Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Twelve

G emma came to with a start. Unable to see, she gasped.

“Easy now, Lass,” a familiar deep voice soothed. “You’re safe.”

She gathered her courage, drew in a breath to clear her mind, and realized there was a soft cloth restricting her vision—she hadn’t lost her sight!

Her hand shot to the cloth to remove it. A large, callused hand stopped hers. “Slowly, Lass. Don’t move too fast or you’re libel to faint on me again.”

Doing as he bid, Gemma slid the cloth from her eyes. She blinked and the handsome face of Captain Broadbank—correction, Viscount Moreland, filled her vision.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes,” she rasped. “Thank you.”

His crooked grin shot straight to her heart. “As we’re to be married in the morning, I think you should call me by my given name.”

Nerves twitching, stomach fluttering, she complied. “Thank you, Colin.”

“There now, Lass. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Would she ever get used to the size of the man? He would tower over her father and had to be half a foot taller than her brother who stood just shy of six feet tall. His gaze held hers, and she could feel her face flush.

He smiled at her. “I hope, in time, you’ll come to trust me to keep my word, Gemma.”

“It’s not that,” she whispered. “So much has happened so quickly. Trying to sort through it is a bit overwhelming.”

He stood and placed the cloth next to the pitcher and bowl on the washstand. Instead of returning to her side, he walked over to the servants’ bell pull and gave it a tug. “Would you care for a cup of tea or something a bit stronger? Are you hungry?”

How could he speak to her so calmly while her world had crashed about her?

The knock at the door startled her. She tried to conceal her reaction, but the captain had seen her jolt at the sound.

“Enter.”

His gruff command was answered immediately. Mayhap the servants in his home were used to his autocratic ways.

She was surprised to see the butler in the doorway, holding a large tray with a tea service. A footman behind him carried a tray with two bowls and a plate of rolls. Unable to see the contents of those bowls, she relied on her sense of smell. Inhaling, she smiled as the savory scent of a hearty beef stew reached her. “That smells wonderful, Hanson.”

He beamed at her. “How do you feel, your ladyship?”

She felt the laughter build inside of her and fought to keep it there, not wanting to take the chance the captain’s butler would think she was laughing at him. Clearing her throat, she answered, “Hungry.”

“Cook prepared just the thing for you and his lordship.” He glanced at the captain and asked, “Do you need assistance helping her ladyship over to the table?”

“I have it. Thank you, Hanson.”

With a nod, the butler motioned the footman to follow him over to the table on the other side of the large bedchamber. She wondered whose room was she in, watching them set out the meal for two, stopping short of pouring their tea.

Hanson motioned Colin to the table. When Colin moved to stand next to him, Hanson said, “I’ve received word from your brother that the task has been taken care of.”

“Thank you, Hanson. You may finish setting the table,” Colin replied.

When they’d finished, the captain thanked them, waiting until they’d closed the door behind them before speaking. “It is a good sign that you’re hungry.”

“I did not have a chance to eat before going to The Lyon’s Den earlier.”

He frowned as he assisted her to a chair. “When did you eat last?”

She shrugged watching him take the seat across from her.

“Not a proper answer, Lass.”

She sighed. “If you must know, early this morning.”

“No wonder you fainted. Too much excitement on an empty a stomach.”

Gemma found her first smile since the captain rescued her from a fate she shuddered to even think about—marriage to the dastard Lord Harkwell! “I have yet to properly thank you, Captain.”

“Colin,” he prompted, staring at the spoon beside her bowl. When she made no move to pick it up, he shook his head at her. “Eat!”

Startled from her reverie, she obeyed without thinking. Lifting the spoon to her lips, she touched it to her bottom lip to ensure it was not too hot before slipping it into her mouth. The bold flavor of meat, vegetables, and spices combined was delicious. Digging in, she was surprised when a buttered roll appeared on the small plate beside her bowl.

Her gaze lifted to his. “Thank you…Colin.”

He nodded as she began to eat again. “You’re welcome. I can send down for more food,” he offered, “if you’re still hungry.”

