Page 19 of To Steal a Lyon’s Heart (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #85)

S am had Daisy all to himself. He dismissed Petrov for the afternoon, the purple bags under his eyes tattling on Petrov’s lack of rest. The man needed a long nap.

Miss Smith had disappeared to who knows where, but Sam didn’t care.

Daisy sat in a padded armchair beside his bed and held an embroidery hoop in her lap.

She smiled up at him with twin dimples that frankly made his prick jerk.

She was explaining her special technique for making flower petals smooth, and he couldn’t recall a single word or summon the faintest interest, but he hoped his expression conveyed none of that.

She bit her lip and looked down. “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

Bollocks.

“I’m afraid the instructions are too complex. My simple male brain cannot comprehend.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you teasing me?”

“No, I’m insulting myself.” At least he hoped that was clear.

“Oh.”

He wanted to erase that frown with his thumb. “Why would I ever have anything but compliments to shower upon you?”

She cocked her head to the side. “My brother says I’m perceptive, but sometimes conversation seems to allude to things I don’t understand or convey meanings that are the opposite of what their words mean.”

He scratched his chin. “I know what you mean. Ballrooms and drawing rooms can be battlegrounds of subterfuge and innuendo. It’s similar to card games. You cannot take a person’s words or expression at face value unless you know and trust them.”

“Oh, good. Then it’s not just my lack of experience.”

Sam stopped shuffling his cards and studied her. “What do you mean by lack of experience?” She’d been touring with friends. Seeing places, meeting people, dancing, playing lawn games. Doing things gently bred young women did to ready them for society.

“Well,” she swallowed, “I haven’t been given the opportunity to socialize as much as I should have, I think. My social circle is too small.”

“Why didn’t you come out?” he asked. “Or was I just not invited? Though I’m sure Blakewood would have mentioned it.

I’m certain I would have received an invitation and danced with you.

” He’d remember that. If he’d danced with her, her sudden change wouldn’t have been such a shock.

What would she have looked like? Her ruby hair sparking under the glow of the chandeliers, her dress floating around her ankles as she spun on the dance floor.

She blushed. She was always blushing in his presence, and he wasn’t even flirting. Could she really be this shy?

“I have not come out, yet.”

“But you’re nineteen.” Most girls had debuted by nineteen unless they didn’t have the funds, support of a well-respected family name, or some other unknown debilitation. And none of that applied to Daisy Blakewood. He looked her over. She was a ripe peach. She should be on the marriage mart.

“Yes, but it hasn’t been discussed much.”

Sam sat up and set his cards aside, moving his lap desk away. Was there something he was missing? “Daisy, are you afraid to debut? I know it can be overwhelming. Even Amelia had moments of panic.”

She rolled her eyes prettily. “I can’t imagine that.”

“It’s rare, but it happens.”

Daisy shrugged. “It hasn’t felt right. I don’t know. I don’t know how to speak to people. I’ll make a fool of myself.”

He huffed in disbelief. “You’re speaking to me just fine.”

“You’re different.”

He raised a brow. “I’m different? How so?”

She chewed her lip, and Sam wished she were closer so he could tug the abused flesh free and make her answer. Her opinion on this was important to him. If she could spend hours conversing in his room, he couldn’t see how she could be too shy to debut.

“Come up here. I don’t like sitting above you like some sultan.” Or maybe he did, but the images were too erotic, and he banished them immediately.

“Up there? One the bed?”

She blushed again, and he smirked. “You’ve done it before. Don’t be shy now. We must do more exercises.” He wanted her closer. Besides, if it was experience she lacked—conversation, proximity to men—he could fix that. Had her parents simply sheltered her too much?

She stood and set her embroidery aside. His door opened, and in walked Dr. Bradley, followed by Mr. Chase. Sam fell back against his pillows and folded his arms.

“Look who I found,” Mr. Chase said.

“What a coincidence,” Sam said dryly.

“Dr. Bradley, this is Mr. Blakewood’s sister, Miss Blakewood,” Sam said.

“How do you do, Miss Blakewood?”

“I’m quite well, thank you,” she answered, her voice soft and dulcet. Like watered-down tea with too much sugar. Different from how she’d spoken seconds ago.

“We’ve already met,” Mr. Chase said as he came to stand next to her. Sam bit back a growl. If she was inexperienced in deciphering people’s true intentions, then Mr. Chase should stay away from her.

“Where is Miss Smith?” Mr. Chase asked.

Sam shrugged. “Not here.”

Mr. Chase frowned and went to the bell pull and gave it a tug. “She should be.”

“I hardly have need of a nurse.”

“Say that when you can,”—he cleared his throat as he spotted Daisy again—“when you can walk.”

Dr. Bradley lifted his head out of his bag. “You can’t walk?”

Sam groaned. “I can. If I am allowed out of this bed. Amelia is under the impression any physical activity beyond eating and sleeping will kill me.”

Dr. Bradley chuckled. “I’m sure it’s a form of affection.” He turned to Daisy. “My dear, if you would please step out while I examine his lordship?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“I’ll keep her company,” Mr. Chase said, following her to the door.

“You will stay,” Sam ordered. “How else will you know if you’re being told the truth if you wait in the hall?”

Mr. Chase paused and squinted at Sam. “I’ll know.”

Miss Smith appeared at last.

“The doctor is here,” Mr. Chase said, eyeing her as she passed him.

She nodded and went to the doctor’s side.

