The Lyon's Lady Love: The Lyon's Den Read online

  The Lyon’s Lady Love

  The Lyon’s Den Connected World

  Alexa Aston

  © Copyright 2020 by Alexa Aston

  Text by Alexa Aston

  Cover by Wicked Smart Designs

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  [email protected]

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition May 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.

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  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Alexa Aston

  King’s Cousins Series

  The Pawn

  The Heir

  The Bastard

  Knights of Honor Series

  Word of Honor

  Marked by Honor

  Code of Honor

  Journey to Honor

  Heart of Honor

  Bold in Honor

  Love and Honor

  Gift of Honor

  Path to Honor

  Return to Honor

  The St. Clairs Series

  Devoted to the Duke

  Midnight with the Marquess

  Embracing the Earl

  Defending the Duke

  Suddenly a St. Clair

  Soldiers & Soulmates Series

  To Heal an Earl

  To Tame a Rogue

  To Trust a Duke

  The Lyon’s Den Connected World

  The Lyon’s Lady Love

  *** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***

  www.dragonbladepublishing.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Alexa Aston

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  London—April 1812

  Lady Emma Spencer dismissed her maid and studied her image in the mirror, wondering how others would see her tonight, the night of her come-out. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. Her honeyed hair was piled high atop her head, with a few wisps framing her face. She thought it made her look much more mature than usual. Her cheeks, flushed with color, gave away her nervousness, though. She fiddled with the diamond necklace, centering it, blinking back tears. The gift reminded her of Mama and how she’d struggled through poor health so much of her adult life.

  Emma was supposed to make her come-out last Season but her mother had died two weeks before it began. She’d mourned deeply for Mama. On her deathbed, Mama had told her the diamond necklace and matching earrings were hers and that she should wear them when she debuted into Polite Society. Tonight, she would carry her mother in her heart as she mingled among the ton. She might even meet her future husband. The thought thrilled her.

  More than anything, Emma wanted to wed and have a large family. Delaying her come-out had made her only more ready for this. She wanted a husband who would be kind and attentive, not one like Papa. He ignored her and had been overtly curt to Mama. Emma knew her mother had been afraid of her husband, especially when she hadn’t produced the expected heir. After losing numerous babies, Emma had finally been born. The doctor had told Mama no children would follow.

  It had been lonely growing up an only child, wishing for siblings. Though her mother loved her daughter, waning health kept Lady Seton to her bed. Emma wanted her life to be different from the one her mother had. That’s why tonight—and this Season—was so important. She was eager to place herself on the Marriage Mart and find a man to love. Oh, she knew love only existed in books. But what if she found a man who loved her and she returned that love? That was her greatest hope. She knew she possessed a healthy dowry and her mirror told her she looked very pretty tonight. Surely, some gentleman would be interested in wooing and wedding her.

  Oh, she’d almost forgotten to put on her earrings. She quickly did so and admired how they looked on her in the mirror. Slipping on her gloves, she stood and made her way downstairs. It alarmed her that her father wasn’t waiting for her. She had reminded him twice this week that she would need his escort to the Rutherfords’ ball, the opening event of the Season, and she’d left a note on his desk only this morning to help him remember. Anxiety built inside her, causing her stomach to grow sour. She hated to be late. Being tardy to her first ball would cause a terrible impression. Worse, what if she missed it entirely? The other girls making their come-out would be ahead of her, having already met and danced with numerous gentlemen. She tamped down her growing frustration, knowing it would do no good.

  Emma paced the foyer nervously, remembering years ago when her mother would come floating down the stairs, dressed in her ballroom finery. Mama had loved dancing. Even her Uncle Seton had told Emma how the future Lady Seton had captured everyone’s imagination at that first ball she’d attended. It saddened her how quickly her mother’s health had gone downhill and how she’d become bedridden for so many years.

  The butler appeared and she asked him where her father was.

  “I regret to say that Lord Seton has not yet come home, my lady.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  She continued pacing and glanced at the grandfather clock, wishing she could push the hands back at least half an hour. Her father had neglected Emma her en
tire life. A little voice inside her head asked why she thought tonight would be any different. She shushed it and prayed he would arrive soon.

  Then the front door flew open and her father rushed in. It took her a moment to recognize him. He was a meticulous man in everything he did, especially in the way he dressed. Tonight, he appeared disheveled and out of sorts.

