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M iss Belinda Bellamy had just laid out another winning hand when she was gripped by her arms and hauled roughly from her seat. She resisted the urge to emit a feminine squeak, since she was currently dressed as a man and had, until this moment, apparently succeeded in her deceit.

The other gamblers at the table, masked, like herself, uttered various cries of surprise and alarm, none louder than her sister’s brother-in-law Roland Chetwynd, guilty of smuggling her into the exclusive Lyon’s Den gaming club.

Yet even as Belinda stood, staring at the huge pile of winnings that was about to be taken from her, she realized that one of the card players was not at all surprised.

She had barely a moment to appreciate, and loathe, the firm mouth now quirked up in a sneer and the strong jaw that hinted at a handsome face behind the mask before she was turned about and ejected from the smoke-filled cardroom.

Her captors hustled her along a corridor, up a servants’ staircase, and into a ladies’ dressing room.

The men who held her captive released her at that point, and she realized with a frisson of fear that she was now all alone and vulnerable.

What had happened to Roland? Was she about to be accused of cheating?

Because she certainly hadn’t—she’d had a true run of what Roland called “beginner’s luck.

” And she hadn’t been in cahoots with him either, so the only crime she’d committed was to dress as a man so she could access the card game.

The familiar feeling of panic clutched at her throat, and she swayed forward, having to support herself on the back of a chair. The door closed behind her and she heard the heart-sinking sound of a key turning in the lock.

I will not give in to this weakness! I’m not going to swoon or shudder—I set out to prove that I’m no longer a child, and this is the ideal moment to test myself.

She hadn’t seen the faces of the men who’d taken her captive—everyone here went around incognito.

Was this because they all had something to hide?

Not as much as she, though, who’d been pretending to be a man and had, for much of the evening, been under the illusion that she was doing a damn good job of it!

Oh, poor Roland! Surely, he would not be dealt with gently.

Would his badly bruised, unconscious body be found in a dark alley, his coin purse missing and his charming face ruined?

Although she had no interest in him in that way—he was family, after all—she hated to think that her selfish actions might ruin his future chances of happiness.

No—her actions were not selfish. She was trying to be generous by ceasing to be a burden to her sister and the earl.

As soon as she had a husband and home of her own, they could stop worrying about her—and stop treating her like a weakling who needed to be coddled and swaddled because she couldn’t stand on her own two feet.

After several deep breaths, Belinda felt able to examine her prison, but before she could wonder at the amount of feminine clothing hanging around the room, the click of the door had her swinging round and almost set off her attack of panic again.

The person who entered the room was somewhat extraordinary. It was a woman, dressed in a widow’s black garb, but with her face entirely hidden behind a dark veil.

Once again, Belinda pondered on how strange a place the Lyon’s Den was. Was everyone pretending to be something they weren’t? Or trying to hide something they were? If that were the case, she’d committed no crime by concealing her gender. Had she?

She straightened her back to regain some dignity but being clad in breeches and a waistcoat made the restoration of feminine respectability somewhat challenging.

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I presume.” She’d been told about the owner of the notorious Lyon’s Den gambling club. Even though the woman’s face was hidden, there was a presence about her that indicated a steel will and an indomitable character. She was not a woman to be crossed.

But these were not the circumstances under which Belinda had hoped to meet Bessie Dove-Lyon.

She’d hoped to meet her with a pocket full of guineas and buy the woman’s services as a matchmaker.

It was an open secret in London, whispered about by the gossips of the ton , that Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, given sufficient incentive, could find a husband for any woman, no matter how stained that woman’s character might be, nor how unattainable the chosen gentleman.

The lady lifted her chin and surveyed Belinda with eyes that glittered behind her veil.

“Do you wish to borrow a gown before we embark upon our negotiations? Or are you happy to continue masquerading as a man?”

“I apologize if I’ve transgressed, madam.”

The veil moved as a huff of air escaped Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Anger? Or was the woman laughing at her?

“You have most certainly transgressed. As I’m sure both you and Roland Chetwynd are aware, women are not permitted at the gentlemen’s tables—they have their own.

