Page 23 of To Steal a Lyon’s Heart (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #85)

S am knew Daisy had gone for a walk, but when she didn’t come back to him after returning, he sent a note begging for her—yes, begging for her—to come sit with him.

Sam sat back against his pillows and folded his arms. He needed Daisy.

She was the only thing that soothed his muddled, agitated brain while he rotted in this bed.

She was integral to him now, and he couldn’t help feeling that maybe this friendship between them had become too intense, but that didn’t mean he wanted it to end.

He was older than her. Not much in years, but in knowledge and life experience.

Yet he wanted to hear her thoughts and opinions, limited though they were to her experiences as a young, unwed woman.

Like Blakewood, she had a charmed view of life that was honest and refreshing.

When Daisy was present, he forgot about his nightmares, his pain, and his anger.

She was the spring to his winter. He needed her in his dark and dreary room to chase away the shadows and the specter of his mysterious bride.

There was a knock on his door and Miss Smith went to open it. She knew when he was in a foul mood and pretended to be invisible unless he spoke to her. More and more she was escaping to the kitchens to avoid him.

Miss Smith held the door and Daisy strolled in, head down, hands laced together in her lap like she was expecting a lecture.

“Miss Smith, tea and cake, please.” Miss Smith nodded and departed as Daisy came to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Well, out with it. What did you do?”

She looked up in confusion, her eyes red. “What do you mean?”

“You look guilty. Clearly, you’ve done something.”

She wrapped one hand around the post and leaned against it and bit her bottom lip. Those lush lips of hers were going to get him in trouble.

“Daisy, come here. I’m teasing. You look morose. What the devil happened on the walk?”

She shook her head and came around to the side and sat on the edge of the bed just out of his reach—not that he was intending on reaching for her. But he did shift to sit beside her. He bumped his shoulder against hers.

“Who popped your bubble? I’ll kill them. I swear it.”

She huffed out a laugh. “At the park we ran into an acquaintance of my mother’s—Lady Claystone—and she was... horrible.”

Sam frowned in confusion. “Lady Claystone? Lord Cliffton’s mother?”

Her face snapped to his and her skin paled. “You know him—them?”

“We’re the same age. We had one or two lectures together at Eton, if I recall.”

She bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears.

Now Sam had to reach for her. He tucked her into his side and rested his chin on her head. She smelled like daffodils and soap. She hiccupped and covered her eyes with her hands.

“She and my mother are friends from childhood. They are incredibly close. My mother calls her a sister in spirit. Lady Claystone is the one who invited me to travel with Mrs. Miranda and her daughter. Now she wants me to go stay with her to save my reputation from further damage, but I said I wouldn’t.

And she is not a woman who tolerates disobedience. ”

“She can’t do that. She’s not your mother.”

She winced a little. “She can make my life difficult.”

Sam scoffed. “You know, Cliffton did everything he could to avoid her, too.”

She sniffed. “He did?”

“Absolutely. He called her The Gorgon.”

She laughed a little. “I didn’t know that.”

“You know Cliffton as well?” He twisted carefully to look at her face, but he refused to let her go. Her warmth seeped through her clothing to his.

“I’ve known him since birth,” she said. “We spent most holidays together until he was old enough to go to school. Then I saw him less and less.”

Good. Cliffton was a witless bounder. The only thing he loved more than prostitutes was whittling wood.

Sam stroked a hand over her head, much like he’d done for Amelia countless times for comfort, but Sam wasn’t feeling particularly brotherly with Daisy.

His fingers just so happened to slide into the loose coil of hair on her head.

She fit against his side perfectly. Her hip touching his and her shoulder fitting right under his. Like two matching puzzle pieces.

Sam cleared his throat. He shouldn’t be thinking like this.

But he’d be damned if he pulled away from her while she cried.

Sam peeled one of Daisy’s hands away from her face and kissed her palm.

She sucked in a breath and held it. She turned her face up to his and, damn it, he held his breath too.

She was flushed, eyes glittering with teardrops stuck to her lashes, and her lips trembling.

He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted his next breath.

He could do it, too. He could make her feel so good she would forget about Lady Claystone.

But he took a breath, fighting back that urge. This wasn’t like him. He may be a practiced lover, but he wasn’t easily swayed by his base desires. He was a man of principal even when he liked to flaunt the rules.

