Page 7 of The Lyon’s Love Letters (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #78)

A nna smiled as they walked beneath the sign of the Three Feathers to enter the pub. They were not the only ones. It seemed a steady stream of patrons were arriving as well.

Mr. Ward selected a table at the back wall, but with a view of the entrance. He helped her with her cloak, folded it over the back of a chair, then leaned down to speak in her ear. “I’ll go and get us drinks.” He gave her a half grin. “You stay here, just as you are, looking utterly lovely and innocent. That will play into our plans nicely.”

Utterly lovely . She sighed as he walked away. How had she never noticed a man’s shoulders before? Mr. Ward’s were strong and wide and nearly as ruinous to her nerves as his smile.

He hadn’t been smiling earlier, though, when he had pulled her to a stop in Covent Garden, pausing to look over the drooping wares of a flower vendor’s cart. He’d been solemn indeed while he perused the blooms, but had stopped to pluck out a small sprig of cherry blossom. So serious he had looked as he held it up next to her face. The soft petals had brushed her cheek as he stared at her mouth and touched the blooms to the corner. “Yes. A perfect match.” He’d met her gaze then. “Though you are even more beautiful.”

She’d dragged in a shuddering breath as he tucked the sprig into her buttonhole. He’d paid the vendor, and she had taken his arm as they strolled on—and taken the chance to press closely into the warm strength of him.

She was walking a precipice, and she knew it. Mr. Ward was being kind, but he had definitely withdrawn this evening. The blossom had felt like an acknowledgment of their attraction, but a reluctant step back as well. She both saw and heard the message. She was heading into an entirely different world, and she knew nothing of his, but even still, she couldn’t help it. She touched the soft petals and indulged in the most dangerous behavior—she dared to dream.

“Here we are!” He startled her out of it when he plunked two pints on the table. “And here he is!” Mr. Ward gestured to a comfortable-looking man of middle age beside him. “La—Miss Parker, meet Mr. Harricks.”

Smiling widely, she extended her hand. “How lovely to meet the famous Mr. Harricks. I am so happy to have the chance to thank you for all of your help.”

“I am happy to give it, Miss Parker.” Mr. Harricks lowered his tone. “And more than happy to help deliver a bit of justice to a very bad man.”

Anna blinked. “Is he as bad as we believe, then?”

“Worse, I am afraid. And no one knows it better than the folks in here.” He leaned in. “Women do not fare well in the viscount’s household, as a general rule.” Straightening, he nodded down at her. “A pleasure, Miss Parker. All you have to do is stick close to Mr. Carruthers here.” He lifted his glass. “I will go and make the rounds and begin our campaign.”

Harricks wandered off, and Anna turned to Mr. Ward. “What does he mean by that? Our campaign?”

“Harricks is going to put it about that you are new in Town and looking for a position in service—and that you have been pointed toward Kenniston’s home. Some of his staff, both former and current, are regulars here. He’s hoping the story of your intentions will provoke a response.”

Anna nodded. “It’s a good plan. No wonder he is famous.”

Mr. Ward laughed, and she savored it as an accomplishment. Taking a sip of her ale, she looked around at the growing crowd. Someone had taken up a fiddle, and as he played, several couples pushed tables back to clear a space to dance. “Do you come often to these sorts of places?”

Some of the light left his face. “My sort of tavern is filled with the idle sons of Society, not the men and women who wait on them. But yes. In general, I do spend time in taverns.”

Anna was puzzled. “You don’t sound as if you enjoy it.”

“When I was a young man fresh out of school, I found a young gentleman’s life in London to be thrilling. Drinking. Gaming. Every sort of lark. The occasional ball, and the rather more occasional dips into dissipation. I embraced it all. Became rather an expert at it. I kept very busy.” He sighed. “Better to commit myself to weeks of training for a ridiculous chariot race than to think of going home. Rather the dulled edges of semipermanent drunkenness than a clear-eyed view of the emptiness of my days.”

She blinked at him, dismayed at the bitterness in his voice. “I would never have pegged you as that sort of young man.”

He snorted. “If you had seen me several months ago, you would have thought differently. Oh, I was never as bad as Kenniston and his crew, but…” He shrugged.

“What changed?” she asked, even as she winced and wondered if it had anything to do with her father and his blackmail.

