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

Chapter Thirteen

“Y our lordship!” an elderly woman bustled into the room. “I am so sorry to have been delayed, but with the urgent missive you sent, there is just so much to do.”

The captain smiled warmly, and Gemma surmised this was the housekeeper. “Ah, my missive. Thank you for attending to the details, Mrs. Pritchard. I had no doubt you would organize everything to my satisfaction.”

The woman turned and her smile slipped for a moment, before returning to her wizened face. “You must be Miss Atherton.”

Gemma couldn’t control the feeling of dread that filled her at the thought of taking on the duties of Viscountess Moreland. She knew how to run a small household, but nothing near the caliber of what would be expected.

“Captain! Have you no thought to Miss Atherton’s comfort?” Mrs. Pritchard’s tone was severe as she continued, not bothered at all that she was giving the captain a dressing down. “She’s obviously chilled to the bone, poor mite.”

Turning to Gemma, she asked, “Have you no shawl?” Turning back to the captain, she frowned. “I must say! This is not to be borne, Master Colin!”

The deep rumbling chuckle surprised Gemma and had her gaze shifting from the outspoken woman to her future husband—the captain— Viscount Moreland .

Rising to his feet, he removed his frockcoat, and without so much as a by-your-leave, placed it around her shoulders. “She forgets I’m no longer in short pants and, in fact, am a celebrated captain in the King’s Royal Navy.”

The housekeeper frowned at him, but Gemma had no idea why. He was being solicitous, seeing to her comfort.

She smiled at his words but was distracted by the warmth of his coat and the scent of the man which filled her senses to bursting. A hint of sandalwood and the sea—although how that was possible, she had no idea. She closed her eyes and imagined Captain Broadbank standing on his ship’s deck, chin lifted to the stiff ocean breeze, barking out commands to his underlings.

The woman ignored her employer’s comment. “Though I think it highly improper that you removed your frockcoat in Miss Atherton’s presence, she should warm up quickly.” The woman looked about the bedchamber and asked, “Where are her trunks? Did something happen to your bride-to-be on the way here?”

“There were unforeseen circumstances,” he advised. “Would you send for Hanson?” When she complied by tugging on the bell pull, he added, “I need to have a message sent.”

The sound of the captain’s voice brought Gemma sharply back to the present and the whirlwind of events that brought her to his home. Grateful that Mrs. Pritchard was still in the room, she would push past her embarrassment of the situation. She desperately needed answers.

“I do not wish to be an imposition, Captain, or ask anything out of the ordinary, but would you be sending word to my father?”

His storm-gray gaze met hers. Confidence oozed from the man, and she once again wondered how long it would take to become accustomed to his autocratic ways. “That has already been taken care of.”

She sighed in relief. “I was worried that Father would balk at sending my things.”

“My men did not have time to ask for your things,” he informed her.

“But my clothes—books…” Her gaze fell to her lap. Her throat constricted as she fought the overwhelming emotions surging to the surface of her worry. He obviously did not think having more than one dress was of import. Had her impression of the man been that far off the mark? Was he only concerned if he was aboard his ship, barking commands while preparing to set sail on the eventide?

The callused hand that gently grasped hers shocked her into looking up. “They discussed more important matters.”

She drew in a breath to steady herself to ask, “Such as?”

He drew her to her feet, not releasing her hand. “The fact that you would not be wed to Harkwell.” He brought her hand to his lips, holding her gaze captive. “You will be my viscountess when we wed on the morrow by Special License.”

His lips were soft as he pressed them to each one of her knuckles. Warmth, followed by a tingling sensation, shot from her hand, up her arm, to her heart. She hadn’t been kissed before tonight and was amazed that each kiss had her emotions in a tangle, her head reeling, her heart captivated.

Would every kiss have her emotions running the gamut?

Did he feel the same? Dear Lord, would he be repelled by her inexperience?

“There’s more afoot here.” His words broke into her thoughts, scattering them like dandelion seeds on the wind.

She wrung her hands together waiting for him to continue.

“Did you have any notion your father had reached an agreement with Harkwell?”

She stiffened at the repulsive idea, but managed to answer, “No. He never said a word.”

Moreland had wondered on his way over to the Athertons’ home if there was a signed marriage contract between Harkwell and Atherton. If there was, why would the dastard accost her at The Lyon’s Den? Would he be fool enough to come to Templeton House and demand Miss Atherton return to her father’s house with the man?

He glanced at the woman he intended to marry hours from now. He would never let her go.

