The Lyon Sleeps Tonight Read online

Indeed, it seemed a letter written in haste, dashed off at the last minute. She swallowed down her disappointment. She would rather have had words of love and no gift at all.

  She handed it to her mother without comment.

  “Don’t forget you have an appointment with Madame Dumont this afternoon.”

  She kissed her mother on the cheek.

  “No, I shan’t forget.”

  How desperately unfair! She’d been in love with Peter Ravenshaw since the age of seven. Hadn’t she only dreamed that familiar dream of him last night? The years had done nothing to dim the tenderness of her feelings for him.

  But it had been five years since she’d last received a letter from him. It arrived on the day he left on his first commission. She wrote back immediately, but the correspondence didn’t continue. She wasn’t sure what to make of that, after all, an army did move about. It had taken about a year for the disappointment to fade.

  Opal had maintained correspondence with his mother, Margaret, who in her return letters, gave her all the gossip from her little village in Berkshire and whatever news she had about her son.

  There was only one conclusion she could draw – Peter had forgotten about her. It was clear that he merely considered her a friend of the family. A pest, a little sister, a first flirtation.

  How unfair of him that now, when she was prepared to leave the memory of him behind, he sends something as thoughtful and as extravagant as the silver box and the bracelet. A bracelet that told her he remembered the day he rescued her at the markets.

  “What’s got your goat today?”

  Opal gave her handsomely dressed riding companion a stern look.

  “My mood is none of your business, Rutherford.”

  “Ouch! You really are having a fit of the blue devils.”

  She ignored the remark, but the Earl of Harcourt was having none of her reticence.

  “Come and tell Uncle Miles all about it, and he might deign to kiss it all better for you.”

  A proper young lady ought to be scandalized by his less-than-gentlemanly talk, but she knew a good heart beat beneath his brash exterior. She had become quite good friends with Rutherford and his friends over the past couple of years. Although they were considered hell-raisers, they weren’t bad chaps really.

  As a major’s daughter growing up in India, Opal was well accustomed to the behavior of young men. The fact she refused to be shocked by their antics nor had any romantic designs saw her taken under their protective wings.

  Any gentlemen who was too persistent in pressing unwanted attentions would soon be set straight by Rutherford or his friends. In return, she could be relied upon to attend as a guest or as a ready dance companion. Any woman who set her cap too keenly at any of the “Brothers Bachelor” was bound for disappointment.

  All-in-all, it was a very satisfactory arrangement which also served the purpose of reassuring her parents their only child was not destined to become an unmarriageable spinster.

  “I received a letter from Peter.” There, it didn’t hurt so much to say it aloud.

  She didn’t give a last name. She didn’t need to. Among her friends, there was only one Peter.

  “Ah, the mythical Peter, the Virgil of virtue, the Adonis of the artillery,” said Rutherford gravely.

  She bit her lip to tamp down her temper. If Rutherford saw how his teasing affected her, he would never let up.

  “He sent a gift quite out of the blue.”

  “A very lovely gift, no doubt.”

  “Exceedingly lovely.”

  “I take it you’re not pleased?”

  “What am I to do? Just when I thought my heart was mended, he sends a letter and all the feelings I have for him come back.”

  “You could always return his gift. Better still, write him a letter telling him you no longer wish to correspond.”

  Rutherford caught her expression and returned an exaggerated sigh.

  “Well, you’re going to have to make up your mind, puss. Either find a way to make the man propose or find another. You’re not a bad sort. A chap could do worse than being leg-shackled with you.”

  “Your ring of endorsement brings me great comfort,” she said dryly.

  He flashed a grin, and she couldn’t help but shake her head in amiable exasperation.

  “Now that you’ve pried out my secrets, would you mind telling me what is so important you have to pay a call at such an uncivilized hour? Not just a trot around the park, surely?”

  To her annoyance, Rutherford didn’t answer the question. He said nothing until they reached Hyde Park Corner where he ordered his groom to attend to their horses. He drew her a few yards away.

  “Is your groom discreet?”

  “The soul of discretion. Why?”

  The young earl let out a sigh.

  “I shall not go another step until you tell me where we are going,” said Opal.

  “Will you swear to tell no one about our destination today?”

  She folded her arms. She would make him no such promise without an explanation.

  “Please, Opal.”

  That did it. Rutherford never pleaded for anything. Whatever this was, it was serious.

  She unfolded her arms and nodded to her groom, letting the earl know he had gotten his way… for now.

  Chapter Three

  Eighteen months earlier

  Peter sank to his knees, his hands full of blood from his wounded abdomen. His vision dimmed at the edges as his shoulder hit the ground.

  He thought of Opal. If he had known this was to be his last day on earth, he would have put more care into the letter he dashed off for her twenty-first birthday.

  As it was, she would be closer to twenty-two years than twenty-one by the time she received it in England, but it was the thought that counted.

  He had only just remembered the date, which was why he hastily rushed out and spent a princely sum on the silver pierce-work box. The cobra bracelet was an afterthought, picked up on a whim. She was always fascinated by the snake charmers. Hopefully, the bangle would be a fond reminder of a childhood spent so far from home.

