Page 3 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

H ousehold members began leaving flowers by the door to Alston’s bedchamber—Graham had nearly tripped over then that first day—but few dared to enter other than Petrov and Mrs. Keen. The housekeeper kept him and Lady Amelia fed that day and reminded them to change their clothes and clean their faces.

The second day, Alston remained the same. He was still too exhausted by his wounds to say more than a few words at a time, but he was alive. The longer he stayed that way the better his odds were, according to Dr. Bradley after his morning visit. Though his utter shock at Alston’s continued existence annoyed Graham and enraged Lady Amelia.

After that first night, when he’d dared to touch her not once but three times—on the stairs, holding her at Alston’s bedside, the hand on her shoulder—he did not venture so close again, though he ached to give her comfort. When she wasn’t furious with the doctor, she appeared so forlorn and small beside her brother. The two of them were near the same height, but as a man, Alston was broader, an inch taller, and thicker, while she was sleek and rounder in the hip.

Their main difference of personality was her stubbornness and Alston’s ability to balance his impetuous streaks with cool logic. She was fire, while Alston was steel, forged by that same fire but tempered by his responsibilities. Alston had matured young, hardened by inheriting his title at the age of twelve. Lady Amelia, on the other hand, could be infuriatingly impulsive and selfish, even now that she was grown. Alston claimed she deserved to be, and he always gave her everything she asked for, desperate to fill the void their parents’ deaths had left in her heart. He had protected her as well as he’d been able, sheltered her as often as he could, though it sounded as though she’d had to largely fend for herself with her aunt and cousin. And the result was a beautiful, intelligent woman with less sense of accountability than she should have and no fear.

But right now, she was as brittle as glass. If he touched her, she might shatter, surely taking slices of him with her.

By the third day, he stank to high heaven, and he let Petrov convince him to retire to bathe.

The distance gave him clarity, and he thought about what Alston had asked of him.

Aunt Ruth will take everything away from her, including her spirit. She is of age. She cannot be forced to marry, but they will try. They know she has our mother’s inheritance. It’s equal to half the Alston estate. Protect her, Graham. You don’t have to marry her—I know you’re too different to get on comfortably. But she needs someone. As much as she won’t admit it, she needs someone to shelter her.

It was a lot for Alston to say, and it had taken a lot out of him, but Graham hadn’t been able to tell Lady Amelia about it before she’d shot him down. The notion of marriage had stunned him, threatening to wake sleeping desires he’d buried long ago. Nothing was easy regarding Lady Amelia. He should have been kinder to her over the years and spoken with her enough to earn a bit of her trust, but whenever he got too close to her, the attraction he fought to keep hidden took hold. He never thought he’d be in this position. In days past, Alston had named him her guardian, though it wouldn’t be legal anymore, not at her age. She was free to do as she wished with herself and with her own money. But a woman alone in the world was in peril.

He had, at least, made sure that the vultures circling their family had not been alerted to Alston’s condition. And he hoped his truce with Lady Amelia would last long enough for him to make arrangements to see her protected—however that needed to happen.

Graham returned to Alston’s room to find Lady Amelia gone and Petrov changing the bedding—difficult to do alone with Alston still in the bed. Graham hurried to assist him. Once finished, Petrov handed Graham a note.

“This just came.”

Graham slit open the fine envelope. “An invitation to Sir Daniel’s private card game at the Lyon’s Den. Suffice it to say Lord Alston will be declining.”

“But Lord Alston has never missed an event, and I know we must keep his secret for Lady Amelia’s sake. Won’t this be seen as odd?”

“It’s short notice,” Graham muttered.

“It is Sir Daniel’s way, says his lordship. He likes to keep opponents on their toes.”

Graham grunted. He didn’t gamble, but Alston was quite good at cards, and they’d spent many nights at the Lyon’s Den carousing as members. “I know Sir Daniel, but I’ve never received an invitation to one of his private games. And Lord Alston can’t go. There is no doubt about that.”

Petrov wiped Alston’s face. “You’ll think of something. The earl trusts you a great deal, Mr. Blakewood.”

Graham wished he had Petrov’s confidence but his new mantle of protector weighed heavily. He stared at the invitation. Perhaps appealing to Lady Amelia for help would help keep their communication smooth in this difficult time. He went in search of her, and a maid led him to her parlor, where she was speaking urgently with the butler, Mr. Keen and the housekeeper, Mrs. Keen.

“Everyone must keep quiet. The family will descend like jackals to pick our bodies clean before he can recover, if they find out. Speak to all the household.”

Graham halted in the entry and cleared his throat. “An invitation has arrived from Sir Daniel. What would you have me reply?”

She sucked in a breath, her demeanor shifted to panic, and she started to pace. “Oh no. My brother has never missed a game, not even that time he broke his toe. He’s undefeated against Sir Daniel. Sir Daniel will know something is wrong. And he’s acquainted with Mr. Humphrey, who knows Sir Garth, and Sir Garth is always with Mr. Kenneth...”

Graham waited while she rattled off acquaintances.

She turned to him, her eyes wide. “Would you please suggest something?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps we claim that it is you who are ill.”

“He wouldn’t stay home for me, not when I have my maid and Mrs. Keen.”

“ Severely ill.”

