Page 8 of The Blind Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

With each statement he made, he became even more interesting. “Peregrine is a lovely name. Strong. Compelling. Demands immediate attention.”

“Thank you.” He nodded and rested both hands atop the head of his cane.

“I went to the Lyon’s Den with one of my friends the other night, clearly with the knowledge that Mrs. Dove-Lyon plays at matchmaking and demands a sharp price from every man who wishes to enter into her games.

Marriage is usually the steepest of costs, and a man doesn’t know what’s happening until he’s either lost the game or won it, depending on her whim. ”

“Is that how you ended up with me?” How demoralizing.

“It is not, actually. At least not at first. The first game I played demanded a fifty-thousand-pound buy-in. I wagered correctly. There were two men who couldn’t pay, so they offered their eligible daughters as a form of payment.”

“How… unpleasant it is to know society—and men—don’t see women as valuable unless they have lost at the tables.”

He shrugged. “Some men, and I wasn’t happy about the choices.”

“Then what happened?”

“I paid a visit to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She offered to switch candidates, but again, I had to part with another payment for the privilege.”

“Dear heavens.” Heat rose into Annette’s cheeks as she clasped her hands tight in her lap. “I am so sorry it cost you so much coin, and at the end, you’ve found yourself matched to… me.”

“Mmm, but in many ways, being matched is easier. At least for me.” For long moments, he was silent as if thinking about his words before he spoke them.

“I don’t have much skill or experience at attracting women.

Once they realize I am quite blind and that won’t suddenly change, they shy away from me.

” When he shrugged, her attention was taken with the moderate breadth of his shoulders and with how comfortable he seemed with his disability.

“Suffice it to say, that I should attend to my title since I will turn forty in a few days. There is no longer a point or a purpose in delaying the inevitable.”

The truth of what he didn’t say slammed into her with the force of a blow. “In short, you’ll need an heir.” Which meant she would have to let him bed her and continue to betray Timothy’s memory. Another round of icy fear went down her spine.

He nodded as he trained his deep blue gaze on her, and the richness of those irises made her breathless. “Eventually, but I don’t want you to think our marriage is only based on that.”

The words only provided a modicum of relief, and now was not the time to tell him that she’d lost two infants during the course of her first marriage.

Was that doing him a disservice? Perhaps, but Annette already felt guilty enough that he’d spent what amounted to a king’s ransom merely to be matched; she didn’t want him to have another expense.

She frowned as a new thought occurred to her.

“Is there a possibility your blindness will be passed to offspring?”

“That is a valid question. Thank you for asking it.” As he nodded, another half grin tugged at his lips. “In short, no it will not. It was only when I was struck down with a fever and a sickness as a young man of twenty that I was made blind.”

How very… heartbreaking. She forced a swallow into her suddenly dry throat. “Do you have siblings?”

“A sister who lives in the Lake District with her husband and family. She has a son, who I suppose could be given the duchy if I fail in my responsibilities, but I would rather not put such a weight on his young shoulders. He’s a sensitive boy who leans toward creative pursuits.”

“Ah, and wouldn’t be strong enough to survive the slings and arrows found within the ton.”

His countenance lit. “Lovely reference to Shakespeare.”

She allowed a small smile even though he couldn’t see it. “I have had copious amounts of time to read.”

“What of you, Annette? Do you have siblings?”

The sound of her name in his voice sent unexpected flutters through her lower belly.

“I have an older brother, Adam. Currently, he is at my father’s country estate in Derbyshire, but from the contents of his last letter, he will soon be home, to spend whatever time my father has remaining with him. ”

Another round of silence went through the space, but it made her skin crawl with anxiety. Though the conversation was polite and benign enough, she didn’t wish to be here… or even think of what would occur on the morrow.

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon mentioned you were a widow.”

“Yes.” Tears welled in her throat, making it tight, and she fought to control her emotions. “If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about that. It’s still too painful after three years.”

“Fair enough.” He gave another nod. “How old are you?”

“Six and twenty.” Would he think her too silly at this age to still be battling grief?

“Not a terrible gap in age, but not the best. It is my hope we shall overcome it, though.” Again, he looked directly at her. “We will wed on the morrow. Though I have doubts and you probably harbor objections. However, I’d like to think this might be the best for both of us.”

“This is so. Quite frankly, I don’t know what to think, but I’m afraid I’ll prove a disappointment. I’m terrified of going outside or even leaving my room at this point.” Just admitting that sent cold disappointment through her chest.

Why would he even wish to go through with the wedding knowing this?

