Page 2 of Lyon on the Loose

He held her gaze. “I resent that assertion. Don’t judge every fellow you meet by those with whom you are already acquainted. I include the unwanted suitor who pursued you through the Metropolis and made you invade my privacy.”

Her cheeks reddened charmingly. “How dare you assume that I’m running away from a suitor! My business is far more important. Do you really think that unwanted attentions are the greatest fear of every young lady? You can hardly call yourself a man of the world if you believe that.”

Lissy Whoever-she-might-be was evidently a bold young person who held strong opinions. Not a fashionable or a marriageable trait, which she ought to be aware of. Nonetheless, it was refreshing to cross swords with such a woman.

“Trust me—I know exactly what problems and difficulties assail young females currently. I’m very closely associated with some admirable women who have survived adversity. They could knock a chit like you into a cocked hat. Now, stop trying to insult me and tell me where to set you down. I’m not in the mood to be harangued any further.”

“I apologize. Perhaps I could exclude you from my view of Pinks of the ton, since I don’t know you personally. But everyone has a reputation, do they not?”

He leaned forward. What had she heard about him? Did London Society in general have the same view as the members of White’s? Did nobody expect him to amount to anything?

He pressed his fingers against the splintered top of his cane as it came to him that they probably didn’t expect him to amount to much. Even though he’d recently found gainful employment to supplement the allowance from his older brother, nobody knew about it. Nobody could know about it. When one was carrying out espionage on behalf of London’s premier matchmaker, Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, it was best to keep it quiet.

“I shall neither defend nor deny my reputation. Instead, I shall assert that you must be new to Town, since I’ve never seen you before. You have clearly not yet learned what sort of behavior is acceptable for young ladies and what is not. Consider yourself fortunate that you threw yourself into my carriage and not that of some ne’er-do-well who wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage of you.” He speared her with a glance.

She met his gaze unblinkingly. “Had you been one of those sorts of rogue, I would have leaped out of the coach and looked for another one.”

“How simple you make it all sound.” There was something charming about her naïveté, but it was irritating, too. He had more important things to do than enlighten foolish young women in the ways of the world and the mores of Society. He had to work out how he was going to avenge himself against Sutton and stop the fellow from revealing secrets that could damage the entire Chetwynd family. He’d have to give the matter serious thought as soon as he’d won his argument with Miss Lissy Whoever-she-was.

“I wonder why you dislike gentlemen’s gambling establishments so much.”

“As I understand it, the gentlemen engage in dares and attempt to either undermine or impress one another. It sounds terribly childish, even if there are prizes to be won. Gambling is no way to make a living, because every penny a gambler earns is one that somebody else has lost. My brothers don’t gamble. Mama has been far too strict.”

The woman’s cheeks flushed again, and she glanced through the carriage window. She could not have seen anything to alarm her, for she turned her attention back to Roland and continued, “The best way to make money is by hard work, utilizing one’s skills. The inheritance of money and titles turns men into fops and fools who care about nothing but their own selfish desires. Except for my brothers, of course. But no, I’m being uncharitable. Gentlemen do care about one thing.”

He held his breath in anticipation.

“They care about ‘ensuring the succession.’ They’re more than willing to bring up litters of selfish brats in their own image.”

What had inspired such a dim view of the English upper classes in this pretty young female?

“Ah!” He pressed his fingers together. Of course—she was describing the gentleman from whom she was escaping! An unwelcome suitor because all he wanted was a wife and heirs. Such a fellow would be missing a great deal if he didn’t appreciate Lissy’s character or enjoy her outspokenness.

Dash it—he was starting to feel sympathy for the woman. This would not do at all. He had important business to attend to, a gentleman’s business.

“Novel as it is to listen to your sweeping, unfounded opinions, we must part company. The Lyon’s Den awaits, which—before you lecture me again—is not at all what you deem it to be. Well, it is a bit, but not all the time. Anyway, some of the most powerful men—and occasionally women—in the land frequent the place, and I feel no guilt whatsoever at stepping through its portals.”

Miss Lissy-of-the-pert-opinions snapped her mouth shut and her eyes, like bright-blue sapphires, bored into his. He stared back, unmoved, and waited until she had torn her gaze from his to the window.

“Very well. You can tell your coachman to stop now. I can find my way home from here.”

Roland immediately did so, grateful to continue his journey without further disruption. He did not help Lissy down; he did not wish her well; he did not offer to call upon her in the future to see how she fared. He just watched her a moment as she scurried off down an alley like a demented mouse, pulling her hood up over her sodden bonnet, looking neither left nor right.

With a sigh, he ordered the coachman to continue on for the last few blocks before Cleveland Row.

The encounter with Lissy had exhausted him; he felt as if he’d just been attacked by a small, maddeningly buzzy fly. Oh, well. It was all part of life’s rich pattern. He could, perhaps, have been a little better behaved, although he wasn’t certain she deserved it. What he was sure of, however, was that he would make inquiries after her and then make sure to avoid her at all costs. And if he were to find out which Unfortunate it was who had lost their head over her and was in pursuit of her hand in marriage, he’d be forced to act. He would take said fellow aside and tell him in no uncertain terms that he’d be making a very foolish mistake if he were to wed such a termagant as she.

Chapter Two

The weather was showing no sign of mercy—Lissy would be sopping again by the time she reached her front door. She turned into the dark alleyway in Whitechapel where she and Oscar Treadwell had set up home. In this weather, the place was even more gloomy than usual, with the ground glistening with black puddles and the air reeking of soot and blocked drains.

Lissy broke into a trot. This was not a salubrious area, and unsafe for a young lady even in full daylight. The alley into which she had turned was narrow, its houses leaning inward as if conspiring. The gutter by her feet gurgled with filthy water.

She was busy counting the doors—all the streets in this terrace looked the same—when somebody hurtled toward her along the passage. She staggered to one side, but it was too late to avoid a collision, and following a muffled apology, the shrouded figure disappeared back in the direction of the main road.

Rolling her eyes, Lissy took a deep breath and ran the last few steps to her front door. She fumbled for the key, which she kept tied to her wrist with a ribbon, alongside her purse.

There was the ribbon, there was the key.