Page 12 of Always the Lyon Tamer

The shyness he had always pushed down and ignored swelled in his gut, and he coughed in the awkward silence to dispel it.

The room was not, after all, that unusual. It was set out as a bedchamber, with nothing particularly strange within it.More a woman’s boudoir than a bedchamber, he noticed as his eyes took in the furniture.

A desk with a chair, ornate wood, and delicate upholstery. A wardrobe in the same wood, carvings at the corners that matched a small chest of drawers. Two armchairs with the same blue satin upholstery sat on either side of the bed.

The bed. It should not have been a surprise. He had heard enough rumors about the Lyon’s Den to know what sort of things occurred here—always between willing participants, as far as he had heard, but still.

Lovemaking. Wild, wanton pleasure. Decadent sensuality.

The mere thoughts were enough to make him shiver. In all his years, and probably much to the surprise of his friends, if they had found out, John had never visited a brothel.

After what happened to Honora, he never would. He had heard enough stories to be sickened at the very thought of it.

She would recover in time, and she had married well. William may not have liked him at first, but they put up with each other, and that was all most brothers-in-law could hope for.

But finding Honora there, against her will…

John had vowed never to go near such a place. He would never subject a woman who was there unwillingly to his own desires.

If this was such a place, he would not remain long.

Besides, despite all of his laughter with William and his friends, he had never quite managed to…

John coughed into the silence once more. Standing here alone was disorientating, strange. Was there not supposed to be a woman to play the game with him? He swallowed down his rising panic and moved about the room a bit.

Well, she was not to know he had never lain with a woman.His innocence had never been lost, not as a soldier, nor as a gentleman when he had come into his rather surprising title.

It was a secret he had never shared, and now it appeared he would have to admit it. This woman who was about to enter the room—she would surely be more experienced than he, wouldn’t she?

Not that it would be hard,John thought bitterly.What had he managed to get himself into?

The guessing game the woman had suggested made it appear there was no way to lose—either he won himself a bride, or she could do whatever she wanted with him, which sounded highly suggestive. But his bravado on the gaming floor melted away as he stood looking at the bed. It was made up beautifully, but there could be no confusion about what it was for.

What had Mrs. Dove-Lyon said?

“No table, sir, no table for you. This is a very special game, and that means you have your own special room.”

Well, it appeared that unless he thought the lady—when she appeared—was under coercion, that innocence he had kept for so many years would be lost this evening.

John found himself hoping fervently that if it was so, then the lady would be pretty, as well as able to string a sentence together. He had no doubt Mrs. Dove-Lyon chose ladies of excellent beauty, but if she was dull and beautiful, he would find it difficult to—

The thought died as the door opened and closed quickly, allowing a burst of laughter and noise to seep in. And then it was gone, leaving only the new occupant of the room, who was leaning against the door.

John’s heart—and manhood—lurched painfully.Perhaps this game was not such a bad idea at all.

It was the lady who had been seated at the table beside his. He had noticed her, of course, he had. He was only human, and there was plenty of her to look at. The gown was torn artfully, designed at its very core to reveal rather than conceal.

Even under the mask, he could see she was beautiful. Bright sparkling eyes, a smile that danced across her lips and seemed to tease him. But beyond that, there was an elegance about her that poured from every inch of her skin—and there was quite a lot of it on display.

As she took a step toward him, the gown shifted and revealed even more skin—enough to get John’s heart racing.

His hands felt clammy, his heart thundered, and his throat seemed to be closing up. She was beautiful. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he had entertained a fair few.

“Well, you are the gentleman I have been given, then,” she said lightly. “I suppose I shall have to make the best of you.”

Her confidence was electrifying, and John found himself grinning at her jest—or at least, what he hoped was her jest. After being so impressed with her, it would be sad indeed if she was disappointed with him.

“Yes,” he said in a rather strangled voice. “I mean, I hope so. You are so…”