He shrugged. “We all have something we are not proud of about ourselves.” When he reached out a hand to find hers and clasped her fingers, she nearly launched off the sofa in surprise. “To be honest, I apologize that I’m not more desirable, but I am a duke.”

She blew out an annoyed breath. “Do you often hide behind your title?”

“I beg pardon?” Suprise wove through the inquiry.

“I’ll wager you use the title in the hopes that someone will be more apt to accept your blindness. No disrespect intended.”

“None taken.” He offered another half-grin. “I suppose I do. Deplorable, I know. Thank you for pointing it out.”

“Well, no matter. I am broken as well, Your Grace. That puts us on even footing.” It was a better foundation than most.

“Perhaps, but please make use of my name, not the respective form of address. Life is far too short for that.”

Another swath of silence reigned between them before he stirred.

“Do you mind terribly if I kiss you, Annette?”

“What?” In some trepidation, she removed her hand from his hold as shock tinged with a healthy dose of fear slammed through her veins. Her muscles tensed, for she wished to run back to her room and hide behind her door.

“Easy, I don’t wish to spook you.” The soothing baritone only helped slightly. “I thought it might set your mind at ease if it were enjoyable, and would give me the opportunity to see you through touch.”

The explanation was innocent enough, and oddly made sense. “Oh.” Yet that icy bit of fright persisted. She gave into a shiver. Yet, she was curious. “Go ahead.” He was to be her husband, after all, but her head still screamed a warning.

“Thank you.” After resting his cane against the sofa cushion on his other side, the duke scooted closer to her location.

When their knees touched, more flutters danced through her belly.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.” Then he put his palms on either side of her face and began exploring it with gentle strokes.

She realized that he wasn’t wearing gloves.

Had he taken them off when she entered the room or shortly before asking her for this permission while she’d been distracted by her thoughts?

It was difficult to say. To cover her confusion at being so close to this man, she blurted, “Do you miss your sight?” I am such a ninny to ask him that!

“Yes and no. It’s been twenty years. I’ve learned how to navigate life without it.

” The glide of his fingertips was quite a different sensation for her; it was both sensual and intimate yet had the feel of an introduction of sorts.

How very odd. “However, I do wish I could visually see you because you seem beautiful.”

“Oh!” Heat burned through her cheeks. “How lovely of you to say that. I haven’t considered myself that since I lost my husband.

” But the duke’s regard made her feel hot and cold by turns.

When she gave him a tremulous smile, he traced her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

A curl of need awoke deep inside of her, and she thought that reaction to a man long dead.

It left her frightened, for she only wished to feel such things for Timothy.

“You have a lovely smile, and I appreciate how full your lips are.” As he spoke in a barely audible whisper, she trembled. “What color are your eyes? Would you describe yourself for me?”

An odd request, but a simple one. “My eyes are dark brown. I was once told there are tiny gold flecks in the irises when I’m under high emotion.

” Her husband had said that. Timothy had always maintained it was one of his favorite things about her.

“My hair is dark brown. When it’s loose, it hangs to the middle of my back.

Any longer and I find it’s unmanageable.

Today, it’s caught back in a loose chignon. ”

“You have curls over her forehead.” His fingers glided over them. “Full eyebrows. I’ll wager the effect is stunning.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Her voice came out as a breathless whisper. “I’ve also been told that my face is heart-shaped, but I’m afraid I can’t see what others do.”

“It’s true.” The duke drew his fingertip over her forehead and then along her cheeks to her chin. “There is a bit of that shape. What color are your lips?”

“A rosy pink.” They were one of her best features, or so she thought.

“Ah, lovely.” Then he cupped her cheek and chastely kissed those lips, lingered there for a few heart-stopping seconds before he pulled away. “Thank you.”

For a moment there, Annette’s world had tilted sideways.

That was what had happened when Timothy had kissed her for the first time so long ago.

Yet she had the same reaction to this man, and she shouldn’t have, for wasn’t she still in love with her first husband?

With heat slapping at her cheeks, and another tug of that insistent need deep inside her body, Annette sprang up from the sofa.

Hot guilt was lodged in her chest. “I… We should… I need to go. Thank you for coming, Your Grace, er rather, Peregrine…”

“Annette, please don’t go. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

But she ignored his entreaty. As she fled the room, wanting so much to hide from the world and never look back, she couldn’t help but wonder what he must think of her.

It couldn’t be helped, for this wasn’t the life she wanted.

Would she now begin to forget Timothy and what she’d had with him?

And what if she eventually developed feelings for the duke?

How could her heart bear to possibly lose him too?

Dear heavens, I’ll be wed to him tomorrow. How am I going to survive?