“I’m not sure... that might summon my aunt. No, we cannot risk it.”

“And he cannot go.”

“Of course he can’t go, but I—” She bit down on her fingernail. “No—yes.”

Graham folded his arms. “What?”

“I will go in his place.”

Graham blinked. “What good will that do?”

“I will go as my brother .”

His stomach fell to his feet. “To Sir Daniel’s private card party? In a gaming hell? No.” He’d never gone to Sir Daniel’s private games or anyone else’s. Cards bored him to death. But he still knew all about them. He’d been told, in quite amusing detail, about the parties. Cards were not the only entertainment.

She straightened. “We did it all the time as children.”

He resisted the urge to look at her breasts. “You are not a child, nor will you pass as a man.”

She rolled her eyes. “I certainly can with the right clothing.”

“Lady Amelia, please reconsider.”

She shook her head and then shrugged one shoulder. “Have you any other ideas?”

“I think my suggestion of claiming you to be ill is reasonable,” he said.

“You don’t know Sir Daniel like my brother and I do.”

“I assure you that I do,” he countered.

“You don’t go to his parties.”

“That is because I loathe the man, and he knows it.”

She fisted her hands on her hips. “Well, have you any other ideas besides playing sick?”

“Truly anything else will suffice rather than you dressing up as your brother to attend a card party at a gaming hall. Sir Daniel is a known reprobate.”

She scoffed. “Sir Daniel, a reprobate? He would like to be, wouldn’t he?” she snickered.

“Lady Amelia, please. What would your brother say?”

She sobered. “He can’t say anything. It’s up to me.”

“I will help you in any way I can,” he pleaded, “but this is folly.”

“It’s not helpful when you stand in my way.”

Graham clenched his own hands behind his back. “And if you’re caught, what then?”

“I never get caught. You’ll see. Meet me in the drawing room in one hour. I’ll convince you how good an actress I am.”

Graham shook his head and strode away. He would think of another way. Something. He returned to Alston’s room and sat by the bed ruminating, occasionally remarking out loud how obstinate Lady Amelia was to the only other person who understood: Alston.

At the hour mark, he strode into the drawing room and his heart seized. For an instant, Graham could almost believe it was Alston standing by the mantle, drawing on an unlit pipe, elbow perched in a casual fashion.

Their resemblance was uncanny. Except her eyes. Too pretty, the lashes too long and feminine. And there was the obvious... difference of form. He swallowed. Aside from her long hair, the top half was well disguised with the cravat, shirt and waistcoat—she was not a woman of large curves—but the bottom? The trousers hugged her derriere so lovingly that it pained him to drag his eyes away. His guts went hot, his pulse pounding in places it should not be.

“Lady Amelia,” he said abruptly. His tone was too deep, too heavy, and far different from any she’d likely heard from him in the past.

It seemed to catch her off guard. “What? Am I not convincing? I’m prepared to cut my hair.”

He closed his eyes. “You need to put on a jacket. Now.”

“My brother dresses like this all the time,” she argued. “I’m not going outside right now. I just want to prove you wrong.”

“A. Jacket. Now.” Graham uttered it between gritted teeth.

The footman behind him snickered. Graham threw a murderous glare over his shoulder.

“Oh, I see,” she said.

He didn’t want to know what she saw. He avoided looking at her as she passed by him. Lord help him if she ever knew what he’d seen when looking at her. Her rear, perfectly rounded, was plump, and seemed to him to be begging for his hands, his attention, and his adoration.

He’d never seen a woman in breeches before—not until now, until Lady Amelia. He’d never get the image out of his brain again. It would torture him nightly until he went insane, he was quite sure of it.

He poured himself a drink, and then another. The burn of the whisky tempered his lust as she returned, a jacket on and covering her sweet arse, this time blushing with what she now understood to be the problem.

“My maid, Fran, also added some more padding to my shoulders. Better?”

Graham tossed back another dram of whisky as he watched her. “No.”

“I’ve offended your gentlemanly sensibilities. I apologize.”

“You cannot go out like this.”

She set her hands on her hips. “Have you any other suggestions?”

He didn’t see or hear Alston at all now. Just Lady Amelia. Lady Amelia’s intriguing blue eyes lit with mischievous silver sparks. Lady Amelia’s whip-smart mouth, always impudent and cheeky. Lady Amelia’s silky skin. He assumed. Rarely did he have the opportunity to touch her naked skin. In fact, not once. Ever.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You can’t go.”

“You’ll come with me, keep things from getting out of hand, prompt me on what Sam is like out of the house. I’m not stupid. I know he may act a bit differently out among the gentlemen than he does around me, his sister.”

“This is far beyond inappropriateness or stupidity.”

“We’ve no choice. If my aunt finds out...”

“I know. Alston said as much. But this...”

“Help me protect him. Please.”

She said it so meekly that his knees weakened. He studied her. “My job is to protect you . This isn’t it.”

“And my job is to protect my brother.”

“It is not. I’m certain he’d agree with me.”

“Only because he will believe he is acting in my best interests and all that patriarchal nonsense. But he isn’t here. I know him and my family better than you do. They cannot find out he is... unwell. We must do anything to hide it. This is the best solution. I can go out as him, and sometimes as me, and then no one will suspect a thing.”

Graham turned away and sat, his head swimming with anxiety.