The Scandalous Lyon: The Lyon's Den Read online

  Beverly believed she had more to offer than her youthful good looks, but Mama said they were what gentlemen wanted, and she must make the most of them while still in her prime. She was a little in love with his lordship already. It could be said that her feelings were genuine, even if her family was slightly tarnished. She drew in a long, steadying breath. Apparently, she was every bit as capable of moon-gazing as her mother.

  Mama entered the room and cast a critical eye over her. She adjusted Beverly’s hat over her up-swept hair. “You look very well, my love. Do exactly as I told you, and all will go smoothly. Once Mrs. Dove-Lyon puts her plan into action, his lordship will soon long to make you his, if he doesn’t already!”

  “Yes, Mama,” Beverly murmured, her cheeks growing hot. Her parent had such blind faith in her. But where would it all lead them?

  ***

  Hyde Park looked inviting on a sunny day, and today was no exception. Miss George, the chaperone her mother had employed because she couldn’t always be with her, seemed a sour old thing, and even more so when on horseback. She rode doggedly beside Beverly through the park gates.

  “We shall wait here.” Beverly’s excited intake of breath drew in the scents of sun-warmed grasses and flowers. She searched the riders trotting their mounts down Rotten Row and the carriages circling the South Carriage Drive. Some had reined in to engage in conversation, and laughter floated on the breeze. It thrilled her, and she longed to be part of it. And why shouldn’t she be? An earl had called her a diamond of the first water, but his offer was not for marriage and had not pleased her mother.

  “It is past five o’clock, Miss Beverly.”

  Beverly thought she caught a gleam of satisfaction in the woman’s eyes.

  “Nevertheless,” she said in a firm tone, “We shall wait.”

  Another ten minutes passed. The horses grew restive. Her chaperone was staring at the watch she wore on the bodice of her riding habit.

  “I say, Miss Crabtree!”

  Beverly turned to see Lord Jason riding toward them on a glossy chestnut. His hat was tilted at a jaunty angle, his strong thighs encased in riding breeches, his highly polished boots gleaming in the sunlight. Her heart beat faster when he pulled up beside them.

  “I do apologize for being tardy,” he said with a grin. “Just arrived back in London from the country.”

  “Please don’t give it a moment’s thought, my lord,” Beverly said. “We were a little late ourselves.”

  Miss George cleared her throat.

  “My lord, I should like to introduce you to Miss George.” Beverly gestured to the woman who hovered like a dark cloud a few paces away.

  “How d’you do?” Glazebrook barely glanced at her, his gaze settling on Beverly. “Shall we ride down the Row?”

  “Oh yes, I have been so looking forward to it,” she said.

  She edged her horse in beside his lordship’s, and they rode side by side while Miss George fell in behind them.

  “Did you enjoy your stay in the country, my lord?”

  “Merely a brief trip to visit my mother.”

  His mother. A dowager duchess and no doubt formidable. Beverly was almost glad she would never meet her. She admired his profile with a sidelong glance. “So very nice to escape the city for a little while.”

  He merely nodded in reply. A man as sophisticated as Lord Jason would prefer the entertainments the city could offer, she was sure.

  “I am growing to like London more. It is all very new to me,” she said. “It offers far more excitement than the country.” She pushed to the back of her mind how much she enjoyed the peacefulness of her home. The slow-flowing river, ducks, and the basket of newborn kittens near the kitchen fire. The wide blue sky and the fresh air. The absolute quiet of the countryside allowed her to think and to dream. How could one do that in London? It was so busy and cramped.

  “The days and nights can drag by in the country.” Lord Jason Glazebrook raised his hat to two ladies riding past whose sharp gazes scrutinized Beverly.

  Beverly watched them. They were beautifully dressed in sober tones with wide-brimmed black hats at a carefree angle on their heads. She grew concerned that her outfit might be a trifle gaudy. Perhaps she should change her hat and remove the gold epaulettes from her jacket.

  “Shall we canter?” Lord Jason asked.

