Page 7 of Always the Lyon Tamer

Marriages.

As he turned a corner, his gaze drifted upward—and was rewarded by the view of the sort of ladies he had expected. There was an observing gallery, a balustrade keeping him from seeing the ladies properly, but just enough to catch a glimpse.

His stomach clenched. Each wore a gown elegantly torn to reveal far more skin than would ever have been permitted at Almack’s. Each wore a mask, cleverly hiding their faces.

Only then did he realize his mouth was open. John shut it hurriedly before someone noticed. He had been invited here, and that could only mean one thing.

There was a lady up there, one of those looking down at him like some sort of empress, who wanted him here—who wanted him.

Now, a piece of card was carefully folded in his waistcoat pocket that gave him access to a world of pleasure, and perhaps a wife.

It was a heady thought. That simply didn’t happen in society; it was the men that chased the women. It was thrilling, intoxicating.

Courting, matrimony…he had only given serious thought to them when he had met…

He would not think about Rebecca Darby, not here. Though his heart contracted painfully, and he had to force away the memory of her face, he would not think of her.

He had not been brave enough. He was certain to have lost her now to a better man, no doubt.

He had the chance now to find a wife with none of the complications. Perhaps that was best. He simply did not have the stomach to court and woo a lady. Flirt, yes. Jest. Quiz. Laugh.But attempting to convince her to…

Again, he forced his mind away from Miss Darby. There were plenty of things before him, after all, to keep his mind occupied.

There were the gentlemen. Most of them he did not recognize, but there were a few faces known to him.

There, on the snake table, was the Earl of Marnmouth.Philip Egerton, wasn’t it?The man looked utterly bored out of his mind, which was certainly not the emotional state he would have been with such a creature so close to him.

Spying an empty table at the edge of the room, John made toward it as calmly as he could manage and collapsed gratefully into a chair.

What did he think he was doing here?This was not a place for the likes of him. He had neither the stomach nor the bravery for it, and everywhere he looked, there was something dangerous, or wild, or worse—heavenly.

He glanced up at the gallery once more. There were fewer ladies now. Evidently, some had found the gentlemen they sought and were secreted away somewhere else in the building.

Who could want him here?

“Ah, the Lennox Lion.”

John jumped. A woman dressed in the most ostentatious excuse for a gown he had ever seen was standing beside him. She had been so silent, he had not even noticed her approach.

He smiled nervously. “That is what they call me, though I cannot profess to know why, Miss…?”

The woman did not offer her name. “I presume you were so named because of your harem of ladies.”

John’s cheeks flushed. “Harem? My dear lady, I do not think I would describe—”

“A jest, of course,” interrupted the lady with a knowing smile. “I have watched you, John Lennox, out in the world. So cheerful, so bold. Always ready with a laugh, a joke, a jest. Always a lady on your arm. And yet, I think, a heart untouched.”

John opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.What on earth did this woman want with him?She was part of the establishment—no mask—so did that give her the right to speak to him in that way?

The fact she was correct was neither here nor there.

“I suppose that is where the name came from then, yes,” he said stiffly. “And no serious connections, no.”

He would not tell this harlot about Rebecca—Miss Darby. No, she was a secret in his heart that he would keep to himself. None of them deserved to even know of her.

Besides, none of the ladies which he jested with in the dances or laughed with at the card tables would ever consider appearing here, surely. This was a place of iniquity, even if that was utterly consented to by its patrons.

And the idea that Rebecca would be here…