Gemma trembled, and he longed to take her in his arms. The urge to rub his hand up and down her spine to soothe her surprised him. He could not remember the last time he’d felt this way.

The sound of his housekeeper clearing her throat had him stepping back from the need to physically soothe Gemma. Instead, he offered, “I cannot imagine how difficult tonight’s events have been for you, Gemma.”

When her gaze met his, he continued, “I need you to concentrate on my questions. Your answers are of the utmost importance.”

“Yes,” she rasped. “Of course, your lordship.”

He inwardly groaned at her use of the words. Why was she being so correct in addressing him? Was it because his housekeeper stood at the doorway speaking to one of the footmen? Hanson must have been detained but would be on his way.

Did Gemma think he’d be sending her back to her father? She said she trusted him.

He’d be reminding her of that later. Shielding his emotions behind a mask of indifference, he asked, “Did your father speak to you about your dowry?”

“No,” she hesitated.

Before she could continue, he turned to his housekeeper. “Mrs. Pritchard, Miss Atherton and I need a few moments of privacy.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, but the hard look he gave her had her capitulating. “I must insist you leave the door ajar.”

He was about to refuse when she reminded him, “Proprieties must be observed, your lordship.”

As he pulled the door until it was only open by a few inches, she added, “If you step to the far side of the room, and lower your voices, you will be afforded the privacy you require.”

His gaze met hers. “I am in your debt, Mrs. Pritchard.”

“I believe it is the other way around, your lordship.”

The viscount turned back to Gemma and held out his hand. “Is there anything more you can think of involving your father and your dowry?”

She hesitated for a moment, before answering, “He never spoke to me about it. He preferred to make an announcement of it. Every few weeks, he would invite a few of his contemporaries to dine with us. They were all business associates around his age.”

Gemma fell silent, staring at her hands.

“What did he tell them?”

“He would offer my hand in marriage to the men at the table for the sum of ￡15,000 with a caveat. The man would have to agree to sign a contract to go into business with him for a period of five years.”

Acid seared the lining in his gut as he fought to control the roiling—a prelude to the unleashing of his temper. Before he could speak, he noted the hint of moisture in her eyes. He needed to finish his questions to get as much information from Gemma before she gave in to the tears she bravely held back. Then he would assure her that he would not let her go today— or in this bloody lifetime!

He reached for her hand and felt the chill she still suffered from. “Was Harkwell at the dinner where you father made his announcement?”

“No. I’d never seen him before tonight.” Her eyes glassed over. “He said some awful things when he had my back to the wall.”

“What did he say?”

She shook her head. “I cannot repeat what he said, though the men gathered around us intended to watch…while he—”

Anger such as he’d never known surged within him. He did not need to know the exact words—else he would hunt Harkwell down tonight. He could muster at least a dozen men within the hour with but a word to Perkins and Grant. He would see him stripped to the waist, his arms bound in front of him, and hold the sword and ensure that Harkwell ran the gauntlet . The bastard would receive the beating he deserved from the men lined double file, facing each other armed with a cat o’nine tails or their weapon of choice. Harkwell would receive the punishment he deserved. Lord willing, the scurvy dog would be battered and bloody by the time it was finished and may even succumb to infection.

“Thank you for saving me.”

He drew in a deep breath, shoving those thoughts aside as he drew her into his embrace. He’d not be able to preside over such corporal punishment now that he was no longer at the helm of his ship. The laws were different on land. “You saved yourself, Lass.”

“I have no doubt he intended to do what he’d wagered,” she paused before continuing, “and more, had his plan and that of my father’s succeeded.”

He brushed the tips of his fingers along the curve of her cheek, marveling that it felt like the petal of his mother’s favorite roses from their garden in the country.

Her gaze lifted to meet his. “I do not want to bring shame to your family, your lordship. I cannot see how your marriage to me would do otherwise.” The first tear glistened and fell. “If you’ll have someone drive me home, you could untangle yourself from this whole situation.” More tears followed as she whispered, “I will never breathe a word to anyone about tonight.”

Her words shot his temper straight to boil, but the look of fear on her face gave him pause. “I’ll never hurt you.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. He nudged her chin up with his knuckle. “You have my word.”

“Your anger leaves me to believe otherwise,” she boldly replied.

Good for you , he thought, as the worst of his temper ebbed. “I am incensed on your behalf, Gemma.”

The sharpest edge of her fear left her gaze. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“I am. We’ve already discussed my plans to marry you.”