And Daisy wasn’t a passing interest. She was important to him in a way no woman has ever been.

Not a sister and more than a friend. But she could not be his lover.

And yet he was still somehow pulling her closer, her lips a scant handsbreadth beneath his.

Sam closed his eyes, a groan filling his chest as he willed himself to stop.

He turned his head and tucked his face into her neck.

Her scent filled his nose. Sweet and succulent.

He couldn’t stop himself from running his nose up her neck to her ear.

She let out a soft gasp. His desire roared inside him, but he pulled himself back, his breathing labored as he battled his lust back into its cage.

Her wide gaze met his, pupils blown to fathomless black pools.

She might not know it, but she wasn’t immune to him.

He could see the desire in her eyes, see the flutter of her racing pulse in her neck.

If he wanted, he could have her. He could satisfy this craving for both of them. But not at the expense of her trust and innocence. He broke their eye contact and kissed the back of her hand.

“Just tell Amelia you want Claystone ostracized and she’ll do it. Amelia has the ear of many prominent matrons in society. Once this scandal fades from the fickle minds of society, Amelia will help you debut, and Lady Claystone will be nothing but a distant memory.”

He set her hand back on her lap and she blinked away her tears.

“Amelia already defended me today,” she said.

“You’re safe here. It’s a very short list of people who are permitted to enter this house during my recovery, and that woman isn’t on it.”

“I know. I’m just... upset that she can still get under my skin. Like she has an invisible collar on me and at any moment she can jerk it.”

He brushed away the dangling curls at the back of her neck. A mistake. Her skin was softer than silk.

“No collar,” he said, his voice deeper than he intended.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she began, and he cleared his throat and straightened, pulling his arm from her, “Mrs. Dove-Lyon is coming to see you this afternoon. Amelia thinks Mr. Chase would have told her about me and so I should meet her. Apparently, we don’t want to appear as if I’m hiding from her, for whatever reason. ”

“The reason is that the woman can turn any situation to her advantage. It’s best not to catch her interest. I doubt she’ll see anything to use against you.”

“Do you know her well?”

“As well as anyone can. I’m a favorite of hers because I never lose at the gaming table.”

“Isn’t that bad for her establishment?”

“No, because I make other men lose heaps of money. They get desperate, and that’s when she swoops in to strike.”

“Strike?”

Sam rubbed his jaw. He didn’t want to tell her about his contract and the mystery wife he’d not yet met. He froze. Is that why she wanted to come? Was she going to introduce his—? He shook his head and Daisy watched him curiously.

“Did Amelia and Blakewood mention anyone accompanying her?”

“No. Not to me at least.”

Sam sighed. “I should make myself presentable.”

Her gaze wandered over his attire and once again his blood rushed south from his head.

He hastily stood and took a few steps before stopping.

He put out his arms to balance himself but after a breath he realized he didn’t need to.

He could stand on his own. The world didn’t spin. His feet didn’t cramp.

He cautiously turned to face her.

She jumped up to catch him as if he might fall.

Sam chuckled, relief soaring through him. “I’d crush you if I fell on you.”

“Likely, but I’d still try to catch you.”

He took a hesitant step toward her, and then another, and then another, until he stood before her. She smiled up at him with fresh tears, but he suspected this time they were happy.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said.

For walking. He was so infantile and yet he didn’t feel shamed by her words. He was proud too. So proud he was going to kiss her. He knew it. It was inevitable. He cradled her face.

It was just for celebration, he told himself. That was all. A moment to recognize that their shared endeavor was succeeding. Her smile fell away as her eyes focused on his and Sam knew she was seeing something in him that he’d been hiding since their first meeting, but here they were.

“Have you ever stood this close to a man before?”

“Not until you.”

Those words shouldn’t hit him so deeply, but they did. Right to the heart of him.

“No one has ever kissed you? Truly? You’ve never had to stare down a lecherous lout seeking to corner you in a garden?”

She laughed. “No. I’m kept under lock and key.”

His brow pinched. “Whose lock and key?”

She bit her lip, and his gaze dropped to her mouth, liquid heat filling his veins.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t speak long enough to any man for him to want to corner me in a garden. I suppose I’ll never get to find out.”

“You want to be cornered in a garden?”

