Page 8 of The Lyon Deception

“We have no choice,” Prudence hissed a reminder. “If he had mended the carriage earlier, then we wouldn’t be in this fix.”

The tiger stood away from the horses’ heads and the vehicle sprang forward, with him leaping into his place at the back. It was all neatly done.

Cat gasped as the pace quickened. Her bonnet fell back, still held on by the ribbons, and she gave a laugh. It was all very exhilarating. When she turned to Mr. Sutherland to tell him so, she saw that he was looking at her again. For a moment she stared into his green-flecked eyes and wondered what he was thinking. Yes, there was certainly admiration there, which was nice. But she had been admired by other gentlemen, and usually she dismissed it. This time it seemed different. As if a little fire had been lit inside her chest and was burning away.

“What will we do about the Master of Armytage?” Harriet asked her in a loud whisper.

“I don’t know.” Cat frowned. “Let me think about it.”

“Why is this man stealing your home?” Mr. Sutherland spoke up. “Are you able to explain it to me, Lady Catriona? I will understand if it is a private matter.”

Cat considered. She could say it was private, but then she decided there could be no harm in telling him. Besides, Harriet had already disclosed their reason for being here. So she took a breath and explained what was happening. He listened to her in silence while at the same time guiding his horses with a firm but light hand. They turned into a busier thoroughfare, and as they passed a coach with what seemed only a couple of inches to spare Harriet covered her eyes with her hands and Prudence hung on to Cat’s hand with a painfully tight grip.

Unlike the two girls, Cat was not fazed. To her this was exciting. More exciting than anything that had happened to her in London so far.

“You are very good at this,” she told him with a breathless laugh.

“Thank you,” he said gravely. “I have had much to do with horses since I was a boy. But I interrupted you. Carry on with your story. You were at the part where you decided to travel to London to beard the lion in its den.” His lips twisted on the last words, as if they struck him as amusing in some way.

Cat carried on, explaining how she had planned to visit the Master and appeal to his better self. “I thought if I spoke to him, then surely he would see how wrong it all was and persuade his grandfather to agree to more reasonable terms.”

Mr. Sutherland seemed deep in thought and passed a slow-moving wagon before he spoke again, “Lord Armytage sounds like the kind of man who will not listen to anyone else. You say your father is presently fighting him through the courts?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m afraid the Master will turn out to be just as horrid as his grandfather,” Prudence interrupted, clinging so hard to Cat’s hand as they turned a corner that it began to go numb. Then Harriet added, “Perhaps you should do as I said, Cat, and seek out Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”

Mr. Sutherland’s grip on the reins tightened and for a moment the horses jerked nervously, until he quickly righted the situation. “My apologies,” he said. “What is this about Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”

“Do you know her?” Cat asked curiously. There was something in his voice that made her think he did. “We have heard that the Master spends a great deal of his time at the Lyon’s Den, which is a gaming house owned by Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Would we be able to find him there, do you think?”

“Quite possibly,” he said quietly. “It is very popular with a certain type of gentleman.”

Cat saw then that they had turned into Aunt Jennie’s square. Mr. Sutherland slowly drew up in front of her house when Harriet pointed it out to him. The lad riding behind them sprang down to hold the horses again, and then Mr. Sutherland leaped down just as easily. He held up his hands and soon ensured that all three ladies reached the ground safely, if a little windswept in appearance.

Cat retied her bonnet as she smiled up at him. “Thank you, Mr. Sutherland. We are most grateful for your kindness.”

He was taller than she, broad shouldered and with a lean power. There were plenty of men of impressive physic at Bonnyrigg and surrounds, so many that she barely noticed them, and yet for some reason she noticed this man.

“My pleasure,” he said, returning her smile with watchful eyes. “I will ensure your carriage is repaired and returned. If you will furnish me with your address, Lady Prudence, Lady Harriet?”

Prudence and Harriet did so and dropped curtsies. Cat held out her hand. “Perhaps we will meet again one day, Mr. Sutherland?”

He took her hand and held it for a moment, before bending over and pressing his lips softly against her glove. “I hope we will,” he said.

The next moment he had returned to his perch on the phaeton, his tiger taking up his position at the back, and they were gone.

Chapter Five

Sinclair Robertson, Master of Armytage, set off back the way he had come. He was barely aware of making allowances for other traffic on the road or in which direction he was heading. His thoughts consumed him. They were mostly a jumble of questions. He was cursing himself for drinking too much and staying too late at the Lyon’s Den. If he had gone to bed at a reasonable time he would not have run into Christopher and then been persuaded to remain, and none of this would have happened.

And yet at the same time, he felt glad he had been walking home when he came upon the three ladies with their broken carriage. Especially one of those ladies. One look, and he felt as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Breathless and shaky and floating a mile above his phaeton. Sinclair was well and truly smitten.

He could ask himself why he hadn’t spoken up and told Lady Catriona MacKenzie the truth, but he knew why. Because if he had told her who he was, then she would not have smiled at him as she did, or flashed those warm, blue eyes toward him while her auburn hair gleamed beneath her pretty bonnet. Yes, she was beautiful, but so were many London ladies. It was more than that.

Lady Catriona seemed to have cast a spell on him with her modulated Scots-accented voice and engaging smiles. He desperately wanted her good opinion. Which made the withholding of the truth even more foolish. How could she ever forgive him for it when she learned who he really was? And how could he carry on a friendship with her without her discovering it?