“Do I not have a say in any of those plans?” Her cheeks were flushed with her pique.

He slowly smiled at her. “You already gave your promise to marry me. That is not negotiable. We will marry .”

“But what about the censure you are certain to suffer from those in society who will be only too happy to speculate as to why you had to marry a Cit by Special License? They’d be only too happy to pass whatever they decided to be the most delicious morsel on to their vacuous friends.”

He shrugged. “It matters not to me.”

“What of your brother? Your father?” she questioned him. “I could not live with myself if I were to cause your family to be ostracized from the ton . I may not know the inner workings of your level of society, your lordship, but I have heard rumors and know how quickly a reputation can be made or broken with but a few whispered words.”

He leaned close and pressed a swift kiss to her brow. “Thank you for caring about my family. Edmund is more than capable of taking care of himself, and I assure you my father will deal with whatever comes his way. He’s been at the helm for many years.”

She frowned at him, but he didn’t let that deter him from telling her how he felt. It was too important to their future. “The fact that you care warms my heart. My family is going to adore you.”

He watched her expression smooth into one of interest rather than frustration. “Do you have any other reasons to add to the heated defense of your cockeyed reasoning why you think I would allow you to walk away from your promise to marry me?”

Her mouth gaped open for a moment before she snapped it shut.

He smiled. “You and I are well matched, Gemma.”

“But—” she began only to fall silent when he raised his hand, commanding her attention.

“Aside from your promise, marriage to me will protect you from the Harkwells of this world,” he told her. “And your father’s Machiavellian attempts to control you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. Long, ink-black lashes fluttered against her pale as parchment face. Gemma looked beyond exhausted. He needed to finish their conversation so she could rest.

“Thank you, your lordship. I shall do my best not to cause you any further strife or embarrassment.”

“You have not asked about your brother’s debt.”

She visibly paled. “I was not certain what agreement you had with Mrs. Dove-Lyon…”

He pulled her to him. “I’ve taken care of the matter. Your brother will only know the debt has been paid—not by whom.”

The gamut of emotions flitting across her face entranced him. How could one small woman hold so much feeling inside of her. It would exhaust him.

“Who did he owe money to?”

“The person shall never be named.”

Her face flushed with her ire. “I need to know!”

He shook his head. “No, you do not.”

Her mouth hung open for a moment. It was self-preservation that had him sliding his hand down to her waist and pulling her snug against him before she could let loose her temper. The confusion in her eyes pleased him to no end. He paused a breath away from her lips to whisper, “I like a woman with a bit of a temper. You’ll be a match for me in every way, Lass.”

He pressed his lips to hers before she could form a retort. Her lips were sumptuous, a delight he intended to feast upon as often as possible—in the privacy of their bedchamber, behind the locked door of their library, against the leather squabs of the Moreland town coach…

When she went limp in his arms, he eased back, pleased with the bemused expression on her lovely face. “I believe you’ve answered all of my questions. It is best to have as much information as possible in order to deflect any sortie your father may try to launch across our bow from his perceived position of power.”

Her eyes filled and he wished, not for the first time, he had been able to come to her aid before she’d had to seek assistance from Mrs. Dove-Lyon…but then, their lives may never have crossed paths.

“You won’t change your mind?”

Her question irritated the bloody hell out of him. How could she question his integrity? Reason returned. She’d been accosted, imprisoned by her own father, and was alone with him—a man she’d met but a few hours ago. Exhaustion weighed her down. The need to assure her he would never change his mind filled him. He clenched his jaw to keep from saying something he’d later regret.

“I did not mean to vex you, your lordship.”

He let go a blustery sigh. “I only say what I mean, Gemma. I’ll not have you tossing my words back in my face or doubting my intentions.”

She relaxed by degrees, beginning with the set of her jaw and then her shoulders. It was a welcome sign to him that she would acquiesce. Trust would be the next hurdle to overcome.

“Well then, let us put it behind us. We’re to be married tomorrow. You need your rest.”

Her smile filled his heart to bursting. How could he have gone through life without knowing the warmth of Gemma’s love wrapped around him? If he felt this way now, how would he feel in five days? Five years? Fifty?

The answer filled his being with a surety he could not question. He would love her more with each breath he took, each moment he lived.

He would love her, more than yesterday, less than tomorrow…forever.

Gemma reached out to trace the line of his jaw with the tip of her finger. He closed his eyes against the emotion building inside of him.

“Colin?”

His eyes shot open at her use of his given name. “Aye?”

