Page 13 of The Lyon Deception

The sound of the approaching hackney reached them before the foggy air parted to reveal horse and conveyance. When it drew to a halt before them, Mr. Sutherland gave the driver her aunt’s address and then opened the door for her. Cat took the hand he offered as she stepped up to take her seat, noticing that the interior smelled unpleasantly of strong scent. She wanted to hold her nose but she knew she could not complain when it had been she who had chosen this mode of transport.

Instead she smiled down at him and said quietly, “Thank you.”

His own smile was open and warm, and he said, after a slight hesitation, “I hope we meet again soon.” She felt as if he meant it.

In fact, she was sure he was going to make some suggestion, perhaps a stroll in the park or another ride in his phaeton, and when he didn’t, she felt ridiculously disappointed. Then the hackney was moving off, and a moment later Mr. Sutherland and the Lyon’s Den had disappeared into the fog.

Sinclair felt as if his heart were swelling to the point where it might burst. Cat MacKenzie was everything he wanted in a woman—intelligent and clever and beautiful. And yes, good—far too good for him. And yet she made him aspire to become better. Just for her. He could become that better man. Surely if Cat were by his side then he could do anything, and he wasn’t sure whether the idea left him hopeful or terrified.

To be honest, he hadn’t felt like this in years. Not since he had been taken from his home and placed in a situation that was as bewildering as it was miserable. Suddenly discovering he was the grandson of a lord, and wealthy, had not been the sort of fairytale ending that some people dream of. It hadn’t been for Sinclair. Oh yes, it was very nice to have money, and he had certainly found pleasant ways to spend it, but it hadn’t made him happy. Not when his grandfather held the purse strings. Not the sort of deep, satisfying happiness he used to feel. Now it was as if he could see a light down that long tunnel. A glimmer of hope.

Upstairs, Mrs. Dove-Lyon answered his knock, and when she saw who was standing in her doorway, she called him inside. It was time for their nightly game anyway, and she had laid out the cards in readiness. Sinclair sat down opposite her, but he was too restless to keep still.

“You didn’t tell her who I was?” he blurted out.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon stilled. “Sinclair, you told me not to, and I promised I wouldn’t. I’m not a fool, you know.”

“If she knew I was the Master of Armytage, she would hate me. I don’t want that.”

“She might surprise you. If she got to know you properly before you told her the truth, then—”

“That is what I’m hoping for! That she will come to know me and see I am not the disgraceful scoundrel she thinks I am. What did she say?”

Bessie paused as she examined her hand of cards, lifting her head to stare at him through her veil. “She did not say a great deal, apart from telling me her sad story,” the widow said evenly. “I did put forward the suggestion that you could be persuaded to help, but she does not know you. Or at least, she only knows you as Mr. Sutherland.”

Sinclair wondered what her eyes, behind the veil, were revealing. Would they be sparkling with amusement or cool with irritation? He was never sure when it came to Bessie.

“I did mention the possibility of marriage, but she rejected that. For now at least.”

Of course she did!

“If you were to tell her the truth,” Bessie went on, sorting her cards, “she might change her mind. She might throw herself into your arms and forgive you.”

“She will hate me,” he said bluntly.

She gave a cackle of laughter. “Oh, so you plan to make her fall in love with you and then tell her?”

“I don’t plan to do anything of the kind!”

“Hmm, not a bad scheme, but I’m not sure she will forgive you. I think we should get her to agree to marrying you, and when it is a done deal, then tell her.”

Sinclair felt as if he were caught in a nightmare, and yet he wanted to believe Bessie was right. “And she would forgive me?”

“She might. If we play our cards right. Speaking of which!”

She turned her attention back to her hand, leaving Sinclair to his thoughts.

Did he want marriage? Sinclair had so many hopes and fears jumbled in his head. He knew that the fantasy he had of everything turning out perfectly was nonsense. People weren’t perfect. He certainly wasn’t, so why should he expect Cat to be a saint? And yet despite all the pitfalls before them, he wanted to help her, while at the same time he also wanted her to continue to look at him and speak to him as if she liked him. He couldn’t be wrong about that—she did like him. If he carried on with his deception, she might grow to like him more, but at the same time she might be even more angry with him when she discovered the truth. He knew all of this, and yet there was some part of him that longed to convince her that he was worthy of her.

If she wanted Bonnyrigg saved, then Sinclair would fight his grandfather tooth and nail to achieve it.

“I think we should proceed with the wedding plans,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon interrupted his feverish thoughts, reaching to choose another card. “Once you are married, she will have to remain, and you can spend as much time as you want convincing her you are the man for her. I’m sure you will manage it, Sinclair. For goodness’ sake, don’t let her slip out of your clutches! I have already warned her there are other ladies with their eye on the Master. She knows she will have to make up her mind before too long.”

Catriona was going to sacrifice herself, so she thought, for her home and family. She was going to be a martyr bride. The idea made him feel queasy. He wanted to marry her, yes, but with joy and happiness, not because she felt she had to!

“Please, can we just wait a little longer?” he said, because he still hoped the more time he spent with her as Mr. Sutherland, the more likely it was that she would eventually forgive him.

For a long time, Bessie stared at him through the veil, and then she shrugged. “A very little longer then,” she agreed softly. “But I want you to prepare yourself for some unpleasantness. At first, anyway. Remember, sometimes one is required to take some nasty medicine to enable things to get better, Sinclair.”