“Perhaps I tired of it all. Or perhaps it is simply because I am growing older. My friends—my real friends—are accomplishing things. One even recently married.”

“Goodness,” she said cheekily. “How courageously mature.”

He laughed again, and it felt even more like a triumph.

“It’s just that it made me pause. And I began to wish that I had done more. That I could do more. That my life could mean something, to someone.” Leaning back, he looked away. “Apologies. I must sound quite maudlin.”

“No. I know just what you mean. It’s the worst sort of frustration, isn’t it? That feeling that your life, so far, has been wasted?”

He looked surprised and gratified that she understood. “It’s a terrible thought, but I woke one morning and asked myself what I was doing. Just passing time until my father died, so my own life could begin?”

“While I waited for my father to notice me, for mine to begin.”

They shared a commiserating glance. It felt comforting and somehow…heated.

He took a long drink of ale, as if to cool off. “I cannot go into business. It would shame my family with the taint of trade. I cannot join the military, as I am the only heir. The church is for second sons or those who will never inherit the title. I once thought to learn to run the estates, but my father does not want me to interfere—likely because he is spending far too much money on his horses.”

“Well, I cannot be seen to be too bookish or too vapid,” she replied. “No newspapers were sent to the house, not when I might form opinions . I could not travel, not to London to visit my father, or even beyond the village high street without an escort. Somehow I am to mold myself into the perfect wife without ever getting the chance to know any gentlemen. I certainly must never become too friendly with the local men, not even the squire’s sons, as I am above their touch. I was left nearly alone, but when my companion ran off, I was too alone. It’s all rather maddening, is it not?”

“So different, and yet so much the same,” he said. “It’s as if Society has dictated that we should both run mad with frustration. That we should wait and wait until we can ever accomplish anything, do anything.”

“Well, we are doing something now,” she said.

Their gazes met, and she felt it again—the same sort of wondering relief she’d felt when she kissed him. At last, something inside of her had whispered. But there was more now, in this look they shared. Something deeper. Something wondrous and immeasurable.

“Miss Parker—” he began.

“Anna,” she interrupted in a whisper. “You should call me Anna.” She drew a breath. “For though I have never in my life addressed a man by his first name, I should quite desperately like to call you Elliott.”

“It only makes sense,” he said slowly. “Miss Parker must be quite close to Mr. Carruthers, after all, to have followed him to London. She must surely have gifted him with a great deal of trust.” His face gave away nothing, but there was a note—an ache—of something in his words.

Suddenly, they both jumped back as one of the dancers tripped, stumbled, and fell across their table.

Laughing, the man begged their pardons and called for the barkeeper to refresh their drinks. Anna waved off his flirtatious apology and nodded her thanks to several other concerned inquiries. “All is well,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Dance! Please!”

“So I will, if you will join me,” the man said, extending his hand.

Anna stared. “I…I’m sorry, I don’t know how.”

“Don’t know how to dance?” He clutched a hand to his chest. “How could that be?”

“There were no assembly rooms in our village,” she said truthfully.

“Well, let me teach you a move or two. Come, lass, don’t break Robert Tunley’s heart, now!”

The fiddle struck up again, and Mr. Ward—Elliott—gave her an approving nod.

Anna blinked—and then grinned widely and took Tunley’s hand. Laughing, he pulled her to the small space and spent several minutes teaching her a couple of easy steps. She picked it up quickly and managed not to make too large a fool of herself, before she thanked the man and went back to sink into her seat.

“I hadn’t expected it all to be so boisterous.” She grinned at Elliott.

“You looked like you were having fun.”

“I was.” She raised an expectant brow. “Perhaps you will dance, too.”

“Perhaps,” he said. And there were those creases at the corners of his green eyes again. His gaze moved over the room. “I hadn’t expected it to be so lively, either, but it makes sense. Their days are so rigid. A good servant strives to be neither seen nor heard ,” he said more than a little mockingly. “It must be all Yes, sir, and No, ma’ am , and I’ll be happy to carry out this chamber pot, sir . It’s no wonder they might like to come out and feel a bit of freedom while they kick up their heels.”

The pace of the music changed. The fiddle’s tune had turned slower, with the rise and fall of… “Is that a waltz?” Anna asked in surprise.

