feet, twisting toward the bed. Lady Amelia looked up, her pale-blonde hair in disarray and her blue eyes streaming with tears, but she smiled at him. He took it like a punch to the gut, his breath catching painfully. She never smiled at him, not since the fateful night of her come-out when they shared their first and only dance.

That was the night Graham had realized that Lady Amelia had the ability to stir something hungry and wild inside him. He’d been fighting the urge ever since, pretending to be unaffected by her presence, burying his feelings behind a facade of cool disinterest that he knew she misread as dislike. But what could he do? Alston could never know that Graham wanted her in this way. In truth, the strength of his longing troubled him, made him feel unlike himself. And it was that, as much as anything, that kept him silent.

However, he was only a man, and yearning still lingered. If she sighed, he heard it; if she chewed her fingernail, he saw it; if she dozed off over her embroidery, he knew it. She was never still unless she slept. These were the stolen moments that he pocketed under Alston’s nose. He hoarded them like treasure.

In the bed, Alston lay still, deathly pale but breathing. Graham scrubbed a hand over his bristled face. He dared not speak. He would not interfere with whatever magic was afoot that kept Alston alive. Petrov entered with a tray of steaming hot tea and toast.

The poor valet had deep pouches of exhaustion under his eyes, but he was plainly brimming with hope. Graham took a cup of tea from Petrov. He walked over to Lady Amelia and offered it to her. An olive branch. She wiped a tear from her cheek and accepted it.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can eat.”

“He’d want you to,” Graham said, warily. He was treading carefully with her.

She cradled the cup of tea in her hands and didn’t reply. She took a careful sip, closing her eyes and sighing.

“Is it to your liking?” he asked. How was he going to persuade her to eat?

“Come sit, miss,” Petrov cajoled.

Lady Amelia got up at Petrov’s urging and came to the small table. Graham nodded his thanks to Petrov and he took the chair across from her. They needed to talk. He had decided he would not leave Alston’s side. Moreover, Alston had asked Graham to look after his sister for him. He didn’t want to force his presence on her—Lord knew she hated to be managed—but he was going to be here for her, whether she liked it or not. He just needed to figure out how.

But no matter what, he would not leave her alone at such a time. She’d have to drag him out herself.

Graham watched Alston’s shallow breaths as he gathered his thoughts, his neck stiff from sleeping in the chair. Alston had said Graham was like the brother he’d never had, and Graham felt the same. Despite their ten-year difference in age, they had a lot of common ground, including sisters. But Graham’s sister was younger than Amelia by four years and their personalities were complete opposites.

“Lady Amelia.” Her gaze flicked up to his, eyes red and swollen. “Please let me stay and help you.”

Her bottom lip trembled.

Graham began carefully, “I’m asking for your permission. I know we have our differences, but we both care for Alston. He asked me to remain here to support you and I will not go against his wishes, so please don’t make me fight this. You don’t have to endure this hardship alone. Whatever tension there is between us, we must put it aside and work together.”

Lady Amelia pushed the toast around on her plate. “I concur.”

Graham sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

“You may stay under one condition. Do not speak like his death is inevitable.”

Graham nodded. “Then we have a truce?”

“Until he is better.”

“Will you tell me what sort of trouble your aunt and cousin will cause? Alston warned me they could be trouble, but not specifically how.”

She took a bite of her toast before answering, and then said. “Our Uncle Roger was made guardian for Sam and me after our father died. He took charge of us, his wife and son coming to live with us in Alston Abbey. My Aunt Ruth... she wanted Nelson and me to marry. She had no designs on the earldom, even though her son was next in line, but she wanted my inheritance. She made it her mission to turn me into the ideal lady, the perfect bride for her son. Nelson kept his distance at first—he is six years older than I am and had little interest in a twelve-year-old girl. But when I turned fifteen and he came home from school during the summer, he had a change of heart. He thought he could woo me, but learned quickly his advances were not welcome.”

Graham set his cup down. He knew of Nelson, had met him from time to time, but this cast a whole new light on his character.

“It didn’t stop there, of course. My Aunt Ruth is relentless in her aspirations. She hounded me night and day with lessons in decorum, dancing, music. She drove me mad, trying to... mother me, and mold me into her son’s wife.”

“What did Alston do?”

“What he could, but he was busy trying to learn his role as earl and with his schooling. I prayed for the day when I’d reached my majority and could escape them.”

“Your uncle did not intervene?”

She shook her head. “He said I was his wife’s responsibility.”

“And still Nelson wants you.” He swallowed the bile of jealousy in his mouth.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “On our eighteenth birthday he proposed. They—he and my aunt—would simply not accept my refusal. Sam stepped in. He threatened Nelson, and that seemed to work for a little while.”

“So, they will be of no comfort to you.”

“No. Never. All they want is to use me. Nelson is not the only man to approach me and try to woo me into giving up my freedom and inheritance. I might never marry, unless I fall in love.”

“I’m sorry. If anyone treated my sister like that, I’d gladly hang for their murder.”

“How old is she?”

“Daisy is nineteen.” He held her gaze for a moment.

She looked away. “Has she debuted? Or was I not invited?”

“She has not.”

That made her look up again. “Why not?”

He wasn’t sure. His mother had said something about needing more polish. “I’m told she isn’t ready. She is rather shy. She doesn’t have your spirit.”

She raised a brow. “Is that a compliment?”

He sighed but couldn’t fight a smile. “We’re not enemies, Lady Amelia.”

“But we’re not friends, either.”

He sobered. We could be. He almost suggested it, but then he remembered. The longer he watched her, the harder it became to look away. Now they would be sharing a roof. That was already a scandal in and of itself. The temptation she presented was too great. He had to keep the wall between them.

“No, we’re not.”