Page 43 of Lyon on the Loose

“Lissy . . . there is something I must tell you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

For one exquisite moment, Lissy let herself believe everything was perfect. Their enemies were defeated and would never be allowed to escape justice; the ball was a roaring success, and she and Roland moved harmoniously in each other’s arms.

But now, his hand felt cool in hers, his touch at her waist was no longer exultant, and his eyes shone too intently as he scanned her face.

At another time, she might have imagined he was about to make a declaration of love, but she had now experienced the realities of life—not just her own, but those of other people—and she feared what was to come.

His step faltered—barely, but enough that she felt the disturbance shiver through him like a cold draft. He guided her through the next turn, but his gaze had become distant, pained.

Her heart dropped. “Roland? Tell me quickly—you’re frightening me.”

He drew a breath that lifted his shoulders and seemed to cost him dearly. “I should have told you before. I meant to. I tried to find the right moment, but there never was one.”

Her pulse hammered. “Should have told me what?”

He hesitated, and that hesitation hurt worse than any wound.

“Roland,” she whispered, “please.”

His gaze fell to the jewels at her throat, the sapphire-and-diamond necklace Mama had insisted she wear tonight. The necklace in the portrait that Roland had been so interested in. Why should that come between them?

“Lissy, my sweet—I was sent here to steal that necklace.”

“No . . . no, you can’t mean—” He couldn’t possibly be telling the truth! But his expression told her he was.

The laughter drifting from the supper room became subdued, the violins quietened, and every lamp and candle dimmed. She lifted her hand slowly to the sapphires resting against her skin. “You . . . you were what?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon hired me—you know, the owner of the Lyon’s Den, one of those gambling hells of which you so disapprove. I’m so sorry. My commission was to infiltrate the household at Mundlingham Castle and retrieve the necklace, which once belonged to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

“It belonged to Mrs. Dove-Lyon?” she echoed, feeling numb. “How did it come into Mama’s possession then? I assumed it was a family heirloom.”

He winced. “She said your mother stole it when they were younger, before they ceased to be friends. It’s not my place to judge the rights or wrongs of it.”

“How do you know she was telling the truth?” Lissy’s voice rose a notch as her throat constricted.

“Bessie Dove-Lyon is very discreet—”

“And very manipulative. I know of her reputation. Have you heard Mama’s side of the story, Roland?”

“Not yet. But I intend to. Sutton and Treadwell distracted me. As did you.”

“Don’t waste your time on flattery, Roland Chetwynd! I cannot believe that you, who lectured Oscar on deceit, who thought yourself so far above the likes of Henry Sutton, are no better than either of them!”

His shoulders sagged. “Lissy—”

“You planned all along to rob my mother?”

“I had stopped planning it!” he burst out. “At least—I was trying to. Everything changed when I met you. I swear to you, Lissy, I never meant to hurt you. Never you.”

The other dancers swirled around them, annoyingly cheerful, irritatingly oblivious.

Lissy broke Roland’s hold and stepped away. The space between them felt like a chasm opening at her feet.

“So, you already had your commission in place when we were forced to share the same carriage.”

“I did. But no one told me I’d be traveling with you, or that you were Lady Ashby’s daughter—”