Page 19 of Lyon of Least Resistance

His smile slipped and he placed a hand on her arm, empathy gleaming in his eyes. Before he could speak and reveal the tender soul beneath the exuberant exterior, Cordelia patted his hand.

“Be off with you now, vile creature!” she said, with a grin. “And don’t lose your head.”

He continued along the hallway, his laughter echoing in the air, and Cordelia made her way to the staircase leading to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s study.

A door opened and a tall, lean man with blond hair and pale blue eyes appeared, blocking her path.

“Well, I say, what a delightful surprise, m’dear! I thought I’d heard the sweet voice of my lovely Dahlia.”

Her stomach clenching with nausea, Cordelia took a step back.

“Sir Iain. I trust you are well?”

“All the better for seeing my ripe little flower. Would you care to open those pretty petals of yours for me? There’s twenty pounds if you’ll give me five minutes behind that door. I’m afraid poor Rosita’s proven to be a disappointment. No stamina—not like you.”

He licked his lips and reached toward her.

“I’m not available tonight,” she said. “S-speak to Hermia if you want to make an appointment with another.”

“But I want you.”

He thrust his face close, and she pushed him back.

“How dare you deny me!” he said. “You’re nothing but a whore who never resists an offer to be fucked for cash.”

“Sir Iain, I must insist that you leave. Patrons of the Lyon’s Den are not supposed to—Oh!”

She screamed as he backhanded her across the face, his hand a blur of movement, and she staggered back.

“I’ll not have a whore tell me what I must do,” he snarled, and he reached for her. She darted sideways, but he caught her wig and tore it off.

“Aha!” he cried. “I always knew you were a dark-haired vixen. Now, at last, the curtains match the carpet.” He fisted his hand in her hair. “Come, let me take a look at that pretty face of yours.”

Ignoring her cries, he pulled off her mask, then smashed his mouth against hers. She stumbled back and he fell on top of her, and she fought the urge to retch at the feel of the bulge in his breeches.

“That’s it,” he said. “I’m ready for you like a dog wanting to take a bitch in heat.”

Cordelia tried to push him off, but his body was too heavy. She twisted her body and they rolled sideways. Then, curling her hand into a fist, she drove it straight into his groin—a trick Isidore had taught her for dealing with visitors who tried to take more than they’d paid for.

Sir Iain stiffened and let out an airless gasp. Pushing him aside, she struggled to her feet as footsteps approached and Coriolanus appeared, Puck at his side. Before Sir Iain was on his feet again, the two men hauled him up and held him firm.

“Devil take you, get off me, you fools!” he slurred. “You’ve no right to—”

“We have every right, Sir Iain,” Coriolanus said. “We’re very particular about the behavior of our clientele, and this is not your first warning.” He turned to his companion. “What say you, Puck, darling? Shall we take him outside—around the back, perhaps?”

Puck giggled, and Sir Iain let out a snort of disgust. “Degenerate demons!” he snarled.

“Oh yes, and don’t you love it!” Puck said. “What say you, Dahlia, my love?”

Cordelia placed a hand on her cheek where Sir Iain had hit her, and winced, battling the urge to see him punished. Then she shook her head.

“Just get rid of him,” she said. “At least I’ll never have to see him again.”

“And neither will any of the girls,” Coriolanus said. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon takes a breach of the rules seriously.”

“I didn’t breach any—” Sir Iain began, then broke off as Puck aimed a kick at his shin.

“Say another word and I’ll come visit you with all my acquaintances and we’ll have our way with you—with a candlestick.” He nodded to Cordelia. “Go clean yourself up, darling—you look as if you’ve crawled through a bramble bush backward.”