  It was only after the gifts were purchased he realized that he had no idea whether Opal was married now. He’d stopped writing to her directly when he left for military service in India. It didn’t seem fair to keep her dangling in hope when he didn’t know when or if he might return.

  And now he wouldn’t, he thought bitterly.

  Would she be upset? Perhaps only at the loss of an old friend.

  He’d learned of her possible pending engagement in letters from both his mother and from Major Jones himself. Unwritten between the lines of the major’s letter was a clear message: it was simply not done for a single man to continue correspondence with a young woman promised to another.

  He returned to consciousness enough to let out a hoarse cry as the stretcher bearers lifted him up. He panted shallowly between clenched teeth, counting to ten in the hopes the pain would fade. It did not, so he counted again.

  Around him was the sound of the reinforcements dealing with the dead and dying of his patrol. The cries and screams of the wounded men pierced him deeper than the stab wound in his stomach. These were his men; he was their commander. They trusted him, and he had let them down.

  Their deaths weighed on his conscience. He had badly underestimated the Thuggee.

  “My men…” he didn’t even know the sound of his own voice. Every breath through his damaged windpipe was damned agony.

  “Your men are being taken care of, Captain.” He recognized the voice of Major Jack Tucker. “We’ll send a sweep through the entire region and string up every last sneaky bastard. A snap of the neck by a noose is better than they deserve.”

  Peter couldn’t muster the same outrage as his commanding officer. He closed his eyes. The sounds of urgent conversations, shouts and moans, and the occasional crack of rifle fire faded. He was aware his stretcher had been loaded onto a wagon; its movements reminding him of the
roll of a ship’s deck.

  The memory of his first voyage to England pulled at him so strongly that when he forced his eyes to open, he was on the deck of the RMS Manisha…

  To celebrate their successful voyage into the Atlantic Ocean and their northward journey up the western African coast, the Manisha’s captain had arranged a party ship for the entertainment of his passengers.

  Lanterns hung in the shrouds, adding to the array of stars in the cloudless night. The sound of hornpipes and fiddles filled the air along with laughter.

  He watched Opal dance with the officers and once again felt the tethers of familiarity and comfort loosen. He couldn’t deny his attraction to her; who could? Opal had the ability to draw people around her and make them feel as she did – adventurous, full of joy and laughter.

  At sixteen, she was growing into a beauty. Her black hair was now worn up as a young lady should. But he had to confess he missed seeing her dark curls tumbling down her shoulders.

  As a man, he had noticed the filling out of her figure – the swell of breasts, the definition of a waist. But as a gentleman, he would never comment on it. Yet he wouldn’t be honest with himself if he didn’t wonder how that waist would feel under his hands, whether her breasts would be as soft yet firm to touch.

  And as for her lips…

  He turned away from the group, fearful that his unbidden growing erection would be obvious to everyone.

  When they arrived in London, once she made her debut, Opal would no doubt have a trail of suitors. He took a long draught from his ale tankard. He was nineteen and they were altogether far too young to pledge a commitment to one another. He didn’t need Major Jones to instruct him on that. He knew it himself.

  And there was more he needed prove – to himself and to his late father…

  He turned around just as the music ended. Opal looked his way hopefully. He set down his tankard and rose to his feet but, by then, a dashing young midshipman had approached her. Peter watched him ask her for the next dance. She glanced to him but, by then, the music had started and the man was leading her in the first steps.

  The next dance. Peter silently promised her – and himself.

  He knew she liked him and no doubt harbored a crush. Best he end his own mooning and make Opal realize that, with the excitement of London to look forward to, she could very well grow out of her girlhood affection for him.

  A very mature decision, he told himself in a voice that sounded very much like his father’s.

  Be that as it may, the decision still hurt.

  He picked up his tankard and finished the rest of the ale.

  The dance came to an end. Before Peter could second-guess himself, he headed directly to Opal before any other blackguard could claim her hand. The girl looked all but worn out.

  “Shall we take a turn about the deck instead?” he asked.

  Opal gave an exaggerated sigh and snapped open her fan. He delighted in the smile she gave him.

  Peter offered his arm, and she took it, strolling past those who had elected to sit out the dance, including Opal’s mother and father who were chatting to the Manisha’s doctor.

  The music softened as they moved further down the deck toward the stern, the sound of the wind and the waves stronger. Peter aided her up the steps to the quarter deck where they would have a view of the festivities on the main deck below.

  Overhead, the sound of gulls betrayed that the coastline was not too far away. Perhaps they would see it in the morning. Another day closer to England and the crossroads that he was now sure would inevitably pull them apart.

  Tomorrow, perhaps, but not tonight.

  He fought the melancholy thought before it could take root and ruin this evening.

  “What are you most looking forward to when we reach England,” he asked lightly.

  “St Paul’s Cathedral,” she replied without hesitation. “The largest building in all of London, then the great museum of London with all of the grand antiquities of Greece and Rome. And what of you? There has to be more to your time than studying, exams and drills at Sandhurst.”