  “Oh, yes, let’s!”

  A quick glance behind her revealed Miss George, a determined expression on her face, fall farther behind. When the way ahead was blocked by a group of riders paused in conversation, Lord Jason veered away through the trees. With a laugh, Beverly urged her horse to follow him.

  Suddenly, a small brown dog darted out in front of her horse. Her mount snorted and reared as the hound, dodging the slashing hooves, continued to jump about and bark.

  Lord Jason rode to her aid, but before he could reach her, Beverly’s horse bolted. The mare galloped away from Rotten Row through the trees. Her hat fell over her eyes as she fought to stay in the saddle. Branches rushed by, and one caught at her sleeve.

  She managed to push her hat back and found she was headed for a narrow path leading through a thicket.

  Lord Jason was suddenly beside her. He leaned over and grabbed her horse’s bridle. “Whoa!”

  Her mare, responding to his commanding tone, slowed then halted just before they entered the path where Beverly would surely have been unseated.

  Heaving for breath and her hands shaking from pulling hard on the reins, she clung on to the pommel as Lord Jason led the horses along a wider path. They emerged into the sunlight. Before her, swans sailed majestically over the breeze-ruffled waters of the Serpentine.

  His lordship dismounted and held up his arms to assist her down. Eager to dismount, she leaned forward. Warm hands took hold of her waist as he set her on her feet. “Are you hurt, Miss Crabtree?”

  “No, a little ashamed that I couldn’t control the horse.” Her knees shook, and Lord Jason was obliged to grip her waist again to steady her, which didn’t help her much. Breathless at his proximity, she stepped back. She pushed a loose curl away from her eyes and settled her hat on her head.

  “These hacks! Pity you cannot have a decent mount.” He gave a dismissive nod toward her horse, now placidly chewing a mouthful of grass. “Planned to tip you off in that thicket, I’ll bet. I congratulate you, Miss Crabtree. A remarkable piece of riding to remain in the saddle.” He turned to secure the reins of both horses to a bush. “Riding side-saddle is challenging enough without dealing with a runaway horse.”

  “I’m afraid I did little. I could only hang on. But I am in awe of your fine riding, my lord. The masterly way you took control. Why the horse responded without a murmur! I am most grateful. Heaven knows what might have happened if it had been allowed to have its head.”

  The concerned expression in his blue eyes made her dislike intensely Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s instruction to play her cards carefully.

  She glanced around. Where was Miss George? She couldn’t help but hope the chaperone had lost her way, temporarily, of course. But she felt unsure how to proceed now that she was alone with his lordship. She would have liked to cast herself against his broad chest and tell all. But her first consideration must be for her mother, although the pull of attraction Beverly felt for this man was most unsettling.

  “I confess to being a little uneasy about mounting the horse again.”

  “Have no fear, I will stay close by. But take a moment to rest and gain your breath before we go on.”

  “Yes. I will, thank you. It’s so beautiful here.” She leaned back against the knobby trunk of an oak and gazed at the delightful scene before them.

  “I can’t imagine why you have not married, Miss Crabtree,” he said in a husky tone. “There must be eager swains aplenty to be found at the Brighton Assembly.”

  She thought of the assemblies she’d attended. Mostly husbands of her mother’s friends, and older gentlemen danced with her and the green youths who trod on her toe
s. “Perhaps you haven’t been to a Brighton Assembly,” she said with a smile. “Most young gentlemen prefer London.”

  He smiled. “That is true.”

  What did Lord Jason think of her? He seemed far too smart to be taken in by Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Why had he invited her to ride with him?

  “I am sorry your father is ill.” He moved close to her.

  Forced to glance up at him, she found his eyes were a deeper blue than the lake and held an intense expression. Was he about to kiss her? She wet her lips nervously. Should he take liberties with her, would she have the strength to push him away? There was no one here to witness it. And where would a kiss lead them? To greater liberties? While she would like very much for him to kiss her, she would hate him to think her fast. An even more distressing possibility occurred to her. Had he an affair in mind?

