Page 2 of To Steal a Lyon’s Heart (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #85)

“Sam, no, don’t move,” Amelia begged. She rushed to his side.

“Help me,” Sam bid to Blakewood. Stone-faced, Blakewood tucked a pillow behind Sam’s back.

Sam’s breathing came in short, stabbing jolts as his insides felt like they were sliding into different places.

He cast a glance toward Dr. Sloan, who observed him at his desk—Sam’s desk—with a shrewd gaze but made no move to stop him.

Sam gritted his teeth, and the pain ebbed slowly. He could feel his skin pulling at what must be his scar, and bloody hell it was long. His head swam, sparkles filling his vision again for a moment before his racing heart settled. Just sitting up made him want to collapse, but this couldn’t wait.

“Amelia, what did you do?”

Her eyes filled with tears, but her chin was firm. “What I had to.”

“You know she’d do anything to save you,” Blakewood said in her defense. “We both would.”

“So, you let it happen?” Sam accused. His heart pounded, panic creeping into his mind. There was only one thing he had to offer the widow.

Blakewood met his gaze. “You were dying.”

Sam looked to Mr. Chase. “Tell me the debt I now owe Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

Mr. Chase sobered. “As your proxy, your sister agreed on your behalf that you will marry a woman of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s choosing when you can physically do so as recompense for the services of collecting Dr. Sloan, for covering his fee, and for the help of Miss Smith.”

Spots danced before Sam’s eyes. He tried to take a breath, but his lungs would not inflate.

He was betrothed . Bloody engaged to some unknown woman.

He closed his eyes as anger washed through him, followed by pain as his side screamed.

He was breathing too hard and too fast. Miss Smith appeared at his side, and she put her fingertips on his wrist.

“Try to remain calm, my lord.”

“Come now,” Mr. Chase chided. “You’re alive. You should be grateful.”

Grateful?

“Enough,” Amelia spat at Mr. Chase. “This is the longest he’s been awake in weeks. Run along and report to your mistress. He’s awake and alive. His bride can wait a little longer.”

Bride.

Sam clutched his arm to his side. He would rather never walk again than marry an utter stranger.

The idea sickened him. To be fair, Sam wasn’t a romantic sort, but he was only bloody twenty-two.

Marriage was a far-off vision, a problem for future Sam, when he met the right woman, a woman he could love until his last breath like his father had loved their mother.

He’d never met his mother, who had died birthing him and Amelia, but the way his father talked about her, it had felt as though he’d known her.

The way his father’s face shone when telling them stories about her laughter, her terrible painting skills, or how they met, their eyes meeting across a ballroom, how one dance was all it took to make his father fall hopelessly, madly in love—Sam had wanted a love like that. Not a business arrangement .

“I can’t do it,” Sam said darkly.

“It’s too late for regrets,” Mr. Chase said.

“Sam, I’m sorry,” Amelia begged. “It was the only choice. I had to do it.”

“I refuse,” he said, saliva filling his mouth like he might be sick.

How painful would that be if just breathing hurt like the devil?

“She can play matchmaker all she likes with other men. That’s your job, isn’t it?

To slink through the halls of the den like a rat and collect secrets, secrets she uses to blackmail gentlemen into marrying her charity cases? ”

“Have a care for how you speak of my mistress. Some good deeds require underhanded methods. How many men have you sent to the poor house, my lord? A few of those gentlemen had to marry a charity case, as you say, to salvage their wealth. You’ve assisted Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s efforts a great deal already. ”

“You took advantage of a woman in great duress. My sister was not in the right mind to make such a decision for me.”

Mr. Chase straightened. “You don’t give her enough credit. Besides, if you refuse, then your sister will have to pay the debt,” Chase said, but at least he didn’t look pleased about it.

Sam studied Amelia. If he didn’t marry this woman—whoever she was—Amelia would owe the widow a debt. Who could even guess what the widow might require of her?

Her lips trembled. “What else could I have done?”

Let me die.

The thought startled him. Did he want that?

Would he rather be dead than married? Bollocks, no rational man would think that, but still, the idea made his heart squeeze.

He wasn’t ready to marry. To be a husband, a father—he was barely alive.

He closed his eyes and his father came to mind.

A man of immeasurable strength, love, kindness—Sam was many things, things he was forced to become to fill the void his father had left behind, but he was not yet prepared emotionally, physically, to bind himself to someone, not without love to guide him.

The very idea made him want to expel the contents of his stomachs which might very well finish him off.

He swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth.

“I can’t marry a stranger.”

“Believe me, if there had been another offer she’d have accepted, I would not have taken this choice from you.” Amelia took his hand. “Can you forgive me?”

“Is there someone else, my lord?” Mr. Chase asked.

Amelia’s mouth popped open. “Oh my God, is there someone?”

“No,” Sam said. “But now there never will be. I will never have the chance to marry for love. Do I even know this woman?”

Amelia clamped her mouth shut.

“Not likely,” Mr. Chase said.

“Alston . . .” Blakewood pleaded.

“At least one of us is happy,” Sam said bitterly.

Amelia sucked in a breath and turned away, walking to Blakewood’s side. He put his arm around her.

Sam closed his eyes as guilt stabbed at him. His jealousy soured his mouth. Bloody hell, how was he supposed to take the news that he was now betrothed? Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, his faculties, and his limbs. This was too much to take in right now.

“Everyone out,” Sam said hoarsely. “Petrov will attend me.”

“Sam, I love you, and I will not lose you.” Amelia’s voice was laced with pain. “I did what I had to do.”

He knew that. The list of despicable things he’d do to protect his sister was infinite, but right now he couldn’t face her. He didn’t have the energy to string his words together. He needed to be alone with his thoughts. To let them come together without this much futile anger burning inside him.

Sam forced his eyes open again. “I know, and I love you, too, but right now I want to be alone. I’m tired.” Even his tongue felt heavy.

Dr. Sloan stood. “I’ll be in the study.”

Mr. Chase tipped his hat to him. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you survived, Lord Alston.” He turned and sauntered out, followed by Miss Smith.

“Sam,” Amelia said, weeping.

Sam winced.

“Give him time,” Blakewood said, taking her by the shoulders.

He did it so tenderly that Sam’s heart ached.

He’d missed a pivotal moment in his sister’s life—watching the two people he cared for most fall in love.

Not that he wanted to be privy to every single one of those moments, but he would have wanted to celebrate them, celebrate with them, and it was too late.

Just then, Petrov returned, carrying a tray of his broth, passing Amelia and Blakewood as they left.

“Why do I feel like I’ve woken up in a different life?” he murmured.

Petrov set a tray over his lap and lifted the cover over his bowl of soup. “Because you did. A man could not do what you have done and wake the same man.”

“That’s not comforting in the least.”

“It wasn’t meant to be, my lord. But it was honest. I am always honest with you.”

“That you are. So, tell me everything that I missed besides my own engagement.”