Page 7 of The Blind Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Hanover Square

Mayfair, London

“Don’t dawdle. His Grace will soon be here.”

Annette blew out a breath as she rolled her gaze briefly to the ceiling of her room.

“I would really rather not speak to anyone.” She stood at her window even though she was clad in her shift, petticoat, and stays.

After the visit to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon, she felt rather sick about the whole matchmaking business.

“Nonsense. This is the man who Bessie matched you to. Yes, he’s blind, but you can overlook that because he is a duke.” Her mother beamed as if she’d accomplished that herself. “How amazing it will be that my daughter will be a duchess tomorrow!”

Anxiety crawled over her skin as she glanced at her maid, who shrugged. “Why don’t you care what I want from life… or don’t want? I am not happy about this turn of events.” Titles meant nothing to her. How could she betray Timothy’s memory by marrying again?

Her mother peered at her as if she’d grown two heads.

“You are wedding a duke. That is enough to give any young woman happiness, eventually.” A huff of frustration escaped her.

“As for what you want from life, well, that can’t be helped.

Your father and I need you married and settled before he passes.

You know this, and he is quite worried. This was the easiest way to accomplish that, and Bessie usually has great skill and luck in her matches. ”

“What if he and I don’t suit?”

“You will need to find a way to make what you do have work. Once Mrs. Dove-Lyon sets a match, you won’t be allowed to break it without terrible consequences.

” Her mother drifted close and laid a light hand on Annette’s shoulder.

“And do bear in mind, your father and I have paid quite a large sum of money for the privilege of having you matched.”

“Ah, so then I’m ungrateful if I don’t fall in line?” She turned her head toward the window once more as familiar sadness gathered in her chest. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going down. The duke will need to find some way to get on without me.”

“Enough of this, dear.” The argumentative tone in her mother’s voice left Annette feeling even worse, for there was no way out, and no graceful way to decline.

“You are going down to meet him. Masterson will be your husband, and that is final. I won’t hear any more of your excuses.

It’s time to stop moping and mourning. You must move forward even if it feels that you shouldn’t. This is the way of the world.”

Icy fingers of fear played along her spine. “But—”

“No.” Her mother shook her head. “I won’t hear another word about it.

You lost Timothy three years ago. Nothing is going to bring him back.

You’ve had time to grieve, to learn to live without him, and this penchant of yours for hiding away inside the house is not a good look.

” With a grim expression, her mother made her way to the door.

“I expect you downstairs and meeting His Grace in twenty minutes. And Fanny, make certain she wears something that suits her skin and hair. His being blind is not an excuse for you to appear slovenly. Especially after your father went through the expense of buying new clothing.”

Then she left the room, leaving Annette alone with her maid.

“Oh, God, when will this nightmare end?” All she wanted to do was throw herself onto her bed and sob out the contents of her heart, but she didn’t have that sort of freedom, and it was a moot point besides.

“Never fear, my lady,” Fanny murmured as she drifted to the wardrobe.

Her faint Irish accent was the most soothing thing about the whole afternoon.

“You’ll wear the gown of robin’s-egg-blue taffeta.

It’s beautiful on you, even if he won’t be able to see it.

Besides, it’s a dull, overcast day and this color will help to brighten the room. ”

She nodded because there were no words. How would she be able to make a marriage work with a man who couldn’t see her? Of course, there was every possibility he didn’t want the union as much as she didn’t, since it stemmed from the gaming hell.

That only cheered her nominally.

In twenty minutes on the dot, Annette descended the stairs to the ground floor where the duke had been shown.

Immediately, she frowned as she reached the doorway.

Why didn’t her parents put him in the drawing room?

Was it because he was blind and wouldn’t be impressed with the trappings of wealth? If so, that was exceedingly rude.

It was difficult to propel herself into the room, for fear held every muscle in her body captive. She couldn’t think about the fact that she would need to leave this house on the morrow to marry this man, and then afterward, she would need to move into his townhouse, away from everything familiar.

How am I going to survive?

“Annette!” Her mother’s hiss from behind her in the corridor reached her ears. “In you go! He is a duke, not a dragon.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands.

