Page 28 of Lyon of Least Resistance

He smiled. Precocious, stubborn, and strong-willed—that was his little ferret of a sister.

“Margaret, when you marry,” he said, “do you intend to answer your husband back, instead of obeying his orders?”

“Of course!” She laughed. “And I would hope that the wife you choose is the sort of woman to answer you back. She wouldn’t be any fun if she obeyed you at every turn, would she? And if she is too obedient, I’ll teach her how to defy you.”

He lunged at her and she darted away, laughing.

“Can’t catch me!” she cried, then she skipped back toward the house.

What must it be like to be so carefree! Margaret knew little of having to conform to the rules of Society, to manage an estate and its ailing finances, or the need to maintain the honor of the Bedford name.

But she was right in that, despite the need for propriety, every soul—including an impoverished viscount—deserved a little happiness.

He drew out his pocketknife and wandered about the rose garden, cutting a handful of blooms of varying colors. Then, posy in hand, he returned to the main house. He paused as he passed a cluster of dahlias in a border and caught his breath. But not even he could entertain the notion of seeing her again. He would be ever grateful for her having awoken him to the joys of sharing his body with another. But the gulf between them stretched too wide to ever be bridged. A woman of doubtful reputation, won at the Lyon’s Den, might be a suitable wife for a viscount provided she act appropriately.

But he could never have married a whore.

Chapter Eight

“All hail the most delectable goddess of love, for whom our gallant suitors tonight are vying. The one and only…”

The voice paused and a collective intake of breath rippled through the crowd.

“…Aphrodite!”

A cheer rose, together with what sounded like a rumble of thunder—a hundred pairs of feet stamping on the floor of the gaming hall on the other side of the door.

Cordelia clasped her hands together to dispel the tremors in her body. A light hand touched her arm.

“Sweet girl, there’s no need to fear what’s about to happen.”

“I wish I could believe you, Isidore.”

Her companion smiled.

“Take it from an old whore, my darling. Those men out there are more afraid of us than we are of them. Liken them to mice in the bathtub—benign creatures, though many women will scream at the sight of them. But they can be removed quickly and humanely. Or disposed of in a trap if they become too much of a nuisance.”

Isidore winked, and Cordelia managed a smile.

“There’s my brave girl!” Isidore said. “And you needn’t concern yourself with whether any of tonight’s competitors will recognize you. The kind of man who visits doxies never bothers to look at our faces, and besides—yours was always covered by your mask, was it not?”

She lifted her hand and caressed Cordelia’s head.

“None of them saw this glorious mane of dark hair, nor had the delight of taking it in their hands while you brought them to pleasure,” she said. “The man you choose tonight will be the most fortunate of men to have entered the Lyon’s Den. And do not forget, darling—in the Lyon’s Den, it’s the woman who has both the liberty of choice and the power of refusal. If none of the men satisfy your requirements of a husband, then you may refuse them all. Bessie would not object.”

“Would she not?”

Isidore let out a soft laugh and linked her arm with Cordelia’s.

“Bessie has the ability to bring forth the perfect partner for every woman who comes to her,” she said. “An old friend of mine is blissfully happy after having secured Bessie’s services”—she cocked her head to one side and grinned—“even though she threatened to punch her suitor at the altar. But a little conflict in a marriage is to be relished, yes? A woman relishes the prospect of taming her husband.”

“Isn’t it the husband who tames the woman?”

“The husband likes to believe that. If a clever woman can help him maintain that belief, then she has succeeded. And you, Cordelia my love, are a very clever woman. Now—shall we?”

The cheering in the gaming hall rose in a crescendo, focusing into a single word.

“Aphrodite! Aphrodite!”