“No—I don’t know.”

He raised a brow. “You don’t know?”

“Is it wrong if I want someone to want to corner me? Figuratively speaking. Isn’t that something that happens to all girls?”

“Not when they have a brother like me. Amelia can break a nose with the swing of her fist thanks to me.”

Her eyes widened. “I’ve never struck somebody.”

“We’ll have to work on that. But I hope you never find yourself cornered in a garden.”

Unless it’s with me.

“I don’t understand.” Her breath feathered over his lips.

He bent closer, his heart pounding, guilt waring with pure need, but at the last second, he turned his head and kissed her cheek instead of her mouth.

He could deal with her disappointment better than his guilt.

Blakewood would call him out for this, even if Sam’s intentions were halfway decent.

Better Sam for her first kiss than some wastrel.

But Sam feared if his lips touched hers, he wouldn’t be able to stop at a kiss.

As he would have predicted, she blushed.

“Is that what happens when one is cornered in a garden? I thought...”

He raised his brows and backed away. Now she was going to question him? He couldn’t take the temptation. He sidestepped her, only wobbling a little as took a seat in the chair beside his bed.

“No, but what kind of friend would I be if I took advantage of you?” He folded his arms and crossed his ankles. She seemed confused and disappointed which matched his feelings exactly.

His door opened and Miss Smith carried in a tray of cake and tea. Sam thanked the stars he’d had that moment of clarity and stepped back, or they could have been caught. As it was, he’d entirely forgotten about Miss Smith and refreshments. They were lucky she hadn’t returned earlier.

Mr. Chase followed Miss Smith into the room.

Sam glowered.

Mr. Chase hung his hat on Sam’s coat rack and ran a hand through his thick black hair as he took in Daisy.

“Have you been crying?” he asked.

Daisy wiped at her eyes. “Yes.”

“Why?” He turned a glare toward Sam.

Daisy giggled. “It was someone else.”

“Who?” Mr. Chase pressed.

“What business is it of yours?” Sam asked. It was his job—and Blakewood’s job—to protect Daisy.

Mr. Chase rolled his eyes.

“Why are you here? Sam asked with irritation. “You don’t usually return until after dinner.”

“I’m meeting Mrs. Dove-Lyon here. She’ll be arriving shortly.”

“I can simply refuse her call. Who does she think she is to arrive uninvited?”

Mr. Chase scoffed. “No one refuses Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon. I’d think you would have learned that by now. Refuse her and you’ll only anger her and make her more insistent on monitoring your recovery. Is that what you want?”

Sam swallowed back a curse. Chase was right. “She will be alone?” He didn’t know what he’d do if she arrived with a strange woman in tow. Her brides were kept secret, the arrangements made behind closed doors.

Mr. Chase smirked. “Yes. Getting impatient?”

Sam refused to answer that. “Miss Smith, will you ring for Petrov?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I’ll wait for her downstairs while you prepare for the meeting.” He studied Sam in the chair for the moment before leaving.

“You seem worried,” Daisy said.

“Its... complicated. She helped save my life, but in exchange she’s exerting her influence over me.

As you can see, she wants to flex that influence and show me that she is in control.

As a man, as a member of the peerage, I don’t like it, but neither can I refuse her. I cannot risk insulting her.”

“That is how I feel about Lady Claystone. She holds so much power over me. I don’t know how to break free.”

Sam wanted to hold her again. “We’ll find a way. I promise you that.”

Petrov arrived while Sam and Daisy ate a slice of cake.

He was already aware of Sam’s impending company and helped Sam put on his dressing gown and slippers.

Petrov combed and styled his hair, and all the while Sam stewed in his anger.

He dreaded Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s arrival. If he was getting better, he was closer to a marriage he didn’t want, the life altering choice he hadn’t been allowed to make for himself.

As proud as he was of his improvement, he still had to hide it and pretend to be an invalid.

Bile burned in the back of his throat. These last few days he’d had Daisy to distract him. He hadn’t let himself dwell on these torments.

He caught Daisy taking peeks at him and those telltale blushes soothed his ire somewhat and tantalized him more than they ought to.

What was she thinking that made her blush just from looking at him?

Amelia and Blakewood soon joined them, and they sat at the table by the large window in his room.

It wasn’t long before the widow arrived.