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

  Marcus stiffened. “I cannot accept charity of any kind, Your Grace. I’d rather make a match with the Devil himself than take a handout from you.”

  The duke placed a hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “I understand. We will be here for you, whatever decision you make. You—and your countess—will always be welcomed in any St. Clair home.”

  Marcus knew the St. Clairs always rallied around each other and their friends. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am grateful for your friendship.”

  “When will you visit The Lyon’s Den?” Mayfield asked.

  “I suppose I should go now.”

  “I think you’re making a wise choice, my lady,” Bessie told her latest client as they stood in the ladies’ observation gallery.

  Lady Sylvia sniffed. “If Mr. Sanders is foolish enough to get himself in such a situation, I might as well take advantage of his circumstances.”

  “I think your daughter will be most pleased.”

  “I hope so, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. At least they will make pretty babies together.”

  “That is always something to consider,” she concurred.

  “How long will this process take?”

  “I will speak to a few of my dealers now,” she assured her client.

  “How will that convince Sanders to wed my daughter?” asked Lady Sylvia pointedly.

  Bessie smiled graciously. “You needn’t ask questions.”

  The baroness huffed. “I am paying you enough to—”

  “Yes, you are paying me,” she interrupted smoothly. “To see that your daughter, who has gotten herself in quite a pickle, has a husband of your choosing. The how and why are no concern of yours.”

  “Why, I never—”

  “Be careful, Lady Sylvia. You don’t have any other avenues to pursue on behalf of your daughter. Do you?”

  The woman turned scarlet. “I suppose not. Please contact me regarding the arrangements.”

  Bessie waited a few moments and then said, “You may bring your daughter here a week from Thursday. Come to the ladies’ entrance, as usual. We will meet in a private parlor. Mr. Sanders will already have obtained the special license. You can decide then how you wish to proceed.”

  She motioned to Hermia, one of her female wolves. “Please see Lady Sylvia out.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

  Hermia led the woman from the room. Bessie looked down upon the crowd one more time before leaving herself, going downstairs and entering the main gambling floor. Her gaze skimmed the room, checking first to see that Lysander, Demetrius, Philostrate, and Francis Flute were all in their assigned positions. She’d learned early on to keep a good number of bouncers on the floor and at the various exits. Even the gardens had its own bouncer. Puck moved silently through them, ever wary of trouble.

  She caught Hippolyta’s eyes and her pit boss glided across the room.

  “I assume Lady Sylvia made her final choice.”

  “She did. Mr. Sanders,” Bessie revealed.

  Hippolyta chuckled. “Not a brain in that one’s head but he’s certainly nice to look at.”

  “See that Nick, Cobweb, Bottom, and Moth know he is our next target. Mr. Sanders frequents their tables the most. That will help in rigging the games in our favor.”

  “I’ll handle that now.”

  Hippolyta moved away. Bessie watched as she spoke to each dealer. Not with words but well-established signals. Within two minutes, the prey had been noted and would be drawn into the spiderweb. Sanders was weak. He would put up no protests, especially since it would be to his benefit to land a young, pretty, rich wife. From what Lady Sylvia had shared, her daughter was headstrong. She would walk all over Mr. Sanders. It would no longer be Bessie’s concern at that point.

  As she circulated through the room, she kept an eye out for a match for Lady Emma. She never got personally involved with her clients, merely offering her matchmaking services for an astronomical fee. She didn’t care about what had brought them to The Lyon’s Den or whether the match would be a successful one. She merely did both parties a favor, giving them each what they sought.

  It bothered her that she’d taken an interest in Emma Spencer, though. Bessie saw far too much of herself in the young woman. Of course, Lady Emma had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, while Bessie had parents who were criminals. The fact she’d escaped her old life and made a new one—several new ones, in fact—spoke to her keen intelligence and persistence. She saw that same determination in Lady Emma. For some reason, she wanted to do right by the girl and took a personal interest in the match. No one unremarkable would do. She wanted a good man who was down on his luck.

  Sometimes, a good man was hard to find. Especially in The Lyon’s Den.

  She supposed she owed it to her sister. Flo was almost five years older and had always mothered her younger sister, getting Bessie out of numerous scrapes. She’d protected her from more than one beating at the hands of their father. Flo had also urged Bessie to escape when she’d done the unthinkable and killed their father. She’d run, just as Flo had told her, not knowing what happened. Obviously, her sister hadn’t gone to trial and hanged for the murder. Still, whatever fast moves and words Flo had performed had kept the law off Bessie’s back. It had given her the chance to learn how to please men and then use them.

  At least Flo had wed. She wondered if her sister had loved her soldier or if he’d been a means to an end. She’d said he was Major Blackwell. Obviously, he’d left his widow well-off, judging from her clothes and the fact that Lady Emma served as a lady’s companion.

  She scoured the room for prospects and came up with one. He was much older than Lady Emma but he would be one of the three choices she gave the girl. Usually, she offered one option. That man was the sole candidate presented. In this case, Bessie would select three gentlemen and allow Lady Emma to make her own decision.

