Page 22 of Lyon of Least Resistance

Cordelia took it, but hesitated.

“Have faith, sweet girl,” Isidore said. “Trust us to know how best to secure your happiness.”

Cordelia stared at the two women—the veiled figure who had taken her in when she’d caught her stealing on the streets, and the seasoned doxy who had taken her under her wing and befriended her. Between them, they had taken the street whore with nothing to live for and given her a home, a purpose, employment.

And, in the end, a fortune.

Whom else could she trust? Certainly not the man who had violated her then sold her into prostitution, nor the countless others who’d used her body for physical gratification while they dreamed of better women…

Cordelia paused and closed her eyes, pushing to the recesses of her mind the image of a man with honey-blond hair and eyes the color of cornflowers.

Not all men were evil.

Before her resolve crumbled, Cordelia placed her signature on the bottom of the parchment then returned the quill pen to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who added her own signature.

“Witness, if you please, Isidore.”

With a nod, Isidore took the pen and added her signature. Then Mrs. Dove-Lyon placed the contract in the drawer, which she pushed shut and locked.

“Excellent,” she said. “I shall make the announcement tonight and we’ll have a suitable husband for you by the end of next week.”

“As easy as that?” Cordelia said.

“Precisely.”

“Wh-what if I don’t like him?”

“In this game, you’ll get to choose which competitor is the victor. You’ll be given leave to reject them all if none are to your liking. But, once you have pledged yourself, there will be no reneging, so you must choose wisely. Do you still wish to proceed? I can destroy the contract if you do not.”

A husband. A man of her choosing…

The chance to live in the country, to have a family of her own, to live like a normal, respectable woman. Happy and fulfilled.

Marriage to a stranger was not without risk, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon was famed for making successful matches, bringing together lost souls who had given up on love.

What made Cordelia so different to the rest that she couldn’t find love?

Not what. Whom.

James.

But he was beyond her reach. If nothing else, marriage to a stranger would help her to forget him, to save her from withering away like Echo, the nymph from Greek mythology, pining for that which could never be.

A thin, bony hand took hers and Cordelia looked up to see Isidore watching her, her eyes filled with compassion and love.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I wish to proceed.”

Chapter Six

“Unicorn! Unicorn! Unicorn!”

Drunken chants filled the air as a man swarmed up one of the four ropes hanging from the gallery far above the gaming hall.

No, not a man. A giant.

Powerful arms as thick as tree trunks grasped the rope, bulging with the effort as he hauled himself up, the rope swaying from side to side.

An impressive sight of masculinity—or it would have been, were he not wearing the head of a unicorn. How the devil could he see where he was going?