A Lyon in her Bed: The Lyon's Den Read online

  “I did not think to have them brought along.”

  “Then provide your address. I will send someone to fetch your things.”

  Why hadn’t Emeline thought to pack? Of course, he would wish for her to sleep here. She would be his wife by nightfall. He’d want to come to her bed. How else were they to make a baby? And when one considered the terms of their agreement, it was Emeline’s only duty.

  He’d have no wish to delay on that score.

  “First, I shall see the marriage contract,” Mother said, stepping forward.

  “Of course. Right this way.” Lord Morton led them into a richly appointed parlor decorated in mahogany wood and deep blue velvets. He indicated a carved wood table. “Peruse away, Mrs. Hawthorne. I am certain you will agree I have been generous.”

  “Indeed,” she said, then moved to take up the stack of parchment.

  Lord Morton turned to Emeline. “You will need to sign the agreement.”

  She bobbed her head in understanding.

  “Once you have, we will get on with the ceremony.” He glanced across the room.

  Emeline followed his glance to find a vicar seated near an enormous window, a bible resting on his lap.

  Beside the vicar sat a plump woman dressed in purple. Perhaps his wife? It would seem Lord Morton thought of everything.

  “Very well,” Emeline said before moving to stand beside her mother.

  She took up the quill from the table and waited as her mother read. There would be no reason for Emeline to read the contract herself.

  If anything were out of order, Mother would be sure to discover the error and point it out to Lord Morton for correction.

  After what seemed to be an excruciatingly long time, her mother set the last page back on the table and turned to Lord Morton. “Very generous, indeed. You have exceeded my expectations, my lord. It is with a happy heart I give you my daughter.”

  “Then let us get on with it,” the earl turned his smile to Emeline and gave an encouraging nod. “It is what we discussed. You have your choice of residence once I have an heir and an allowance of fifteen pounds a month. I have also provided for your mother. Furthermore, I have set up a jointure in the case that I leave you a widow.”

  “Go on, dearest,” Mother encouraged. “There is no reason to stall.” She waved toward the contract. “Time is wasting.”

  Emeline’s hand shook as she dipped the quill in the inkwell. An image of the baron flashed through her mind, and her determination returned. Lord Morton was a far better match, come what may.

  She scrolled her name on the contract, sealing the bargain.

  Turning back to the room at large, she met the earl’s gaze.

  She forced a smile, then walked across the plush carpeting to stand beside him. Mother and the other woman stood nearby as the vicar stared at her and the earl, bible in hand.

  “We are gathered here today, before God, to join this couple in holy matrimony,” the vicar began.

  Emeline drew in a steadying breath as she studied Lord Morton. In a matter of minutes, she would become his wife. In a matter of hours, she would share his bed.

  If all went accordingly, in mere months, she would give birth to his heir.

  She stared into his cool, grey eyes and wondered if there might be more between them. As she spoke her vows, a small spark of hope ignited deep within her.

  Perhaps she could fall in love with him, and just maybe, he could come to love her back.

  Chapter 3

  “I now pronounce you man and wife…”

  Leo nodded to the vicar. “Thank you.” A weight had been lifted from his shoulders at having the ceremony done. He had worried that Miss Hawthorne, or rather Emeline, now Lady Morton, would change her mind.

  It came as a great relief that there would be no backing out now.

  “Won’t you kiss your bride?” Mrs. Hawthorne asked.

  Leo turned to his new mother-in-law and gave a tight grin. “I would hate to scandalize my countess.”

  Emeline took a tentative step toward him. “I would not object.”

  He met her gaze and noticed for the first time how extraordinary her eyes were. Honey-gold rims circled what he’d thought were dull brown irises.

  His gut tightened at the warmth reflecting within them. Was it for him?

  One kiss. He could manage one quick brush of his lips to hers. Once he had done with it, he would save any further intimate gestures for the bedchamber where they belonged.

  He inhaled a steadying breath, bracing himself. “If it will please you,” he said, stepping closer before pressing his lips to hers.

  A bolt of longing shot straight from the place their lips joined, to his cock. Bedding his new wife would be no chore at all. In fact, he was rather looking forward to burying himself within her sweet little body.

  He lingered a moment longer than he’d intended as desire suffused him, then pulled away with all haste.

  Kissing her proved dangerous. To his dismay, more than his male anatomy had responded to the touch of her lips. If he were not careful, he might find his heart engaged.

  And that was not to be born.

  Not under any circumstance.

  He pivoted, his gaze returning to the vicar. “Let us conclude our business.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” the vicar closed his bible.

  After the vicar had gone, and the housekeeper had arrived, Leo addressed his wife. “She will show you to your chamber. You can expect me to visit within a few hours.”

  “Very well.” She brushed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “I will see you soon, Mother.”

  “Not too soon, I suspect. It is your honeymoon, after all.” Mrs. Hawthorne pulled Emeline into her embrace. “I believe you have done well, dearest. I’ll see that your things arrive straight away. Do not fret for me. Your earl has been exceedingly generous on that count.”

  Mrs. Hawthorne curtsied to Leo, then took her leave.