  As she turned to return upstairs, she saw Egeus admit a trio of handsome men. Theseus, the other wolf at the main entrance, followed the men inside and then came directly to her.

  “They would like to speak with you,” he said tersely.

  “Who are they?”

  “The Duke of Everton. The Earls of Rutherford and Mayfield.”

  Bessie knew from the gossip columns that Everton and Mayfield were brothers. Both very happily married, which is why it surprised her they were here. She’d read of their wives, as well, and even visited Evie’s Bookstore, catching a glimpse of Lady Mayfield, its owner.

  That meant they had come in a show of support for Rutherford. She thought carefully, remembering that his father had passed in the last year or two. He must be in dire straits—which suited her purpose. The earl was tall, with an athletic build. He possessed thick, blond hair, worn a little longer than was fashionable. He looked close to thirty. She was certain from his handsome face that he had set numerous hearts aflutter.

  “Bring them to my private room, Theseus.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She quit the room and made her way to where she conducted business, seating herself behind the massive oak desk. Moments later, a knock sounded at the door.

  “Come.”

  Theseus opened the door and the three men stepped inside. She remained seated as the trio came toward her. Her man closed the door and remained in the room in case she had need of him.

  “Have a seat, my lords.”

  They did as requested. She noted Rutherford had startling blue eyes and was even more handsome than she’d first thought.

  “I know His Grace and Lord Mayfield are known for having made love matches,” she began. “That means you are the one in need of a bride, Lord Rutherford, and your friends have come to hold your hand.”

  Rutherford studied her. Bessie had long ago learned to gaze directly back at a man who did so. Usually, they would look away.

  Not this one.

  It made her like him even more.

  “You are in need of a wife. A wife who brings great wealth. Is that your only
requirement?” she inquired.

  “Yes, Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” he said, his voice rich and deep. “I have no other conditions or demands. I will be satisfied with the match. How much of the dowry do you require in order to introduce me to my future wife?”

  “That has already been taken care of,” she said. “My commission does come from the dowry. I work that out in advance with my clients.” She paused, wanting to test him. “Surely, you have some idea of the woman you’d like to become your wife. Her age. Coloring. Disposition. Connections.”

  Rutherford gave her a wry smile. “If she had connections, she wouldn’t need to be saddled with an impoverished earl. As for the rest, it doesn’t matter. Only that she brings a significant dowry with her.”

  “I see.” Bessie waited a good minute, waiting to see if he would add anything. He didn’t. The men by his side remained silent and resolute.

  “Very well, Lord Rutherford. You may return next Tuesday evening at nine o’clock. You will be taken to our gentlemen’s lounge. A dining room and smoking room are also available. Sometime after that, you will be summoned to meet with a young woman. If she approves of the match, our business will conclude.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” he asked.

  “Never fear, my lord. I have yet to meet the man I couldn’t find a match for. If my client doesn’t choose you, you will make yourself available again until we meet with success.”

  Bessie rose and the gentlemen followed suit. “Your Grace, Lord Mayfield, your presence will not be required.”

  “What if we wish to accompany Lord Rutherford?” the duke asked.

  “That won’t be possible. I afford my clients privacy. It will only be Lord Rutherford—and possibly the young woman’s mother—who will meet.” She smiled. “If an agreement is reached between the two parties, I’m sure you can attend their wedding and meet the bride at that time.”

  She came out from behind the desk. Lord Rutherford took her hand and kissed it. For a moment, her heart skipped a beat. It had been years since a gentleman had taken her hand in such a manner.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” Rutherford said. “I will see you Tuesday next.”

  “Theseus, please show these gentlemen out.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The men left. Bessie went to the side table and poured herself a healthy measure of whiskey. She took it back to her desk and sipped on it.

  Lord Rutherford would be perfect for Lady Emma Spencer.

  Chapter Six

  As the hansom cab headed down Cleveland Street and pulled up to The Lyon’s Den, Emma nervously licked her lips, worried about how tonight would play out. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had mentioned candidates. That meant Emma would meet more than one man. She reached for Mrs. Blackwell’s hand.

  “I know you’re nervous, child. I would be, too, if I were in your shoes. I want you to remember, though, that you are in control of your destiny. This is your choice.”

  “You know I want your opinion,” she said quickly.

  “And I am eager to give it. In the long run, though, you are the one who will build a life with this man. Not I. You need to please yourself and no one else.”

  They exited the cab and approached the blue building, heading to the right for the ladies’ entrance. Each step she climbed filled her with dread. She kept second-guessing herself, wondering if she was making the right decision in finding a husband in such an unusual manner. Of course, many marriages in the ton were arranged, with the bride having little to no say. She held her head higher and threw her shoulders back. She was the one who would determine who her groom would be. For the first time in her life, she held the power and would decide the trajectory of her future.

  The same two women as before stood guard at the door. One of them nodded and asked that they follow her. They were led down a corridor and turned to their left, finding themselves in a beautifully decorated parlor. The veiled Mrs. Dove-Lyon rose to greet them.

  “How nice to see you, Lady Emma, Mrs. Blackwell. Do have a seat.” She turned to her employee. “Helena, please stay. You will be fetching our candidates from the gentlemen’s lounge.”