“I give you my word that this is the last time I will ask if you are certain you want to marry me. I know I’m not the most attractive of women—Father pointed out my physical shortcomings more than once as a reason there were no offers for my hand…and why he added to my dowry. It is not too late to change your mind.”

He pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. Whisper-soft kisses meant to tempt her were nearly his undoing. “My mind is made up. I’ll have you and no other as my wife, Gemma.”

When he ended the kiss, she whispered, “I hope I do not do anything to bring censure upon you or your family because of who I am and my less than pleasing—”

“You are a beauty beyond compare, Lass. Though it was the hint of fear in the depths of your warm brown eyes that first snagged my attention, your siren’s curves drew me to your side, threatening to pull me under.”

Tears glistened, but she blinked them away. “You aren’t put off by my overblown—”

He cupped her face in his hands. “Look into my eyes, Gemma, and see that I speak the truth.” When she met his gaze, he confessed, “I’m a man who appreciates a woman with bounteous curves, Lass.”

She positively glowed from the depths of her beautiful brown eyes to the tips of her fingers—and everywhere in between. Her mouth met his, and every last thought evaporated as her lips tentatively pressed more impatiently to his.

He eased back and sighed. “I see that I’ll have to teach you how to kiss properly.”

She jerked away from him.

“I was teasing you to get you to gasp, so your mouth would open.”

She frowned at him, her eyes glaring daggers at him. “Whatever for?”

Temper added color to her pale cheeks and a snap of fire in her eyes. “I cannot explain it, Gemma. I need to show you.”

“Show me? That you’re unhappy with the way I kissed you?” She pushed out of his arms and moved away from him.

He wasn’t about to let her. A tug had her flush against his chest, glaring daggers at him. He couldn’t be more pleased with her reaction. He pushed for more. “Do you intend to disobey my every word?”

She stilled at his question. “I shall try not to.”

“Excellent. In this, I will be obeyed!”

Her gasp was just what he’d been waiting for. He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers. Pulling her close, he savored the flavor and texture of her plump lips. He slid the tip of his tongue around the rim of her mouth to let her get used to his touch. The lass would have much to learn later…after they were wed. For now, he would have to be satisfied deepening the kiss. Stroking her tongue with his, he cradled her head in his hand and devoured her lips in a kiss that was openly carnal. A kiss that had him craving more.

When she began to tremble, he softened the kiss, until she quieted in his arms. He drew back, pleased with the dazed look in her eyes. He gently pressed his lips to her forehead, one cheek and then the other, and finally the tip of her nose.

“We will do well together, Gemma, as viscount and viscountess, but more importantly as man and wife.”

The dazed expression was replaced with an irritated glower. He laughed aloud and hugged her close. “I’d rather be wed to a hellion with fire such as yours than a pasty-faced debutante who plays piano, paints watercolors, and would drive me to drink discussing the latest trend in fashions.”

“I’m not so sure I agree with you,” she admitted.

“Which part don’t you agree with?” When she remained silent, he urged, “It matters to me. You matter to me.”

She sighed. “I do not know the first thing about being a viscountess, Colin—or a wife for that matter. My mother died when I was quite young. Whenever I tried to ask Cook or one of the maids about being married, they turned and walked away from me. I found out later that my father had forbidden them to answer any questions I had on that subject.”

“Whatever you need to ask, I shall honestly answer.”

Her face turned a delightful shade of rose, but she managed to speak past her embarrassment. “I would like to know what exactly happens in the marriage bed. I’ve overheard more than one of our maids discussing their beaux , but they’d lower their voices if they heard or saw me. I never could make heads nor tails out of having their skirts tossed over their heads or being flat on their backs. Neither sounded appealing to me.”

He coughed to disguise the fact that he was chuckling at her maids’ description and Gemma’s innocence. He would be careful tutoring her in the delights that awaited them once they were wed. “Do you trust me, Gemma?”

She grumbled, “You’ve already asked, and I’ve already told you that I do. Don’t you believe me?” She hung her head, as if in shame. Then she changed the subject. “Lord Harkwell warned me he would not tolerate any more lies from Father or me as he backed me against the wall. How could I lie to him when I’ve never met him before? It’s clear he feels Father lied to him.”

“Odds are that your father did lie to Harkwell. We shall discuss the entire situation tomorrow after we are wed, mayhap over tea. What do you think?”

She nodded. “I would rather not think about it any longer today.”

