Page 14 of The Lyon and the Lamb

She cleared her throat. “It’s Lord Aylsham, is it not?”

“Ah.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded. “You weren’t meant to know just yet. My apologies—my plans are normally carried out without a hitch. However, let me assure you that I’ve done my research most thoroughly, and I know he’ll make you an excellent husband. When it comes to matchmaking, I’m seldom wrong—almost never, in truth. Do you understand? You must put your differences aside and move forward. Shall I call him in?”

Araminta had already overheard his lordship’s anger at being accosted outside the bedroom door. She had no wish to arouse that beast again.

“Forgive me. I appreciate that you’ve done your best under the circumstances, but the seas will run dry before I choose to share my life with Lord Aylsham. I swear—I shall say nothing of this to anyone, so there’ll be no doubt cast on your skills as a matchmaker. I’ll shoulder the blame—had I told you Lord Aylsham was anathema to me, of course, you would never have chosen him.”

The set of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s shoulders suggested she didn’t agree, but that was of no importance. A thrilling idea had flashed across Araminta’s mind. Maybe she could live with one of the other two gentlemen, the blond-haired fellow, or the mousy one.

Perhaps not. The Lyon’s Den wasn’t a shop window, where one purchased lovers to give one pleasure in bed. The bargain she’d made with Mrs. Dove-Lyon had misfired. It would be better to break it and risk no further mistakes.

“I’ll pay what I owe. Then let us say no more of this.”

The other woman got to her feet. “With respect, Lady Lamb, I think you’re making a terrible decision. You’re missing an opportunity few women in your position ever have. I can assure you that, in time, Lord Aylsham will dote on you, and will lay his heart—as well as his body—at your feet. Marriage to him would solve your financial difficulties, as well as his, by securing you the Lamb estate. I would therefore advise you to take some time to consider the matter—you may have three days’ grace. If at the end of that time, you haven’t changed your mind, any connection between us will be at an end. I’m a businesswoman, but I understand that occasionally the client does not want to take my advice. In the event that you fail to see reason, I’ll only take half of my fee.”

Well, that was something, she supposed. Every penny must be scrimped and saved if she and Belinda were going to be thrown out of their home. Horatio’s cousin Thomas would never allow them to remain there—he had a shrewish wife who controlled him utterly and a legion of demanding children. He’d never had any time for her or Belinda—they’d have to rely on their own resources.

“Is Aylsham still in the building?”

“Of course, he is. He’s most keen to see his future bride. Two of my servants have black eyes as testament to his eagerness—and the power of his arm. However, we have a ladies’ entrance for a reason. You can be smuggled out that way while we detain the earl. But as I said, you have three days in which to change your mind. It’s not in my best interests to tell him you won’t have him, but I’ll find a way to stall him. I did warn him there might be a possibility of rejection, but apparently, he can’t bear the idea of any stain on his honor. Go now. Good day to you.”

Thus dismissed, Araminta stuck her bonnet on her head and pulled the veil down, then scurried out of the Lyon’s Den. As she made her way along the street, she avoided looking up at any of the windows, lest Aylsham happened to glance out and recognize her as the irksome Widow Bellamy.

Thank goodness she’d escaped! It would’ve been awful to come face-to-face in the room where their union had occurred and make the discovery then. He would doubtless have had some vile, vicious words to say to her.

As she hailed a passing hackney carriage, tears pricked at her eyes. She’d been despoiled by her enemy—how was she ever to get over it? Only . . . her enemy had given her the most amazing night of her life. She was horrified to admit it, but Lord Aylsham’s touch had awakened a voracious beast inside her. How was she to cope with the future, knowing she might never experience such ecstasy again?

Chapter Seven

Leo sat fuming behind his desk, his mind assaulting him with unpleasant memories of the Lyon’s Den. Two days had passed and he still hadn’t calmed down—it was as well Roland was out of town at the moment, or that young man would have borne the full brunt of his brother’s ire.

Leo had never been so humiliated in his life. He’d always been a very private man, so to be accosted and restrained in such a notorious establishment, whilst completely naked, was something he wouldn’t forgive for a very long time. Was his jealously-guarded good reputation now at stake? Had the night of passion with the alleged heiress been worth it? Unfortunately, despite the dent to his pride, he rather thought it had been.

He’d kept the lid on his temper—there had been no point making the situation worse. As soon as his assailants had overcome him, he’d been thrown into a bath before being reunited with his clothes. Then, he’d been given breakfast and subjected to a ruffled-feathers-soothing monologue from Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who never once lifted her veil.

That accursed Mrs. Bellamy had done exactly the same thing. Didn’t women appreciate how infuriating it was not to be able to see their facial expressions? It was bad enough when men concealed themselves in identical clothes and masks, as they had that night. If it hadn’t been for Roland cajoling him—and very possibly blurring his judgment by adding powerful substances to his glass—Leo would have walked out of the Lyon’s Den at the earliest opportunity.

Not for an instant had he stopped thinking of that night in the mystery woman’s arms, and the encounter with his flesh-and-blood Venus had taken on a dreamlike quality. Why had no one been prepared to reveal her identity? He’d begged, he’d blustered, and even tried to bribe Mrs. Dove-Lyon into giving up his lover’s name.

But apparently, the final decision lay with Venus herself—and as he’d heard nothing, he must assume she’d found fault with him. This was a monumental affront to his masculinity. Was it wrong of him to imagine that any normal woman would be eager for a repeat performance of that night?

He hung his head. Yes, it probably was. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had said that he’d be introduced to the woman with whom he’d spent the night, and whom he was expected to marry, within three days at the most. Today was the second day, and his naturally pessimistic nature couldn’t envision any successful outcome.

A nasty thought had wormed its way into his mind. Someone had just played the most unpleasant trick on him—soon his name would be on the tongues of all the tabbies or besmirched in anonymous letters to the newspapers. He’d slept with a malicious whore, had been sold the most ridiculous Banbury tale, and would be the laughingstock of London for months.

One way or another, he had to stop obsessing about it or go completely mad.

His chair scraped roughly against the floorboards as he thrust up from behind his desk and stomped out the door. It was exercise time in the yard, and one of the teachers was putting the older children through their paces—although, they were mostly so small still, the exercises were more of a romp. The babies had been brought outside to enjoy the fresh air too, but most of them preferred to slumber in their cots.

As soon as he stepped out into the watery April sunshine, there was a loud chorus of greetings, and the next moment, he found himself knee-deep in little children, vying with one another to hold his hand or cling onto his breeches. He picked up the tiniest of them and swung the boy onto his shoulders.

“Will you be a horse, Lord Aylsham?”

“For you, Patrick, I can be anything.”

“Shall we have a race?”

This was a game the children had played before, and they loved taking it in turns to ride upon his shoulders. The teacher, Miss Brent, stood to one side and allowed him to take over the “lesson.” Its main purpose was to tire the children out ahead of supper, which he could do just as well by racing around with them.