  “Where have you been, Father? You must change quickly for the Rutherfords’ ball.”

  “I’ve no time for balls,” he growled and brushed past her.

  “But . . . it’s my come-out,” she protested.

  He turned and his gaze frightened her. “There’ll be no come-out, Emma.”

  With that, he hurried up the stairs.

  She’d already had to wait a year due to mourning. She wasn’t going to wait any longer. Determination filled her as she followed him upstairs to the master bedchamber. She watched as he opened the safe and began cramming its contents into a satchel, including all her mother’s jewels.

  “What is going on?” she demanded, for once acting boldly and not the shy, retiring daughter that never stirred up trouble.

  He wheeled and the look on his face caused her to shrink inwardly.

  “I don’t answer to you, a mere girl. A father wants sons. I couldn’t get a single one off your mother, just one measly, worthless female.”

  Her knees wobbled. She locked them. “I am your child, Father.”

  He laughed harshly. “Do you think that means I should care for you? Love you?” He shook his head. “You mean nothing to me.”

  Deep inside, Emma had known of his indifference and had chosen to ignore it. She had tried for years to fight for his attention. His love. In this moment, she understood she’d never had a chance at it. Hurt filled her, a stabbing ache that almost threatened to unhinge her.

  “You don’t mean that,” she said, looking at him steadily as she called him out. “I am your flesh and blood.”

  “I do mean it,” he said sharply. “You’re worthless. You’re the image of your mother—and I couldn’t stand the sight of her.”

  He rested the satchel on the bed and fastened it. Gripping the handle, he said, “Out of my way.”

  “Where are you going?” she cried as he strode past her.

  He paused at the doorway. “You’ll hear rumors about me. They’re all true. I must flee England. As it is, I’m barely one step ahead of the law as it is.”

  Then an odd light came into his eyes and he approached her. Emma shrank back, more afraid than she’d ever been. He raised a hand and she thought he would strike her. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Instead, he ripped the diamond necklace from her throat and barked, “Give me the earrings!”

  She opened her eyes as he stuffed her necklace into his pocket. Fear gripped her but she removed the diamonds, afraid he would tear them from her lobes. He thrust out a hand, palm up, and she placed the pair into it. He pocketed them without a word and left the room.

  Emma ran after him, finally catching him at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I don’t understand any of this, Father.”

  His smile would have caused the Devil to race back to Hell.

  “Of course, you don’t. You don’t know anything, you ignorant girl.”

  “What . . . will happen to me?” she asked.

  Emma would never forget his laugh. “I don’t care.”

  Her father hurried from the house. She went to the door and saw him jump into his carriage and ride away. Leaving the front door open, she stumbled backward and collapsed on the stairs. A numbness filled her.

  She wasn’t loved. He’d never loved her. For some godawful reason, he had now abandoned her. She had no one. Only her priggish cousin whom she hadn’t seen in a good decade. He’d wed last year and hadn’t even invited them to his wedding. He’d told Emma when they were children that he was merely waiting for her father to die so he could become Lord Seton. She’d been five and her cousin ten. His words had given her nightmares, thinking about her father dying.

  Now, it was much worse. He’d walked out the door. Out of her life.

  Sudden movement came from the open doorway as a group of men rushed inside the townhouse. They shouted at her something fierce, words she couldn’t comprehend with so many of them barking at her, their faces red and angry. Then she began making sense of the words.

  “Where is he?”

  “Where has Seton gone?”

  “Flown the coop, has he?”

  One of them grabbed her by the elbows and lifted her up. His nose nearly touched hers as he demanded, “Tell us where he went!”

  Emma burst into tears. The man shook her as the others surrounded her, their shouts mingling into a cacophony that rattled her insides.

  “Release her.”

  The fingers melted away and she retreated to the stairs, wrapping her arms about her knees. The crowd of men parted and a man with graying temples and kind, brown eyes appeared, seamlessly gliding toward her. He sat next to her on the stairs. She knew he was the voice of reason in this mob of madness.

  Seating himself next to her, he gently said, “Good evening, Lady Emma. I am Sir Howard Martin.”

  She began trembling uncontrollably and he removed his coat and wrapped it about her shoulders, pulling it together in the front. She caught the faint scent of pipe tobacco and felt the warmth of the garment.