I think perhaps this would be easier with a dragon.

At least then, he could obliterate her where she stood with a blast of fire instead of her being tortured with a life she didn’t want for years on end.

But she couldn’t flee back to her room until this task was finished, so she wiped her hands on the front of her gown, inclined her chin, and then entered the parlor with her mother hard on her heels.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace.” At least her mother greeted him. “I am Lady Danvers and this is my daughter, Mrs. Jennings.”

The duke rose from the low sofa. He came toward the sound of her mother’s voice. “I am glad to meet you both. Obviously, you already know I’m the Duke of Masterson, and Mrs. Jennings’s intended husband.”

Those words sent knots of fright into her belly, even if they were couched in a voice as deep and mysterious as midnight velvet.

Still, she couldn’t help but admire his form.

He clearly had a valet who cared for him enough to rig him out in the latest stare of fashion: dove-gray breeches, and blue-and-gray brocade waistcoat, along with a slightly darker-gray jacket of superfine.

Hessian-style boots had been polished within an inch of their lives.

The knot of his cravat had been tied just so and the folds of the silk lay subdued at his throat.

The points of his collar weren’t high, yet they pulled attention to his cheekbones and his well-groomed black sideburns with the veriest hints of silver.

His hair of the same color had a tendency to curl, and she liked that he didn’t use gobs of pomade to tame the locks—just enough.

Annette huffed as her mother thrust her forward. “Thank you for coming, Your Grace,” she said with heat in her cheeks as she executed a curtsey he couldn’t see. Yet he wore silver, wire-rimmed spectacles with tinted lenses. How very interesting.

“Ah, Lady Danvers, if you don’t mind, could I please have a moment alone with my fiancée?” The request was perfectly elocuted and quite polite, but her mother frowned. “It is not an inappropriate request; she and I will be wed on the morrow.”

Annette looked at her mother, who shrugged.

“I suppose that will be all right. Annie, I’ll wait in your father’s study if you should have need of me.”

She gritted her teeth, for she despised when her mother shortened her name as if she were still a girl of ten instead of a widow. “Thank you, Mama, but I rather doubt the duke will try to molest me here in my own home.”

A soft snort of amusement issued from the duke, which she appreciated. It meant he had a sense of humor, and that, more than anything else, she valued in a man.

“Don’t be rude,” her mother warned in a low voice, shortly before she left the room.

“If you don’t mind me saying, Annie is a poor substitute for your given name,” the duke offered as he held out his free hand while the other rested on the silver head of a cane. “Do you mind terribly if I refer to you as Annette? I’d rather not waste time in pleasantries if we don’t need to.”

Well, that was something. She nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see the gesture.

“Please do, and yes, I don’t enjoy when she shortens it either.

” Then she slipped her hand into his. Immediately, he closed his fingers around her, and his grip was firm but gentle as he led her back to the sofa he’d vacated. “Uh, would you like tea?”

“No.” He waited until she’d settled on the crushed-velvet cushion before he sat beside her.

Each time he moved, the crisp, clean, almost wintery notes of his cologne or shaving soap teased her nose.

“I wanted to be sure to introduce myself to you ahead of our nuptial ceremony so that you weren’t marrying a complete stranger. ”

While she appreciated the honesty, fears still played down her spine and the muscles in her belly were clenched tight. He might be the nicest man in London, but it felt like a huge betrayal to Timothy’s memory to take another husband.

“Thank you.” All she wanted to do was bolt, to hide in her room instead of sit next to this man whom she didn’t know, yet something about him compelled her to stay…

for a moment, even if her mind screamed to run.

“Uh, I apologize for my mother and for being in this situation to begin with. My parents are frustrated with my unmarried state, and since my father is slowly dying, they wished my future settled… after everything.” He didn’t need to know of her history just yet.

“I can appreciate that, for I suppose I wanted companionship after years of being alone. As much as I adore my cat, Romeo, he doesn’t answer back in words.

” A slight grin tugged at the corners of the duke’s sensual mouth.

“My given name is Peregrine, but my friends call me Allan. You may decide which to refer me as, or you can use my title. It matters not.”