  Their hostess turned back to them. “May I offer you some sherry?”

  “I would like some,” Mrs. Blackwell said.

  “None for me,” Emma said, wanting to keep a clear head for tonight’s proceedings.

  Helena poured two sherries for the older women and then return to stand at the door.

  “I have three gentlemen for you to meet this evening, Lady Emma,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “They will come in one at a time for their interview.”

  “Interview?” she asked. “I am to ask them questions?”

  “No names will be used. I will refer to them as Lord X, Y, and Z. You will be Lady A. Of course, once you are circulating in society, you might run into one of the suitors you did not choose. You are not to mention having met them here. They will do the same.”

  “I understand.”

  “You will be able to ask them any questions you choose in order to help you make your selection.”

  “Including why they are seeking a bride at The Lyon’s Den?”

  Their hostess nodded. “They, however, will not be asking questions of you. You are the one in control, Lady Emma.”

  “What if I don’t think any of them are right for me?”

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon pursed her lips. “I believe you will find a husband tonight, my lady. If you don’t, we will cross that bridge when we come to it. After you’ve spoken to each one, you may have as much time as you need to discuss him with Mrs. Blackwell.”

  Emma swallowed, anxiety filling her. She folded her hands in her lap, gripping them tightly.

  “Are you ready to meet Lord X?”

  “Yes.”

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded to Helena, who left the room, returning with a silver-haired gentleman who had to be her father’s age. Disappointment filled her at this first selection. She’d never given parameters to the matchmaker and now wished she had. She didn’t know if it would be hard to have a child with an older gentleman. On the other hand, she would certainly outlive him.

  “Lord X, please have a seat,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, indicating a chair in the center of the room.

  Once he was seated, the matchmaker said, “You may begin, Lady A.”

  “Please tell me about yourself, my lord.”

  The man talked a good ten minutes without coming up for air. Emma nodded several times, wanting to break in and finding no way to do so. Finally, he wound down.

  “I have no further questions,” she said.

  “Lord X, if you will allow Helena to escort you out.”

  “When will I know anything?” he asked eagerly, eyeing Emma appreciatively.

  “You will be notified,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said firmly, her tone dismissive.

  Once the door closed and they were left alone, she turned to Mrs. Blackwell.

  “What did you think?” she asked.

  “He was very polished.”

  Emma snorted. “His silver tongue matched the silver in his hair. He cares far too much for himself.” She looked to their hostess. “I am not interested in having Lord X as my husband.”

  “Very well. Helena?”

  Again, the servant left, this time returning with a man a good three decades younger. He was attractive, with thick, golden curls and lively brown eyes. Again, she asked the candidate to speak a little about himself. He did so in a very flirtatious manner, making her uncomfortable. He also gazed at her a bit too boldly. He was honest though, admitting how he’d gone into debt due to his love of cards.

  “What if I asked you not to play cards once we were wed, Lord Y?” she boldly asked.

  He looked at her. “I’m baffled by your question, Lady A. What would being married have to do with my playing cards? It’s something I love.”

  “I am bringing a great deal of money into the marriage I make, Lord Y. I would hate to see it quickly go out the door again with a hu
sband addicted to gambling.”

  Anger sparked in his eyes. “I certainly don’t expect a wife to tell me if I may gamble or not,” he huffed.

  “Thank you, Lord Y,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said smoothly. “You will be notified of Lady A’s decision.”

  He rose uncertainly and left the room.

  “No need to discuss that one,” Mrs. Blackwell said. “He’s like too many of his kind. Ready to take a woman’s dowry and then do as he pleases. He may be nice-looking but that one would be unfaithful to my girl.”

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon cleared her throat. “You do realize that infidelity is the way of the ton. Once Lady Emma has produced an heir, society—and her husband—would turn a blind eye to her taking a lover.”

  That didn’t sit well and she said, “Then perhaps I am looking in the wrong place for my husband. I am certainly paying enough to land one. Expecting him to be faithful to his marriage vows shouldn’t be that hard. I also want him to be a good father. That is very important to me.”

  Left unsaid was how her own father hadn’t been a good one. Emma wanted the exact opposite of Seton.

  “Shall we bring in the final choice?” the matchmaker asked.

  Emma nodded glumly, her expectations of this last gentleman already low.

  The door opened and Helena stepped inside, followed by a man who was strikingly handsome. He was tall with a lean but muscled frame and moved with athletic grace. Instead of waiting for any kind of instructions from Mrs. Dove-Lyon, he came straight to her.

  “Good evening, ladies. I am Lord Z.”

  He took Mrs. Blackwell’s hand and kissed it and then turned to her. Emma’s heart pounded fiercely as she stared into piercing blue eyes. He lowered his lips and brushed them across her gloved fingers, his gaze still holding hers. A shiver rippled through her.

  Lord Z released her hand and stepped back, looking to the matchmaker.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. How would you like to proceed?”

  The older woman rose. “Lady A will interview you now, my lord. She may ask whatever she wishes of you. In turn, you may also ask her questions.”