  “You have the most delightful mouth, Miss Crabtree.” He propped a hand against the tree trunk and leaned toward her but made no further advance.

  Was he waiting for a sign that she might welcome his advances? Her pulse thudded. She caught herself about to lean toward him and raised her chin.

  “I believe you wish to lead me astray, Lord Jason,” she said, adopting a prim tone.

  A humorous light entered his eyes, but he did not move away. “Let’s not be formal, call me Jason.”

  “Surely not on such short acquaintance, sir.”

  With a half-amused smile, he placed a finger at the corner of her mouth. “Do you know when you smile, you have an enticing dimple here?”

  She should chastise him and move away, but she seemed caught, her gaze on his lips. While the desire to kiss him warred with her good sense, an indignant shout broke into her consciousness. Miss George, riding out of the trees on her small gray mare.

  “Ah, I see your chaperone has found us.” He straightened with unfeigned exasperation.

  A scowl on her face, Miss George reached them. “I have been most dreadfully worried, Miss Crabtree. I expected to find you lying hurt or dead on the ground. For surely you would have come to find me once you’d gained control of your horse.”

  “I was just about to,” Beverly said, a little guilty having for a moment forgotten her. “I needed to gain my breath. I am not so very keen to ride this horse again.”

  “The dog merely unsettled the animal.” Miss George frowned at her as if it was Beverly’s fault. She managed to ignore Lord Jason’s presence completely. “We have been absent for some time. I fear your mother will be concerned.”

  “Allow me to escort you back to the stables,” Lord Jason said.

  “Thank you, sir.” Beverly approached the horse which eyed her warily.

  His lordship gathered the reins and boosted her effortlessly onto the saddle.

  Disappointed that their outing was at an end, Beverly arranged her train over her legs. She wished he would smile at her the way he had earlier, but he mounted his horse and turned its head toward the path.

  She nudged her hack to bring the animal closer to his and smiled sweetly. “Perhaps we shall meet again, my lord?”

  His gaze traveled over her face, then he did smile, sending her heart soaring. “Indeed, I hope so, Miss Crabtree.”

  There, she had done it. Flirting was not at all difficult. And although she knew nothing could come of it, she intended to enjoy every moment.

  Riding behind them, Miss George cleared her throat again.

  “I am glad you were not hurt. But we have broken a park rule, Miss Crabtree,” he said with a teasing smile. “No galloping allowed. Do not concern yourself, I’m sure nothing will come of it.”

  He was so attractive when he grinned at her like that, as if she was the only person in the world. “That is disappointing. Under normal circumstances, I find a gallop over the countryside invigorating. I’m sure you agree?”

  “I certainly have done, Miss Crabtree,” he said soberly. “But I enjoyed today.”

  As they walked their horses to the park stables, Beverly glanced at his profile. Something in his voice made her want to question him further.

  “I trust nothing untoward occurred to spoil your enjoyment of the exercise?”

  His troubled gaze met hers. “No, not in the country, Miss Crabtree.” He lifted his shoulders. “Something in the past, but no amount of discussion will change it. Thank you for your concern.”

  He would be as unlikely to confide in her, she thought, as she would him.

  ***

  Jason trotted Centaur through the Mayfair streets. Miss Crabtree was too dashed attractive. It was more than that. When he had halted the horse’s dangerous flight, the warm gratitude he found in her big eyes drew him like a moth to flame.

  While he had somewhat unkindly wished the chaperone to Jericho at the time, her appearance might have been prudent. He would certainly have kissed Miss Crabtree otherwise. But it was unwise. He did not wish to compromise her reputation because he liked her. It wouldn’t bother him too much if her mama gave him trouble, but he didn’t want it to happen to Beverly. She had a keen, marriage-minded mother if ever he saw one. The fact that she had brought her daughter to the Lyon’s Den to find a husband had made him careless of proprieties when he should have been on his guard.