  A moment later, Emeline followed the housekeeper out, leaving him alone in the parlor.

  Leo released a pent-up breath as he poured a tumbler of scotch. If that kiss was anything to judge by, he had gotten more than he’d bargained for in his new countess.

  The fact unsettled him more than he cared to admit and caused him to hesitate going to her. He needed a bit of time to clear his head first.

  He tipped the glass back, drinking the contents in one long draw. The warmth from the liquor spread through him, easing his concern as it blazed a pleasant trail down his throat.

  She was but a woman, and he well knew how to handle them. There was nothing to fear, for he could withstand emotional entanglement. Distance—emotional distance—would be vital. He could manage that while keeping his heart closed off.

  Leo would get her with child as quickly as possible. Then he would pack her off to the country. His countess would raise the babe until the time came for him to take over.

  This marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement, and he would do well to treat it as such.

  He would be kind. Show her the respect his countess deserved and care for her needs. But under no circumstances would he attempt to romance her.

  He most certainly would not lower his guard, and there would be no more kissing. Not on the mouth, at any rate.

  Emeline sat in front of the vanity in her bedchamber, dressed in nothing more than her shift. She glanced at the bed across from her with its white curtains and carved cherry-wood posts. The earl would soon come to claim her. Together they would lie in that bed and join their bodies.

  The thought sent excitement through her. She was not afraid of the act of lovemaking. Still, she had always imagined that when she wed, she’d do so for love.

  How could she bare herself for a man she scarcely knew? Would he be gentle with her? Would she find enjoyment in the act?

  Mother told her that many women did, and Emeline prayed she’d be one of them.

  She feathered her fingers over her lips, recalli
ng the kiss he’d given her a few hours ago. Her lips tingled, even now, and she hoped he would kiss her again.

  Perhaps their marriage of convenience could blossom into one of love?

  The door swung open, her husband filling the frame. He wore a dark blue banyan, loosely tied and draping to reveal a section of his muscular chest. Her pulse thrummed as she brought her gaze up to meet his.

  “Countess,” he said with a slight bow of his head as he entered and closed the door behind him.

  “My lord,” she replied. Now that he was here, she felt as anxious as a newborn colt.

  Mercy, he was handsome. And imposing. From his sandy hair to his chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, all the way to his large feet.

  He could easily overpower her. Take what he pleased from her, even her heart, and leave her in shambles.

  And yet, she found him altogether appealing. Her fingers itched to touch his bronzed skin, and at the same time, common sense told her to be cautious.

  He held out a hand. “Join me in bed.”

  Her eyes rounded. “I thought we might spend a little time becoming familiar with one another before…” her words trailed off, her gaze returning to the bed. “That is, I had wine sent up. I thought we might enjoy a glass first.”

  He cast his gaze around the chamber, then brought it back to her, one brow arched. “Where is it?”

  “In my sitting room.” She stood. “Please join me.” Emeline headed toward the door that joined her bedchamber to her personal sitting room.

  Relief sailed through her when she heard the fall of his footsteps trailing behind her.

  She sat on the settee by the window, then reached for the wine decanter on the side table. After pouring two glasses, she held one out to him.

  A flicker of annoyance flashed through his blue-grey eyes, but he took the offered wine and joined her on the settee.

  Emeline took a long sip for fortification, then angled her body toward his. “It is not lost on me that we should have explored this subject further before the wedding. Nonetheless, it cannot be ignored.”

  “What subject do you refer to?”

  “The terms of our marriage.” She stiffened in an effort to appear far more confident than she felt. “I understand my duty. I am to give you an heir, and to do so, I must bed you. However, I must admit to being surprised when you sent me to my room and left me to dine alone.”

  His expression turned speculative. “Is it your wish to dine together?”

  “I believe it best that we come to know each other, my lord. If we are to raise a child together, we should, at the least, be friendly with one another. There will be times when we have to cooperate for the child’s sake.”

  He crossed his ankle over his thigh and studied her. “You will see to the child until he comes of an age to learn his duties to the title. After that, I will take over. As I told you before, your obligation to me will end once you deliver a son. You need not spend any more time with me. I have several houses. You can reside in whichever you choose and live your life as you please.”

  “Even so, there will be circumstances that require our paths to cross. Occasions when we must be in each other’s company.” She took another drink, her tongue darting out to lick the wine from her lips. “It would be best if we got along. Don’t you agree?”

  “Perhaps.” He swirled the red liquid in his glass as he studied her. “What did you have in mind?”

  She smiled, her anxiety easing a bit. “To start, I would like to share meals.”

  “I will join you for the evening meal but will take my breakfast and noontime meals alone.”

  Emeline fought the urge to argue and nodded. “Very well. We dine together each night and spend two hours together every afternoon.”

  “No.” Lord Morton shook his head.

  “No?” Emeline stared at him. “Surely you can spare two hours. They need not be in the afternoon, but I do require them.”

  He sighed and brought the glass back to his lips. “I can spare one.” His gaze turned hard, uncompromising. “One hour each afternoon.”

