Page 8 of Always the Lyon Tamer

John smiled despite himself. Shewasthe only lady who had ever touched his heart, and his smile grew wistful as he thought of her.If only he had been brave enough to offer for her.

But he had not. The idea of committing, forever, to one woman—what if it had been the wrong choice? What if they were not compatible in…well, other ways? What if, worst of all, she had refused him?

John coughed. “You are one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s ladies, are you not?”

The woman smiled. “I am, and you may call me Hermia. Have a pleasant evening, Lennox Lion.”

In a sweep of skirts, she was gone.

Hermia. A Midsummer Night’s Dream—it made sense.The more he looked around the room, the more John realized that each table was managed by a woman.

Women in charge.Well, it was a new world they were creating in England, at any rate, and so it should not have surprised him to find such things here.

He knew plenty of gentlemen who could barely get their own boots on, whereas every lady he knew seemed to run a home, host parties, organize the kitchen, embroider, sing, speak two languages…

Perhaps he should be more surprised to find a gentleman in charge than a lady.

There was a rustle of skirts this time to announce a lady’s approach, and this one was a little older but no less majestic as the last one.

“John ‘the Lion’ Lennox, is it?” she said stiffly. “You may kiss my hand.”

For an instant, John thought she was joking, but the woman held out her hand imperiously. Unsure whether this was a game, a gamble, or some sort of strange rite of passage, John nevertheless reached out and kissed the woman’s hand.

And then she was all smiles. “I like you, John. May I call you John?”

“I-I suppose so,” he spluttered, utterly at sea. He was not accustomed to feeling so lost in a conversation—who was this one?“And I may call you…?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon, the proprietress of the Lyon’s Den.”

John rose to his feet and bowed low.Damn and blast it. He had not even thought that a woman like this had to be in charge. Of course she did!

She laughed. “Yes, yes, that is all very well. But the night is growing older, John, and so am I. Would you like to play a special game I have for you?”

Chapter Three

The breath thatfilled Rebecca’s lungs was sharp, but perhaps that was the panic, not the air itself.

That was the signal.There had been no mistaking it, even from up here in the observing gallery. She had been told by Mrs. Dove-Lyon what to expect, and she had watched the empress of an owner walk carefully toward John, approaching him as a hunter did its prey.

Silently.

Rebecca had almost laughed when she watched John start. But now it was time for her to act.Time for her to do something.Because all this hard work, fear, panic—let alone the number of guineas which had changed hands—would all be for nothing if she did not stand up right now.

It was with some surprise that Rebecca found her legs were, after all, strong enough to carry her. If she had not known better, she would have said they were shaking from the panic and excitement flowing through her veins.

Was she really about to do this?

This was not what young ladies did. This was not a place where young ladies came.

Yet, she was not alone here on the observational gallery. Rebecca looked to her left and right at the other masked ladies waiting in their turn for their signal from Mrs. Dove-Lyon.

“Good luck,” the nearest whispered. There was fear and excitement in her voice.

Rebecca nodded. She did not have the breath nor the words to speak, but she felt the solidarity of the unknown woman, and it heartened her as nothing else had.

A few others whispered words of encouragement as she slowly stepped past them and toward the stairs. For a moment, Rebecca was tempted to halt and ask if they had advice, any idea what was going to happen next.

Surely some of them were Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s ladies and not ladies like herself with absolutely no idea what was going on?