  His first impression of the situation now appeared to be wrong. Miss Crabtree was obviously a gently reared young woman from a good family, and he urged himself not to pursue her for a dalliance. Especially after he caught the misery in her eyes at the mention of her father. The whole business began to appear odd to him. There was more to this than she was prepared to tell him. He suffered a strong, surprising urge to discover what it might be. It wasn’t all about lust, and while it wasn’t his heart that drove him either, he did admit that he’d responded to some unspoken plea as if she’d been a stray kitten in need of protection.

  Charles wouldn’t see it that way, of course. He’d say Jason was up to his usual tricks of wanting to bed a pretty lady. Well, at least he’d be half right.

  On reaching home, he stabled his horse, brushed, watered, and fed it. He entered the hall and greeted their butler. “Is my brother at home, Grove?”

  “His Grace is in his study, milord.”

  Couldn’t wait to get back to his accounts. Really, his brother was obsessed. Why did one have a bailiff, a secretary, and a man who managed his business affairs for? Jason suspected he enjoyed toting up a list of numbers even more than a woman’s company. Or did he have a mistress hidden away somewhere? Jason wasn’t privy to that information, but knowing Charles, he wouldn’t keep her once the engagement was announced.

  Jason paused on the staircase in contemplation of the duchess to be, Lady Cornelia Dountry. He had yet to meet her. A friend told him she was known to be clever, liked to read, and mixed in literary circles. A bluestocking, in other words. It would either be a marriage made in heaven or the dullest thing imaginable.

  Jason gained the landing. As he headed for his chamber to change his clothes, he suffered a twinge of compassion for his brother. He hoped Charles would have a score of sons. There was no way Jason would ever want to be duke. The demands of parliament and the running of estates were too heavy a burden for a fellow. And when it was time for him to marry, he would choose his bride. Perhaps Charles didn’t want to be duke, either. He had not been raised to be the heir. Their brother, Michael, had been the oldest son, but consumption eventually claimed his life.

  As he changed his clothes, he mused about Miss Crabtree and her lovely mouth that he’d been tempted to kiss. He liked to see her smile. She knew of his intention and had been in an agony of indecision whether to kiss him or not, but he was sure she wanted to.

  He shook his head. Charles would have his hide if he heard about Miss Crabtree. But what did it matter? His brother had lost faith in him two years ago, and Jason refused to beg his forgiveness. Why should he? Charles had chosen to believe the worst of him. So, they’d reached an impasse, which was unlikely to change whatever he did.

  Chapter Three

/>   A footman entered Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s private room with a tea tray. He unloaded the contents onto the table. Along with the tea service was a tiered plate crammed with cakes, tartlets, and tiny sandwiches.

  Beverly wondered who planned to join them. Someone with a good appetite, it would appear. That meant a man. She braced herself for further scrutiny from a possible suitor.

  “Now, explain to Mrs. Dove-Lyon what occurred in the park, Beverly,” Mama said, causing an anxious shiver to rush down Beverly’s spine.

  Mama and Mrs. Dove-Lyon stared at her expectantly. Beverly wriggled in her chair. Had she failed them? Was it her fault that after initially attracting Lord Jason’s attention, his interest appeared to have waned? She didn’t see how it could be anything she had done or said or failed to do. But although his lordship had visited the Lyon’s Den on several occasions over the past week, he had not inquired about her.

  Beverly did not want the blame to fall on Miss George, who she felt vaguely sorry for, so she omitted the part where her chaperone interrupted them at that precise moment. “I didn’t discourage his lordship. It would have been most improper for him to kiss me, so I suppose he decided against it.”

  She gazed at them in turn, from her mother’s pinched face to Mrs. Dove-Lyon observing her from beneath her dark veil. Beverly marveled at how that lady could display displeasure by a slight movement of one shoulder.

  “The little Season has ended,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said after a lengthy pause. “The Season will soon be in full swing. Debutantes flock to London, and any advantage you might have enjoyed will be at an end.”

  “Many will not be as pretty as my daughter,” Mama said crisply.