Page 5 of Always the Lyon Tamer

“You want to talk to your brother.” Charlotte’s words cut through John’s thoughts, and he looked up to see her examining him. “Come, let me take the children away, leave you two for your conversation.”

“How did you know?” John asked.

Little William slipped off his lap and went to hold the hand of his mother, who smiled. “I was society’s chaperone, do you not remember? If anyone knows what it looks like when two people want to talk alone, ’tis I.”

After the door closed behind her, the breakfast room became strangely silent.

“Well? Is she right?”

John did not immediately respond. Instead, he pulled the invitation from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to his brother.

William whistled. “Well, well. The Lyon’s Den. I have never received such an invitation. Will you attend?”

John hesitated before replying. He had felt utterly at sea when he received the invitation, but now the way seemed clear.

“I was not sure,” he said honestly, “but if the Lion of the Lennoxes isn’t brave enough to go into the Lyon’s Den, who is?”

Chapter Two

Rebecca could nothelp it. Once again, her fingers moved to the delicate ties around the back of her head that kept the mask—gifted to her by Mrs. Dove-Lyon, although not until after the exchange of six shillings—now hiding her identity.

It was absolutely vital no one recognized her.

That would be a disaster.

She watched the gambling floor below her, seated on the ladies’ observing gallery in the Lyon’s Den.It really was very cleverly designed, she thought to herself as her heart fluttered. The gambling floor was a large space, almost like the Assembly Rooms in Bath, and yet from here, similar to a minstrel’s gallery, she could look out at the entire space.

And there was an awful lot to watch.Thankful for the beautifully designed gold and blue mask that hid her features and permitted her to not only look but stare, Rebecca tried to take in the splendor and majesty that was the Lyon’s Den.

It was a terrifying world she had never known.Who could have guessed that such a place existed—and in London, too!

While her soul whispered she still did not know whether she would go through with it, Rebecca sat quietly.

The gambling floor had several different tables. Most were round, but a few were square, designed for close, intimate games.

Gentlemen were everywhere. Loud, rowdy gentlemen. Quiet, brooding gentlemen. Some of them looked a little worse for wear for drink. Others looked captivated by the game on their table, but Rebecca, try as she might, struggled to fully understand the games.

At one, a woman was throwing a knife at the table, and any man who removed his hand was considered “out.” It looked dangerous, and there was more than one man with serious-looking cuts on his fingers.

At another table, each man was taking a mouthful of a disgusting-looking stew, and as one vomited, the others cheered. Rebecca curled up her nose. She could not imagine inviting that sort of sickness into one’s body—and yet the gentleman who had vomited looked…pleased. Rebecca’s mouth fell open—though no sound came out—as he was presented with some sort of token, and a lady, who was evidently one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s ladies, came to convey him to another table.

Was…was he the winner then?

It was all so confusing. Rebecca shook her head slightly, as though ridding water from her ears. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had explained much of it to her, but it was difficult to understand. Gentlemen always were.

They came here, willingly, understanding they may leave the place with a wife they had never met before, and to gain her would subject themselves to…well.

They were strange beasts.

Rebecca’s gaze drifted to a third table. Upon it was a cage, and within it, a snake, curling its lengths around and around as the gentlemen watched it. They were unusually silent.

She looked away. She did not consider herself to be particularly squeamish, but even she had limits. There was no chance she wished to know what would happen at that table.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon had been right, though.

“You will find that though gentlemen rule the world outside, in my Lyon’s Den, ’tis the ladies who rule the roost.”

Rebecca swallowed. It was intoxicating to be in the presence of such power, and from ladies, too. She did not think she had ever seen so many women in charge of anything.