But those games are not conducted incognito, and you would never have been allowed in.

There’s a significant relationship between yourself and Chetwynd, I assume. ”

Belinda’s face went hot. “Of course not! He’s my—” She stopped.

It was probably unwise to let Mrs. Dove-Lyon know their relationship.

If word were to get back to her sister and her sister’s husband, the Earl of Aylsham, there’d be hell to pay.

“We’re just close friends and he was trying to help me out of a difficult situation. ”

“Sit down, Miss Bellamy. Let us discuss your ‘difficult situation,’ which, as a result of tonight’s activities, is certain to become worse.”

Belinda gasped. How did Mrs. Dove-Lyon know her name? Had that odious man at the card table, the one with the smirk she’d wanted to hit, recognized her? But how, when she was positive that she didn’t know him?

She fumbled her way into the chair that had been supporting her, and once again squared her shoulders and reminded herself that she was now a grown woman and could manage her own affairs. Even this one, which was unraveling faster than a badly knitted stocking caught on a nail.

“How do you know my name? Was it that obnoxious man who gave me away? What’s happened to Roland?”

She hoped she sounded authoritative. Mrs. Dove-Lyon could be a serious adversary, but one should at least attempt to stand up to her—if it was possible to do so without making her angry.

The black-clad woman took a seat, calmly arranging the folds of her gown over her knees.

The mantel clock ticked away at least a minute while Belinda sat anxiously awaiting her fate.

She could see there was no hope of escaping this misdemeanor without consequences.

Even now, Mrs. Dove-Lyon was reshaping her future.

“Firstly, there were no ‘obnoxious’ gentlemen at the card table. With the possible exception of Mr. Chetwynd, they’re all most respectable, although the younger ones tend to raise the stakes too often when gambling, whilst the older ones have a cynical attitude to life which makes them appear more brutal than they truly are.

You may trust me on this, Miss Bellamy. I’m renowned for my ability to judge a person’s nature. ”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon steepled her fingers, and Belinda had the unpleasant sensation of being taken to task by an irate schoolmistress.

“Secondly, Roland Chetwynd’s sentence is banishment from the Lyon’s Den. It may make a small dent in the finances of my establishment, due to his propensity to lose against the House, but rules are rules. Who knows? Being banished may do him some good.”

Belinda wriggled in her seat. Oh dear! Roland would hate her for this, but there again, he had agreed to it, and she hadn’t even attempted to blackmail him or make him feel guilty to bring him on-side.

He’d helped her because he was, contrary to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s opinion, a gentleman.

Belinda’s tormentor was not finished. “As to your remaining question, it wasn’t difficult to work out who you were, having seen who sponsored you for tonight and having determined your gender.

I make it my business to always know who’s in Town, both male and female.

My knowledge commands respect, which is extremely useful in a business like mine.

Now, regarding yourself, I have to tell you that your winnings have been returned to your fellow players.

I know you weren’t cheating during the game, or my staff would have informed me, but you were, nonetheless, employed in an unforgivable subterfuge.

That, in my book, renders every hand you played invalid. ”

Hot tears pricked at the corners of Belinda’s eyes, and she dragged off her mask to swipe them away.

She needed that money! Ironically, she’d wanted it to pay the very woman now telling her it had been taken away.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s matchmaking services were hugely expensive because they were so successful.

But now that she’d been caught out by the lady herself, the price would be even higher.

Either that, or her request would be met with a blunt refusal.

Belinda struggled to hold back the tears. She’d have to devise another plan, preferably one not involving money, but the chances were it would be even more dangerous and desperate than tonight’s escapade.

“I beg you, don’t despair, Miss Bellamy.

I have a sympathetic ear for women in difficulties, and I don’t—usually—bear a grudge, especially if those who have wronged me are truly penitent.

As you most certainly appear to be so, I’ll give you time to state your case.

In the meantime, Roland Chetwynd is cooling his heels in a carriage, and as soon as we’re done here, you’ll be conveyed home—discreetly.

Now, then—you must trust me, and tell me what this is all about. ”