Daisy was now out of sight, and Mr. Chase closed the door. Sam ground his teeth and began counting the seconds she was alone in the hall with Mr. Chase.

“How do you feel?” Bradley asked.

“The scar is tight and burns when I move. But it’s this blasted rib that pains me above all.”

“Ribs do that. I can bind you up and leave a poultice to apply topically for pain. Laudanum would help.”

“No. I need my wits. And I need to get out of this bed.”

“Can you not stand?” Dr. Bradley asked.

“I can. But I’m not allowed. I tire easily from the lack of physical activity.” Sam turned pointedly to Miss Smith.

“Lady Amelia is concerned,” she said.

“He should gradually increase his activity, or his muscles will waste away,” Dr. Bradley said.

“There is no cause to keep you confined to the bed for the rib as long as you are careful with your movements.” He pressed his fingers against Sam’s rib, and the instant severe stab of pain brought on nausea.

“Yes, it’s broken, just as I said before. Only time can mend it. I can feel the healing break, but it is not displaced. You’re a miracle, my lord.”

“So I’ve been told,” Sam panted as the pain ebbed slowly. Dr. Bradley lowered his shirt back down, and Sam immediately wanted Daisy back in sight and away from Mr. Chase.

“Tell Miss Blakewood she can return,” Sam said to Miss Smith.

She hesitated but then did as he told her.

Daisy was smiling at Mr. Chase when they entered, and Sam scowled at him.

But she wasn’t blushing. He must not be as charming as Sam was, or maybe Daisy blushed because she was embarrassed?

Was he embarrassing her with all his attention?

“I’d like to see you stand, my lord.” Dr. Bradley said.

Sam nodded. He shifted himself to the edge of the bed and dropped his legs over the side. His feet tingled painfully as the blood rushed to his toes and he winced.

“You’re in pain?”

“Yes.” Sam had almost said no out of habit, but that wouldn’t have helped his facade. The tingling was a nuisance but not painful and passed quickly.

“I’ll help support you,” the doctor said. “Miss Smith, is it? Take his other side. We cannot let him fall or his rib could refracture.”

Daisy stood near the door, watching. Sam wished she were closer and could take Miss Smith’s place. The poor woman looked positively revolted at touching him, odd since she didn’t seem bothered when he was prone in bed. She positioned herself under his arm, and her hands shook.

Mr. Chase stepped forward but hesitated.

“It’s fine,” Sam said. His gut clenched as he stood.

The back of his neck burned, his feet protesting his weight, but he ignored them.

His knees felt better, though. More substantial than pudding.

He straightened and grew dizzy, but he was determined to take a step.

He would not stumble about like a new fawn in front of Daisy.

He had his pride, even if he had to temper it in this circumstance. He took a hesitant step.

“Good,” Bradley encouraged.

Then another. His body flushed with heat, the muscles in his legs cramping. How was he out of breath already? He took four steps, and then they performed the tricky maneuver of turning and walking him back to the bed.

“Not the bed. A chair,” Sam pleaded. His feet needed to become accustomed to the floor again.

Surprisingly, it was Mr. Chase who reacted immediately and brought a chair from the hearth over.

Daisy followed behind him, smiling at Sam like she was proud, as if he’d accomplished something impressive. It should have bolstered him, but instead he only felt anger. Now he was blushing with embarrassment, and he doubted he looked as adorable as Daisy when he did it.

His undoing was the wariness in Mr. Chase’s face as he watched Sam slowly lower himself into the chair with the help of two people, one being a slight woman.

“That’s enough. I’m not going to fall out of the chair,” Sam grumbled. Was this fate’s way of humbling him? Had he become too arrogant?

“Well, it’s no more than I expected,” Dr. Bradley said. “You are well on your way to recovery, but it will take time.”

“How much time?” Sam asked.

“However long it takes. Rushing could lead to more injury.”

“Take your time, Alston.” Mr. Chase said.

Sam glowered at him. “I don’t need pity from you. Report that back to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, why don’t you?”

Mr. Chase straightened. “As the doctor says, it takes as long as it takes, and I have no desire to rush the process. I was there when you were dying. It’s not a sight one forgets easily.”

“You’re only here to protect the interests of—” He stopped. In his periphery, he saw Daisy step back toward the door. “Don’t leave,” he said harshly. He took a breath and softened his tone. “You’re the only person I want here.”

If his nurse took offense to that, she didn’t show it. Mr. Chase turned his head to Daisy then back to Sam. “I’ll go make my report.” He popped his hat on his head and tipped it toward Daisy. “Good day, Miss Blakewood.”

“Good day, Mr. Chase,” she returned quietly.

“Are we done yet?” Sam said sharply to the doctor.

Bradley put his hand on Sam’s wrist and frowned at him. “Compose yourself, my lord. Overwhelming emotion won’t help your recovery. This is the time for patience.”

Daisy hesitantly approached and Sam closed his eyes, willing his anger to fade before he frightened her away.

“Sh-shall I read to you?” she asked.

Sam wanted to hit himself. He was being an ogre. Had he truly lost his good sense and become unable to behave accordingly in front of a woman?

“Please. That would be comforting and relaxing.”

She nodded and went to his desk to select a book.

Dr. Bradley packed up his things. “Reading is an excellent pastime, my lord.

I do recommend walking three times a day, after each meal. But don’t push yourself too much.”

“I won’t,” Sam said. “You have my word.”