  A minor victory, but she would hold on to it. “I suppose that will have to suffice.”

  “Good,” he said, then drained the contents of his glass. “I will see you tomorrow at two of the clock.” He stood. “Meet me in the garden for a walk.”

  The shock caused her to bolt to her feet. “You are leaving?”

  “I realize you are not ready to consummate our union. I will grant you one day to rectify that.”

  Emeline could not find her voice. Even if she could, she had no idea what to say. The last thing she had expected was for the earl to leave her a virgin on their wedding night.

  Perhaps his hasty departure should please her? His actions showed that he had a care for her feelings. After all, he was giving her time to grow more comfortable. But then, maybe she had it all wrong and should be upset. Perhaps his actions showed a distaste for her rather than caring. Maybe she was not to his liking.

  He reached the door, then turned back to face her. He trailed his gaze down her body, pausing at her breasts before continuing lower.

  A hot flush spread across her cheeks. Their eyes met, and she noted the unmistakable passion in his gaze.

  A coy smile curled her lips, and she said, “Tomorrow, my lord.”

  Chapter 4

  He must be addled to have agreed to her foolish demands, Leo thought as his gaze raked over his countess. Out here in the garden with the sun casting her in warm light, he truly saw her for the first time. The woman he’d thought rather plain was actually quite remarkable.

  Golden streaks shot through her brown hair that had appeared dull at first sight, and her pale skin held a hint of peach. Those soft brown eyes contained deep emotions and undeniable mystery.

  Leo most liked her understated curves. Her breasts rounded and peeked out from the lace edging of her bodice, while her gown fitted nicely over the gentle swell of her hips and bottom.

  His wife was anything but plain. In truth, she was delectable. A tiny treat he could scarcely wait to devour.

  If he were not careful, for she was the sort of woman that inspired men, he would get trapped into feeling something for her, perhaps tenderness and more. The sort of emotions that made men want to protect her—the kind of woman that a man could not help but love.

  Panic tightened his chest. She was the very sort that often brought a man to his knees. She could destroy him and leave him broken-hearted.

  Leo would not allow her an inch where his heart was concerned. Though he fully intended to enjoy ravishing her.

  “I grew up in Kent. As you know, my father was a physician. Mother cared for me while Father was about his work.” Lady Morton looped her hand through his elbow. “I liked Sundays best as a girl. That was the one day each week that my father spent at home. We would attend church, then he would take me to the village pastry shop and buy me whatever I wished for. After, we would return home and spent time together out of doors if the weather permitted. If not, we would play games inside. Father, Mother, and me.”

  Her chest rose and fell as she took a breath before turning her smile on him. Leo’s gaze returned to her chest as she started speaking again.

  “Now, you know a bit about me. Tell me something about you? About your childhood?”

  “I would rather not.”

  “Why?” She arched a questioning brow. “How else are we to get to know one another?”

  “Very well,” he conceded, then searched for something unimportant to share. “My favorite treat was lemon cream.”

  “I suppose that is a start.” She shook her head. “Come now, tell me something more substantial.”

  He turned her down a path of thick shrubbery and flowering bushes. The last thing he wanted to do was share intimate details of his life with her. It was too dangerous to do so. Opening his past, his emotions…would lead nowhere good.

  “What was your favorite thing to do as a boy?” she pressed.
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br />   Leo blew out a slow breath. “I enjoyed fishing.”

  “Do you still?”

  He met her gaze, and the curiosity reflected within her eyes tugged at something deep within him. She seemed to have a genuine interest in him. Leo quickly averted his gaze. “When I have the time to indulge myself, I do.”

  She was quiet as he led her further into the garden, and Leo was grateful for the silence.

  When she spoke again, her question unsettled him.

  “What of your family? Do you have siblings?”

  His heart squeezed, his throat tightening. It was a subject he had no desire to broach. One that stabbed too deep.

  As he searched for a way to avoid answering, the rustling of a nearby bush caught his attention. “How peculiar,” he said as he freed his arm from her hold.

  He strode toward the rustling bush, then stilled as a mew reverberated from its depth. It would seem that somewhere within the hedge, a cat struggled to free itself.

  “He’s stuck.” Lady Morton bent down to study the creature. “He’s gotten his leg tangled in the branches.”

  Leo knelt beside her. “Don’t fret,” he said in a soothing tone, as much to her as to the small white and gray kitten.

  He reached into the bush and pulled the offending branches apart. The kitten wriggled out, then faltered. It flopped onto its side and started licking the paw they’d freed.

  He stroked the kitten between the ears. “Let us have a look, shall we?” he said as he took a paw into his hand and smoothed down the length of it. Nothing felt out of place, so he leaned in to have a closer look at the leg.

  Lady Morton bent closer, her head next to his. The scent of orange blossom wafted from his wife, filling Leo’s nose. He fought the sudden urge to steal a kiss.

  Lord, she was sweet.

  In an effort to distract himself, he focused on the kitten. A thorn stuck out from the one black toe pad on the kitten’s foot. He held the paw as she reached out and plucked the offending thorn out. “There now,” he soothed.