Page 5 of Pride of Lyons

“Splendid.” Geoffrey smiled at him, then sobered and bowed to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “Your servant, madam.” He straightened and headed back to the gambling room, where the wagerers were finally disbanding.

Thomas turned to the woman beside him, convinced she was smiling broadly under her blasted veil. “Very well, ma’am. Lead on.”

They couldn’t put a quick enough finish to this Drury Lane drama to suit him.

Chapter Three

Before Honoria could pull herself together, the door opened and the blond woman entered, now carrying a tray with a glass and a decanter of wine. Strangely, the woman seemed undaunted by the presence of an unexpected visitor to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s establishment—whatever it was.

“Would you care for some wine, Miss Quinn? You seem to have had a shock. Wine is good for that.” She placed the tray on the sideboard and looked a question at Honoria.

She shook her head. Unused to drinking wine at the best of times, she shuddered to think how quickly it would impair her judgment just when she needed it most. “That is kind of you, but no, thank you.”

“I’ll leave it here in case you change your mind. Hermia is informing Mrs. Dove-Lyon of your presence now. She should be in to see you shortly.” Without a backward glance, the woman left, closing the door behind her with a firm click.

Honoria listened for the scrape of a key in the lock, but only the sound of the door’s firm click met her ear. In any case, they would have little need to lock her in. Desperation made Honoria loathe to leave her sanctuary, despite her growing misgivings about Mrs. Dove-Lyon. What kind of services did this woman provide for ladies who could pay? And what would she do to Honoria when she discovered she could not?

Glancing at the sideboard, Honoria rose and stalked over to it. More to give herself something to do than anything else, she poured a full glass of the dark, rich wine. Perhaps a sip would restore her strength and confidence. One sip turned into two. The vintage was drier than she liked, but already she could feel the tension loosen in her body. She took a longer draft. Perhaps when Mrs. Dove-Lyon came, Honoria could simply tell her the truth, that she’d been attacked and pursued here. And if Lord Danford had gone, she, Honoria, could leave and trouble Mrs. Dove-Lyon no more. The very worst the woman could do was throw her out, and in the end, she must leave anyway.

And go where?

She dared not go back to Danford House to gather her belongings. She could never keep her countenance from showing her distress before Lady Danford. Even worse, Lord Danford might be home before she arrived. If she saw him again and had to listen to his indecent proposal once more, she would swoon. Once the whole sordid episode had come to light, she’d surely be unceremoniously thrown out, reputation irrevocably sullied. So where could she go?

The logical place was home, to her parents in Lower Clapton. They would take her back, at least, she hoped they would. Her father was vicar of a small parish at Fletching. If Honoria returned home ruined, would her family be able to shelter her without the disgrace touching them as well? She truly didn’t know. But what else could she do?

The wine in her glass had magically disappeared, and she poured herself another. The loss of her position as a companion would not be a financial disaster, thank goodness. Her father’s living supported the family admirably. What she would do with her life after this debacle, however, she didn’t know. At three and twenty, she had few options even without a stain on her reputation. Now she might be lucky to be able to simply return home. She sipped more wine. Why she’d always shunned it before was a mystery to her. The taste was delightful.

Just about to pour another glass, Honoria stopped when the door unexpectedly opened, admitting a strange figure draped completely in black. Taken aback, Honoria let the bottle slip out of her hand. It thudded onto the sideboard but fortunately did not break.

“Miss Honoria Quinn, I presume?” The woman’s voice was gruff, no-nonsense.

“Yes, ma’am.” Barely whispering, Honoria kept her head down, wishing she hadn’t drunk that second glass of wine.

“Why are you here, Miss Quinn?”

The stern voice, coupled with the heady wine, broke whatever reticence Honoria had heretofore mustered. With a huge sob, the truth erupted out of her until she stood before the enigmatic figure, unable to stop weeping. “I don’t know what to do, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Truly I don’t. I can’t go back to Danford House. As soon as Lady Danford hears of it, I’ll be dismissed and sent away. Even though it wasn’t my fault.”

The last word came out on a wail as Honoria’s resentment for Lord Danford reached a fever pitch. She’d done nothing wrong, nothing. Yet now she would be sent home in disgrace, and likely end up doing needlework for the church for the rest of her life as penance.

“Of course, it wasn’t your fault, Miss Quinn. What happens to women in this world is seldom due to any fault of their own.”

That got Honoria’s attention. She peered at the lace veil that covered the other woman’s face. She would surely love to see what was behind that veil.

“My question to you, Miss Quinn, is do you have the courage to take life’s opportunities and bend them to your own will when they are presented to you?” The black-garbed figure stood with hands on hips. “I can arrange for a great opportunity for you if you are willing to take it when it presents itself.”

Honoria stared at Mrs. Dove-Lyon, heart beating so fast it threatened to burst out of her chest. What was the woman talking about? On the tip of her tongue to ask, she instead kept her mouth shut. Mrs. Dove-Lyon likely didn’t suffer fools. If Honoria seemed reluctant or uncertain, the woman would simply dismiss her and push her out the door into what had become a hostile world. Better to take her chances here and now. Therefore, she gave the only answer she could. “Yes.”

“Good.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon pulled the door open and strode out into the entryway. “Follow me.”

“What the deuce were you playing at, Danford?” The door had scarcely closed on Thomas and the earl when Thomas let his displeasure be known. “Are you so deeply in your cups that you don’t know the world of trouble you’ve unleashed?” Perturbed by Danford’s seeming lack of feeling, Thomas strode up and down the length of the chamber they’d been brought to, contemplating how to make the earl repent his actions. “You’ve likely ruined Miss Quinn, do you understand that?”

“Not as much as I would like to have done,” Danford muttered and headed toward the decanter of amber spirits on the sideboard.

“Danford!” Thomas was certainly no prude, but such a callous sentiment, spoken without an iota of feeling, was unconscionable coming from a man who purported to be a gentleman. “She is under your protection in your household. You have a duty to safeguard her, not debauch her.”

“She’s a temptress, Braeton.” Danford’s hand shook as he poured a generous tot of what looked to be brandy. “A veritable siren who has bewitched me until I simply couldn’t stand it anymore.”

The ragged emotion in the earl’s voice caught Thomas’s attention. Was Miss Quinn the innocent in this debacle or not? “Do you mean to say the woman has been trying to seduce you?”