Page 36 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

G raham watched realization wash over her face, followed by fear. Exactly as he suspected. She did not feel the same as him, and that’s why this could never be. He wouldn’t make love to Amelia when she had no intention of becoming his wife. He loved her. Once he had her, he’d never be able to let her go.

He stood, turning his back to her. In a whisper of fabric, she was at his back, hugging him from behind.

“I’m sorry, Graham.”

The words tore at him. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do. I didn’t think about you, not the way I should have. I’m selfish.”

He wouldn’t disagree. “Consider it over. Tomorrow is a new day. We can begin again. But this time, we’re going to do things properly. No more hiding Alston, no more secrecy.”

She sniffed and let him go. “How can we explain the lies we’ve already told?”

Damn. He’d forgotten the tale they’d spun. “He returned late this evening, injured. He never made it to Stirling. Will that suffice?”

“It’s another lie.”

He ran his hand through his hair as he stopped at her door and turned to face her. “One more won’t hurt. We’ll maintain our pretend engagement for now until Alston is completely recovered, then you’ll throw me over.”

She frowned as she turned to him. “I’ve hurt you. I’ve been hurting you. How can you be so calm?”

He wanted to comfort her and assure her that his pain was minimal, but he wouldn’t lie about his feelings anymore. For his own sake, their relationship could never be the same again. He would have to slowly distance himself once Alston was better. He couldn’t stand to be in her presence as nothing more than a friend or a guardian. It was his turn to be selfish to protect his own heart.

“Goodnight, Amelia,” was all he answered. He slipped out of the room into the darkened hall, making his way to his own room. He wanted to get drunk, but he didn’t trust himself to stay away from her when inebriated, so he got dressed again and left. He’d return to the Den and let the whisky drown his sorrows.

A moment later—or was it a year?—Graham jerked awake as a firm hand gripped his shoulder and shook him violently. He blinked, losing his balance on his chair and hitting the floor with a grunt.

“Look at him. Pathetic.” A gruff voice spoke before stomping away.

A blurry figure leaned over him. For the life of him Graham couldn’t see through the gritty film covering his eyes or remember where he was. Nor could he defend himself.

Water splashed on his face and he coughed, rubbing his eyes. The world cleared into sharp focus and he winced.

“Good morning,” Tristan Chase said from a squat at his side.

“It’s morning?”

“Half past six. I suppose you’ve heard the news. I wasn’t keen to believe it, but seeing you here like this confirms its validity. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Graham swallowed. His tongue was too dry and thick to function. Bile rose in his throat. Had he heard right?

Mr. Chase held out a glass of water. Graham pushed himself to a sitting position and took an eager sip. “Who’s dead?”

Mr. Chase cocked his head and frowned. “Lord Alston. It’s all over town that he is believed to be dead.”

Graham shook his head, his thoughts fumbling with the information. “Bloody hell, who would say that?”

“Many people, some claiming to have heard it from someone associated with his man of business. It was the talk of the town all last evening. I’ve tried to have the information verified by my contacts, but I’m still waiting—”

“He’s not dead!” Graham stumbled to his feet. The room spun, but he remained standing. Who was saying Alston was dead? He had to get to the bottom of it. If word spread... the aunt, the cousin, they’d be knocking down Amelia’s door.

Mr. Chase stood and shook his head at him. “Apparently, a body was found by the river. A wealthy gentleman, according to the constables involved. The man is not... easily identifiable at the moment, but there were some identifying objects, a handkerchief with Lord Alston’s crest.” Mr. Chase sighed. “Whoever discovered him took the news straight to the papers. Go home and clean yourself up. I’ll send a note when I hear something more definitive.”

Graham grabbed his shoulder to steady himself. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Chase glared at his hand. “Which part are you struggling to understand?”

Graham crowded in close. “All of it. Who said Lord Alston was dead? How many people heard them say it?”

“It’s in the gossip rags, Blakewood. It’s all anyone is talking about.”

His knees nearly gave out again, but Graham managed to straighten and let Chase go. “He’s not dead, but he will be if I don’t stop them! I need a hack, now!” He yelled out to anyone who would listen. He had to get to Amelia and warn her.

Minutes later, Graham arrived at the house. All looked quiet from the outside, but he couldn’t be sure. He knocked on the front door until the butler answered.

Graham pushed his way past. “Where is Lady Amelia?”

“Still abed, sir.”

Graham spun to face him. “There is a rumor Lord Alston has died. We have to prepare for the aunt and cousin’s arrival. Summon his man of business.” Graham said as he hurried up the stairs. His stomach lurched as he reached the top, but he didn’t have time to vacate the contents before reaching Alston.

His door was open, and a maid was carrying out sheets. Graham peeked in, and Petrov was covering a sleeping Alston with a blanket. Graham stood in the doorway until he saw Alston’s chest moving steadily. Petrov, looking at him with confusion, approached him.

“We’re about to be bombarded. Place two footmen outside this door and keep out anyone but me or Lady Amelia.”

Petrov nodded. “Who is coming?”

“Their aunt and cousin. Rumor has spread that Lord Alston is dead.”

Petrov’s eyes widened.

Graham touched his shoulder. “We need to keep him calm, but we can’t keep this secret any longer.”

“Sir, may I suggest bathing and a shave? You look quite dead yourself.”

He felt it. Now that he’d stopped moving, he could smell the liquor oozing from his skin. He nodded, and Petrov led him back to his room and ordered coffee. Graham’s stomach roiled, but he was the last line of defense between Amelia and her family. He had to be presentable and formidable.

Once clean and dressed—which he did in record time—he went to Amelia’s room. Her lady’s maid opened the door and, after a hurried word from him, walked swiftly to the windows to open the curtains, leaving the door ajar. Amelia was in her bed, huddled under a mound of covers.

“My lady,” the maid called soothingly. “It is urgent that you wake up. Mr. Blakewood is here to speak to you.”

Amelia grumbled something, then sat up, pushing whisps of hair out of her face, and Graham’s gut tightened at her soft, sleepy beauty. This would be the first and last time he’d see her like this.

“What is it?” She rubbed her eyes, then stiffened. She leapt out of bed with alarm. “Is it Sam?”

“No, your brother is sleeping comfortably,” Graham said, nudging the door open a bit more.

She put a hand to her heart, breathing hard. “Then what is it?” She asked as her maid pushed her into a robe.

Graham licked his dry lips, turning his back to her to protect her privacy. Her nightgown was little more than thin silk. “Last night a body was discovered by the river. Somone with considerable wealth who had a handkerchief with the Alston crest on it. Whoever found him sold the story to the newspapers and now rumor has spread that Alston is dead.”

“Bloody hell. My aunt will have heard of course. I’m sure she’ll be here any minute. What do we do about Sam? This is madness.”

“Mr. Chase is looking into it further. I told him it wasn’t possible.”

He peeked over his shoulder, and she was at her dressing table, angrily brushing out her hair. “We must assume the worst and prepare for your aunt and Nelson to arrive to confirm it with you.”

“To take immediate control, more like. That’s what they will try to do.”

“How do you intend to stop them?”

She stood, eyes downcast. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll leave you to dress and we can meet in your brother’s room. We’ll think of something.”