  “Tell me about your father, my lady,” he said softly. As before, when he’d caused the men to step away from her, the tone of his voice was soft yet commanding. “We must speak to him at once.”

  “He was . . . here. He left only a few minutes ago in his carriage. He said . . . he said he was leaving England. Without me.”

  Murmurs filled the foyer. Sir Howard flicked his wrist and three of the men turned and hurried away.

  “Anything else?” Sir Howard asked. “Whatever you tell me is very important.”

  A sob burst from her chest. He handed her a handkerchief and she wept into it. Then she gathered her courage, knowing she must help these men.

  “Father took a satchel of things with him. My mother’s jewels.” She hiccupped and fresh tears streamed down her face at the memory as she said, “He ripped my necklace from my throat and demanded I give over my earrings. They were diamonds and had belonged to Mama. She gave them to me to wear at my come-out tonight.”

  Emma saw the pitying looks of the men. She turned to Sir Howard and said, “He told me he didn’t love me. That he never did.”

  Sir Howard slipped an arm about her shoulder as tears continued to fall.

  “There, there,” he said. “A good cry always helps, Lady Emma.”

  She swallowed painfully. “What has he done?”

  Sir Howard’s mouth tightened. “He’s a criminal, my lady. Lord Seton has swindled a group of influential peers out of a great sum of money.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “I had no idea.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Yes, I can see that.”

  Emma bit her lip and then asked, “What will happen to me, Sir Howard? Where will I go?”

  Sadness filled his eyes. “I cannot answer that, my lady.”

  Chapter One

  London—April 1816

  Marcus Powell, Viscount Aubrey, flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” his valet apologized. “I must have missed that.”

  “You don’t miss much,” he praised, smoothing his tailcoat.

  “You do look splendid, my lord,” the servant praised. “Are you looking forward to tonight’s ball?”

  “It depends upon the new crop of young ladies,” he said teasingly. “You never know if I’m going to find my viscountess during any given Season.”

  The valet sniffed. “You say that every Season, my lord.”

  “And I absolutely mean it each time.”

  As he went downstairs and climbed into the coach to take him to his parents’ townhouse, he thought it was true. Every year, he always h
ad his eye out for a pretty girl who had a modicum of intelligence. He dreaded small talk—even if he excelled at it—and was ever hopeful he would find a lady that would not only have a face to match a good figure but one who could carry on a decent conversation.

  Alas, it never seemed to work out for him. Years ago, he’d found one. Lady Catherine Crawford, with her abundant auburn hair and stunning looks, had met his criteria. Unfortunately, she’d been swept out from under him by the Duke of Everton, an old schoolmate of his from Eton. He was now friendly with both the duke and his duchess and still carried a small bit of regret that Everton had hoodwinked him. Still, he was ever hopeful of finding a wife. He was smitten with his two nephews, who were seven and one, and especially his niece, who was five. Wanting children meant finding a wife.

  Which meant letting go of all those other women.

  Marcus couldn’t help it. Flirting came naturally to him. He was fond of a pretty face and stayed clear of the fresh-faced girls making their come-out once he saw none of them attracted him. He made do with light, casual affairs, never staying with any one woman too long. That was advice he’d taken straight from the Earl of Mayfield. Luke St. Clair had been a well-known rogue, at least until his marriage last year. Now he was besotted with his countess, a woman who owned one of London’s most popular bookstores and tearooms.

  If only Marcus could find his own Lady Mayfield. One who was beautiful and smart and full of fun. At twenty-nine, it was time he settle down.

  That led him to the conversation he needed to hold with his father before tonight’s ball. His mother had invited him, his sister, and her husband to an early, light dinner before the ball opened the new Season. He would have to steer his father away from the others in order to bring up the topic.

  Money.

  It wasn’t something he was fond of discussing but, for the second time, his quarterly allowance had not come on time. In fact, it hadn’t come at all. He’d gone to speak with his father’s solicitor, mentioning the previous payment had been over two weeks late and now this one seemed stalled, as well. The man had the audacity to look him in the eyes and tell him that he needed to speak to his father about the situation. Uncouth as it was, it would have to be addressed immediately. Unlike some sons, Marcus liked to pay his bills on time and not keep people in trade waiting for their payments.