Tunley danced by, a woman in his arms. “Carruthers, isn’t it? Come! Give your girl a turn about the floor!”

Elliott cleared his throat. “Are they testing us, do you think?”

“Perhaps.” Anna reached a hand across the table. “Well, come, then. I don’t intend to fail.”

Many eyes were on them as they rose and joined the small group of dancers. Elliott made a show of instructing her where to place her hands, and she bit back a grin at the chance to lay her hand on the bulge of his shoulder. It faded when he placed his hand at her waist.

“Three steps only,” he murmured. “Follow me.”

And just like that, they were waltzing, moving together while her heart raced and heat blazed through her. So close, they stood. So smoothly, they glided. Everything past the reach of their arms grew indistinct. All of her attention was fixed on him, on his handsome face, on the heat of him, and the movement of his body. His focus was just as intent on her, and it was all so intimate…

“Don’t look at my freckles,” she blurted, unable to bear the tension of it all a moment longer.

“I could spend all evening admiring your freckles.”

The words touched her more than she cared to admit. But surely he was only being kind. Teasing her. She quite liked it.

Before she could think of a suitable response, the music wound down. They joined the others in enthusiastic applause for the fiddler and went back to their table.

And for the first time, awkwardness rose between them.

“Excuse me.” A young woman approached and set down a pitcher of ale on the table. “I thought I would offer a truly useful apology.” She set her arms akimbo and looked between them. “I am Elizabeth Hayes. I’m afraid I was the one dancing with the clumsy Robert earlier.” She grimaced. “And his stumble, I fear, may have been my fault.”

“No apologies necessary,” Elliott said, climbing to his feet. “I am Elliott Carruthers.”

Anna extended a hand. “And I am Anna Parker.”

The girl nodded to them both. “I heard you were new to London, Miss Parker. Welcome.”

“Call me Anna, please. And thank you. It is quite overwhelming, I confess, after village life.”

“Well, I have been in London for years and can tell you all the best places,” Elizabeth said eagerly. “Where to shop and stroll, and all. I’ll show you myself, should you care to spend the morning with me.”

“Oh, how kind you are,” Anna said, startled.

Elizabeth pulled a folded piece of paper from a pocket. “Who has a pencil?” she called. “Hold on.”

Anna exchanged a puzzled glance with Elliott, but the girl returned quickly. “Here’s a map to Carlyle House, where I work,” she said, scribbling on the paper before setting it before Anna. “Easy enough to find.”

112 King St

Do Not Work For VK

“Here, I’ll draw a grid for you.” Learning down, Elizabeth spoke low and fast. “My sister worked for Kenniston. He gravely mistreated her. She left his household. The girl who replaced her has disappeared.”

“Thank you so much.” Anna managed to keep her tone even. “I’m sure I’ll be able to find it.” She pushed the paper over to Elliott. “Do you know it?”

“Oh, yes. I am a little familiar with the area. We should find it easily.”

Elizabeth gave a sigh of relief. “Good.” She nodded at Anna. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

In a moment, she was back in the dance space with a new partner, and Anna and Elliott were staring at each other across the table. They each took a long drink.

“You and Mr. Harricks were right,” she said.

“It’s not enough,” he answered quietly.

“But it’s a start. And if we—”

“Well, now, Carruthers.” Tunley was back. He draped a congenial arm across Elliott’s shoulders. “Harricks tells me that you enjoy a good pipe. Allow me to invite you out into the courtyard. I will share my own blend of tobacco with you.” He smiled across at Anna. “Miss Parker won’t begrudge you a taste of the good stuff. You will find it quite revelatory, I vow.”

Their gazes met again. This, then, might be what they had come for.

“My girl will sit with yours, to keep her company,” Tunley added. He beckoned, and Elizabeth started toward them.

Anna saw the question in Elliott’s eyes and understood it. Did she trust him?

Did she?

She thought about what he had said earlier. How he had lately changed. How he wanted his life to matter. She must surely have gifted him with a great deal of trust.

She nodded.

He stood, his gaze still locked with hers. He pressed his lips together, his face a picture of determination. “I’ll be back shortly.”

She nodded again and welcomed Elizabeth, even as she watched him go.

The tobacco was good. Smooth and mellow. Elliott exhaled as he watched Tunley pace around the corner of the yard.