He shifted her close again. Within the circle of his arms, his wife-to-be laid her head to his heart. “You will remember to trust me not to hurt you.”

She snorted. “You’re doing it again, Colin.”

“What am I doing?”

Her exaggerated sigh was accompanied by the rolling of her eyes. “Trying to order me around.”

“I do not try, my love,” he stated.

Her gaze met his. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

He could not hold back his growl of frustration. He watched her blink before slowly smiling. “I meant that I never try to do anything. I will do whatever I must to protect you, Gemma.” He brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “You are about to become my wife…the most important person in my life.”

Gemma’s thoughts were muddled by the intensity of his gaze, his declaration that he would marry her, and the heart-stopping kisses they’d shared.

The knock on the door interrupted their privacy.

Moreland stepped back from her and answered, “Come in.”

His butler stood in the now open doorway, Mrs. Pritchard directly behind him. “You sent for me, your lordship?”

“Yes, Hanson. I need to send a reply to the earl and a missive to Mr. Atherton. My bride-to-be will need her wardrobe and personal things delivered this evening.”

“I shall see to it at once. Is there anything else, your lordship?”

“That will be all, thank you.”

Gemma was not surprised when the butler left immediately, but she was at the captain’s next words. “Leave us, Mrs. Pritchard.”

She glared at her employer. “I will not have your future viscountess’ reputation sullied because you are too hardheaded to see that this is not your ship where you are eminently in charge of all you perceive.” The older woman’s shoulders sagged as if under a great weight. Her voice pitched low, she added, “The walls have ears and servants talk.”

“I’m sorry,” Gemma apologized. “Forgive me. I was not thinking of the harm it would do to the viscount’s name or that of the family.”

“What about your reputation, Miss Atherton?”

“Mine?”

“There are those among the ton who would love nothing better than to cast aspersions upon your good name as entertainment.”

She did not know how to respond to that, not having much experience in the higher realms of society.

“Allow me to offer my apologies, Gemma. I was not thinking about the blasted fops and pinks of the ton who have nothing better to do than chew up and spit out anyone who tries to rise above their station.”

Worry filled her. “Would they assume that is what I am trying to do if we wed?”

He hauled her against him and frowned before stating, “Be assured, we shall wed tomorrow.”

“What about the gossips?”

“Mrs. Pritchard has the right of it. We shall not give them any juicy on dits other than the fact that I have offered for your hand, and your father—and you, have graciously accepted my suit.”

“If I’m labeled a social climber, won’t that damage your name and your reputation?”

“I don’t give a bloody damn what anyone says. You will be my wife.”

His gaze softened, and her heart tumbled over in her breast. There was something in their gray depths, beneath the storm. Mayhap this marriage would be more than just to save her from the likes of Lord Harkwell or the string of her father’s business partners looking to line their pockets with her dowry.

“Yes,” she assured him. “I will be your wife.”

“Well then,” Mrs. Pritchard intervened. “Now that that’s settled, shall I ring for more tea? Something else to eat?”

“Not for me. Gemma?”

“Er…no, thank you. I’m fine.”

“Very good. I shall ring to have this removed.”

The viscount sighed. “And?” he prompted.

For the first time since entering the room, the older woman laughed softly. “I shall keep the two of you company—with the door open, until Miss Atherton is ready to retire for the evening. I shall send Lettie, one of the upstairs maids, to attend to her.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pritchard.”

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Lettie has been with us for a few years and knows what she is about. You will be in good hands.”

Colin fought against his knee-jerk reaction to their housekeeper’s taking charge of Gemma. He wanted to be the one to do so. But…the woman did have a valid point. The walls did have ears. Growing up, he’d been on hand more than once to hear the servants discussing his parents. Nothing vicious, just idle words…everyday gossip among the servants.

When Gemma swayed on her feet, he was there to steady her. “Here, Lass. Have a seat, you must be exhausted.”

Her eyes lifted to meet his and something sharp and sweet arrowed through him. He’d been drawn to Gemma from the moment she’d bumped into him. It went deeper than her face and delightfully curvaceous form. A brightness that shone from the depths of her warm, brown eyes. It was the essence of who she was. An intelligent, truthful, compassionate woman.

Her hair black as ebony, her cream-colored skin soft as silk…and her figure more than a handful, were just the outer trappings. It was the woman within that captivated him from the moment he’d seen the worry in her eyes, until he noticed she held that licentious lord off with a dueling pistol to his gut.

Gemma Atherton was one hell of a woman. And on the morrow, she would be his.