  “I should like to see the museum, too. Ever since Nelson defeated old Boney in Egypt, I’ve been fascinated by the things brought back – the Rosetta Stone… imagine being able to read and understand the writings of the ancients.”

  Opal closed her eyes. At first, he thought she thought she was imagining London behind those closed lids, but the set of her mouth told him she was holding back tears. He couldn’t bear seeing her sadness. He caressed her cheek.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’ve been longing to ask you the same question. For months, it seems like you’ve been trying to avoid my company. I thought I must have caused you offense, but I can’t imagine how…”

  He fought his desire to pull her into his arms, but his heart ached seeing her distressed.

  “You could never do anything to offend or disappoint me. You are my oldest and dearest friend.”

  A single tear ran down her cheek.

  “Opal? Why do you cry?”

  He watched her take a deep breath as though to compose her thoughts.

  “If I answer you the truth, you will think me a foolish little girl when all I wish is for you to think well of me.”

  Unable to restrain himself from touching her, he took her hands in his and squeezed them once before letting go. If he dared more, he would take too much.

  “How can I do otherwise?” he said. “You are sweet-natured and kind. I’ve long admired your single-minded determination at mastering anything that takes your interest. You are lovely and growing more beautiful by the day. The man who wins your hand will be the most fortunate of men.”

  Peter watched her expression blossom. “What if I tell you that the one who has won my heart stands here before me?”

  The declaration hit him broadside. It was everything he had hoped and feared all at once.

  What he could tell her? That he desired her? That her feelings were returned, even though he was damned sure he knew little of what love truly was?

  His mouth was dry, so he said nothing, their moment in silence save for the high notes of the piccolo brought to them on the breeze.

  He turned away from her and hunched over the railing, his shoulders taut.

  “We can’t, Opal,” he said, his voice hoarse as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “You’re sixteen. Your father would not allow it. And I… I have nothing to offer you. Not even a commission, at least not yet. One day, you should have a husband who has accomplished much and will be able to give you the life you deserve.”

  His words were not enough to dissuade her. She took hold of his arm, forcing him to look at her, still beautiful despite the tears. “It’s you I love! Only tell me that I’m not mistaken. That your regard matches mine. I promise to wait for you.”

  Clouds cleared the bright moon. He knew his own face revealed his anguish because he was going to have to do the one thing he did not want to do to his first love.

  He would have to hurt her for her own good.

  “I forbid you to wait,” he ground out. “I mean to be a soldier, an officer. I don’t have time for a wife now. Who knows if I ever will?”

  Opal’s mouth formed a perfect “o” of stunned surprise. Before she could draw breath to protest, he took hold of her elbows – a touch but one that kept her at arm’s length.

  Her face softened. “Kiss me,” she implored. “If this is to be our parting, I want to know what it would be like.”

  The war within him was lost. He lowered his lips to hers. Their first kiss was soft, tender, and more potent than he could believe. They ought to have stopped at one, but his kisses became more demanding and Opal responded in kind.

  He wanted to touch her – and do far more than that – but with a supreme effort, he reminded himself that he was a gentleman.

  “Don’t forget about me when you’re gone,” Opal whispered.

  Peter offered a wistful smil
e in return.

  “Never. That I can promise you.”

  Chapter Four

  Opal and the Earl of Harcourt set off at a brisk stroll along Piccadilly Street with her groomsman trailing far behind. Opal was grateful for wearing her riding boots given Rutherford’s quick pace.

  He still hadn’t told her about their destination and she was not best pleased to being used as some sort of cover for whatever escapade he was dreaming up this time.

  Well, if he was not going to volunteer an explanation, nor be a witty companion, she would have to furnish a conversational gambit herself.

  “What do you know about The Lyon’s Den?”

  Rutherford appeared to have stumbled on a loose stone. At least he’d slowed his pace to something manageable.

  “Why would a respectable young lady want to know about a place like that?” he said.

  “Ah ha! So, it is not a respectable place?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Then which is it?”

  “It’s not a gambling hell, if that’s what you mean,” he muttered.

  “But gambling does go on there?”

  “Among other things, yes.”

  “So, you mean it’s also a brothel?”

  “Bloody hell, puss! What a question to ask!” Rutherford came to a complete stop, his normally insouciant expression utterly scandalized. Opal resisted laughing.

  “Is it?”

  “No, it most certainly is not.”

  “Can I go there?”

  Rutherford started walking again, mercifully at a slower pace.

  “I expect you’ve had your head turned by the stories in the newssheets about unusual matches being made there,” he teased. “Do you think you’ll only get a husband if you employ unconventional means?”

  “Perhaps… my mother and father have asked me to have a care for my future. They mean well and only want the best for me but they worry about my unwed state. They’ve spent a small fortune on two seasons so far. I’m reluctant to disappoint them.”

  “You’re still a catch. In fact, you could have been ‘caught’ years back if you weren’t so fussy.”