“Sorry for all the skullduggery,” the man said. “But there’s a man inside. Nevich. He sits in the back corner behind the bar. He’s a sort of secretary to Kenniston. Takes care of his nastier business. Brady won’t stay inside while he’s there.”

“And who is Brady?”

“Brady is the man who used to hold Nevich’s position. He’s the man you need to talk to.”

Someone stepped out of the shadows. “I’m Brady.”

“Carruthers.”

The other man’s skepticism showed clear, even in the torchlight.

“It’s your vowels that betray you,” Tunley said with a laugh. “There is no mistaking a nob’s vowels.”

“Harricks was trying to be subtle, connecting you to Kenniston,” Brady said warily. “But you stirred my curiosity. The viscount maintains that he sacked me, even though I was walking out as he did so. Since I’ve seen firsthand how he holds a grudge and will wait patiently to deal out vengeance, I keep an eye on what he and Nevich are up to—and they have been very busy lately.”

“I’m well aware,” Elliott said wryly.

“I heard Nevich tossed a nob’s rooms,” Brady said. “Kenniston is looking for something. And he’s looking for someone . A young lady.”

“And then you two show up,” Tunley said.

Elliott went very still.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Brady said quickly. “We mean you no harm. If you are making a move against Kenniston, then I wish to help.” He gestured toward the pub. “Most everybody inside would be glad to see Kenniston get a taste of justice.”

“But not all,” Tunley warned. “Which is why we have been careful.”

“What is it you wanted to say to me?” asked Elliott.

“I wondered if you are aware what it is Kenniston is working so hard to find right now?”

Elliott paused. “I am aware of the nature of it. I know where he’s looked. But I do not know the particulars.”

Brady nodded. “I am in a similar situation. I delivered the payments to Martindale. I know how furious Kenniston was to be so caught out. I know how desperate he is to recover the evidence against him.” He stepped nearer. “And after I left, I made it my business to discover where Martindale obtained his information.”

“Tell me,” Elliott said urgently.

Brady shook his head. “You need to hear it from the source. He can tell you the entire story—and provide you with evidence.”

Excitement hummed through Elliott. “Who? Where?”

“North of Islington. His name is Lawson. I’ll send word to him that you will come to him tomorrow.” Brady reached into a pocket, brought out a folded paper, and handed it over.

“Quick now,” Tunley said as the pub door opened. “Here’s one of Nevich’s toadies.”

“If I can help you nail Kenniston, I will,” Brady said as he stepped back into the shadows. “You can get word to me here, should you need me.”

“Done blowing a cloud, are you?” Tunley asked in a carrying tone. “Then let’s get back to the women before they realize they don’t miss us.”

Elliott laughed and clapped him on the back. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

They went back inside. On the way back to the table, he gave a quick glance into the back corner and saw Nevich intently watching.

He managed to contain himself for several minutes of small talk. Letting his gaze wander, he noticed a man nearby sipping his ale and trying not to look as if he were listening to their conversation.

He stood. “Much as I hate to break up the company, we must get Anna back.” He raised a brow at her. “I did promise Mrs. Morrison that I would not keep you out late.”

She rose. “So you did. And we must keep you on her good side.” She cast her gaze around the table, and her face softened. “Thank you. It was lovely to meet you all.”

Elizabeth reached out to grip her hand. “Do come back, Miss Parker.”

“I believe I will.”

Elliott helped her into her cloak and they set out. It was only because he was looking that he noticed a shadow peel away from the pub’s outer wall and fall into step behind them.

“We will have to walk,” he said quietly, offering his arm. “And keep the conversation light.” He gave a quick jerk of his head. “We have company.”

She gripped his arm tighter. “I cannot believe I actually danced this evening,” she said happily, speaking clearly. “Wouldn’t the girls back home have stared? I shall write and tell them all about it.”

Elliott laid a hand on hers and marveled at her sangfroid. Any other woman might have lost her composure at several points tonight, but she was so clever and calm. She rose to every challenge with courage and pluck. Here was a woman with more backbone and moral hardiness than most of the men he was acquainted with.

He raised his head to the dark London sky and asked—why? Why must he meet her now? Why at this particular point of his life, when he was in no position to make her his?

He swallowed back bitterness. He’d been given the chance to make her safe, at least. And that was a mission he intended to see through to the end.