Page 24 of Lyon of Least Resistance

With a huff, Vernon nodded and, grumbling about the impropriety of discussing commerce in the company of gentlemen, followed the youth through the crowd. James retreated to a quiet corner among the shadows.

After a moment, the black-clad hostess reappeared at the top of the gallery, accompanied by the youth who had delivered James’s drink. The youth lifted his hand and a hush descended. Then he cast his gaze over the company, lingering for a heartbeat on James.

“Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye!” he cried.

Whispering broke out among the crowd, which was quickly shushed.

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon wishes to invite intrepid lovers to partake in a game that will test your prowess in wooing a fair lady!” the youth cried. “The prize, should you dare to strive for it, is the most exquisite bride, complete with a fortune of no less than eighteen thousand pounds. The game is to be called…”

He paused, as if for dramatic effect, then surveyed the room once more. For a second time, James could swear that the youth’s gaze lingered on him.

“…the Definitive Gift of Love!” the youth finished. “For ten guineas, each gallant competitor shall be tasked with procuring a gift for our fair lady.”

James caught his breath.

Ten guineas…

“What kind of gift?” a voice called from the crowd.

“The definitive gift,” the youth said. “A gift that tells the lady everything she needs to know about you to determine whether you are the perfect suitor. The gifts are to be presented next Saturday and the man whose gift she chooses to accept is the man who shall claim her hand.”

“Bugger,” a voice said, as Mr. Vernon appeared at James’s elbow. “I don’t have ten guineas. Neither have I the funds to procure the sort of gift to win the hand of a lady already in possession of a fortune. I’ve no intention of getting myself further into debt. I don’t suppose you’d care to stand me a loan, old chap?”

“I may be fresh meat here, but I’m no fool, Vernon,” James said. “It’s not a loan if you’ve no intention of paying it back.”

“Fair point,” Vernon said good-naturedly. “Can’t blame a chap for asking, though.”

He sauntered off, doubtless in search of more fresh meat to squeeze for ten guineas.

Toga-clad youths appeared, carrying tables covered in green baize, which they set out in a circular pattern, placing chairs at each. The crowd dispersed, forming groups at each table and, shortly after, the clink of money exchanging hands filled the hall, the Lyon’s Den returning, once more, to the business of gaming.

A youth approached James, holding a notebook.

“Lord Bedford, may I put your name down for the Definitive Gift challenge?”

James glanced about the hall. Despite its decadence, the Lyon’s Den was less predatory than a Society ballroom. Eighteen thousand was a tidy enough sum to maintain Bedford Hall and furnish Georgiana with a modest dowry. A man of his rank oughtn’t expect to find love in a marriage—he certainly wouldn’t find it with a Society debutante. And, if he won the challenge, he’d never again be required to attend a Society ball.

“Yes,” he said, before his sense of propriety could stop him. “Yes, you may.”

“Excellent,” the youth said, scribbling in the notebook. “We’ll expect you at seven, next Saturday, for your costume fitting—to lend a sense of carnival to the occasion.”

James drained his glass and the youth took it.

“Very good, Your Lordship,” he said. “Choose your gift wisely.”

James nodded, and the youth bowed and slipped away, accosting other would-be competitors.

What the bloody hell had he signed up for?

Chapter Seven

What the devil am I going to give a woman as a gift?

No matter how many hours James spent wandering his estate—the woods, the path running beside the lake, the long, drafty corridors of Bedford Hall—he couldn’t summon even the smallest spark of inspiration.

What might a lady want that would make her choose him over the likes of Mr. Vernon or Sir Matthew Tainton, or, indeed, any of the braying bucks who frequented the Lyon’s Den?

The Lyon’s Den! An apt name for an establishment where the patrons were wild beasts, roaring their prowess and vying with each other in tests of masculinity to claim an unsuspecting woman and her fortune.