She dabbed the linen napkin to her lips before replying, “No, thank you. Would you please tell your cook I enjoyed the stew immensely? It was delicious.”

He agreed. “Would you care to pour the tea?”

“I’d be happy to.” While she did so, her thoughts flew back to the house she’d grown up in, escaping from her locked bedchamber with the help of the man watching her every move. Would he regret his decision to rescue her…to marry her? How had he known she was in trouble?

“Care to tell me what’s worrying you?”

Her gaze locked on his. Warmth filled her at the tender look in his eyes, though she doubted he could come to care for her so quickly. Was he always this solicitous of the females in his life?

Good Lord! How many females were there in his life? Did he have more than one woman in more than one port? He had seemed quite at ease in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s establishment. Her breath hitched and her hand trembled so badly she had to set her teacup on the saucer.

She fought the need to keep her thoughts to herself as she’d been raised to do. His face was devoid of expression while he waited patiently for her answer. Unable to stand the silence that surrounded them, she spoke, “I do have one or two questions plaguing me.”

He set down his cup and waited for her to continue.

Drawing on the courage she hadn’t lacked when she’d requested an audience with the Black Widow of Whitehall, she asked, “How did you know I was in trouble?”

He answered readily. “I was speaking with Mrs. Dove-Lyon when her coachman returned to report your home was dark, and no servants appeared to be about.”

“So, it was her coachman that alerted you.”

He slowly smiled. “ And the men I had following you.”

She stared at him for long moments before asking, “Why did you have them follow me?”

“I did not trust Harkwell where your safety was concerned. You are a woman of uncommon beauty and fire.” He slowly smiled at her, “And you seem to have a penchant for attracting trouble.”

Gemma’s heart tumbled in her breast at his compliment while, at the same time, she wanted to grind her back teeth to keep from sniping at the man.

The captain’s deep chuckle surrounded them.

“I do not see what part of this situation is remotely amusing.”

“The expressions flitting across your face, Gemma. Can’t you decide if you’re entranced, embarrassed, or angry and ready to strike me?”

Aghast, she rasped, “I have never struck anyone in my life.”

“I have no doubt you’ve been tempted more than once.”

She frowned at him. “Are you trying to provoke me?”

“Nay, Lass. I’m trying to understand you. After all, we are to be married tomorrow. Would it not be in our best interests to become more acquainted?”

Fear’s icy fingers grabbed her heart, plummeting it to her stomach. “I…uh…really shouldn’t—”

He reached across the expanse of the table to take hold of her hand. “You’re like ice.” Worry filled his stark gray eyes. “Do you fear me that much?”

She closed her eyes to gather her thoughts. Opening them, she replied, “I do not know you, Captain, anymore than I know what you expect of me as your wife.”

Placing his free hand atop the one holding hers, he patted it. “I think I understand. You have nothing to fear from me, Gemma. Ever . I’ll certainly not take advantage of you before we wed.”

Her eyes rounded and he knew he’d gotten to the heart of the fear that held his bride-to-be in its grasp.

“I…uh—” She looked away but did not try to tug her hand free.

He appreciated that his touch did not repel her. It would make for a blustery cold marriage, not unlike rounding the Cape of Good Hope in the grips of a harsh winter storm. The memory of huge waves surrounding his ship, ready to tear it apart with the next flash of lightning, was a stark reminder of what lie ahead if he did not do his utmost to see that their marriage would be one based on trust and coming to an accord with one another.

“Take your time, Gemma. I’m not going anywhere until you’ve confided your worries. I would have us be truthful and build our marriage on mutual trust.”

She relaxed and confessed, “If you had not come for me, I would be at the mercy of Lord Harkwell.” A shiver racked her body. “I loathe the man and would never place my trust in him.”

“You’re wise not to trust the blackguard. He is not deserving of it.”

Their gazes held for long moments, and he knew without a doubt she wondered if he would change once they were married.

Her unasked question hung in the air between them: Are you deserving of it?