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

Chapter Ten

T hings were not going well as far as Edward was concerned. He could not, for the life of him, understand what Miss Hurst saw in Hugh Varley. He thought she’d brush the idiot off after their meeting at the Lyon’s Den, but no.

The man was up to something, damn it, though Edward didn’t yet know what.

For their first outing, Varley had taken Miss Hurst for a drive through the park. Edward had purposely crossed their path, feigning surprise at seeing them together. He’d then regarded Miss Hurst with an expression that implied she should know better. Miss Hurst’s cheeks had turned a charming color of pink, while her maid had regarded Edward with blatant interest before hurling a look at Varley that should have stopped the man’s heart.

It seemed Edward had found an ally in the maid, who he seemed to remember from his time at Huxley.

On their second outing a few days later, Varley had got off his foppish arse and accompanied Miss Hurst on a walk through said park. Edward had again shown up, expressing the inexplicable existence of coincidences as he enquired after Miss Hurst. The lady had declared herself as having a pleasant day and kept her hand firmly on Varley’s arm. Edward managed to smile over an urge to rip Varley’s arm from its socket. Varley, meanwhile, had eyed Edward with unabashed irritation and turned red to the tips of his ears. On that occasion, Miss Hurst’s maid had curtsied and given Edward a broad smile.

On this, their third outing, Varley had apparently decided to return to the park via carriage and horses, but so far, Edward had seen no sign of him.

“Where are you, Varley?” he muttered.

Maybe Mrs. Dove-Lyon had misinformed him. Maybe Varley and Miss Hurst were currently driving through another of London’s parks. She’d have a chaperone with her, of course, but still.

And then, at last, he saw them coming toward him, following the path that curved around the lake. Varley was seated opposite Miss Hurst, who sat beside her maid.

And damn it, as he watched, Miss Hurst laughed at something Varley said.

Edward reined in, waited till they drew near, and then set his horse at a similar clip beside them. “Miss Hurst,” he said, touching his hat. “How nice to see you again. And you as well, Varley. You’re looking rather dapper today.”

Miss Hurst looked startled, the maid looked delighted, and Varley looked utterly unimpressed.

“Lord Eskdale,” he said. “How odd that we keep bumping into you. Anyone would think you knew where to find us.”

“There are only so many parks in London, Mr. Varley, and this one happens to be the most popular. I have already seen several other acquaintances this afternoon, so the chances of us…how did you put it?” Edward exaggerated a frown. “Ah, yes, bumping into each other , are probably not so remote. Do you not agree, Miss Hurst?”

“I suppose such meetings are always possible,” Harriet said, the usual touch of color rising to her cheeks.

Varley lifted his chin. “Well, if you’ll excuse us, Lord Eskdale, Miss Hurst and I wish to continue enjoying our day.”

Edward gave Harriet a pointed look. “ Are you enjoying your day, Miss Hurst?”

She glanced at Varley. “Um, actually, yes, I am, my lord. It has been very pleasant so far.”

Not what Edward wanted to hear, nor did he care to see the subsequent smirk on Varley’s face.

“Till the next time, Eskdale,” Varley said, looking decidedly smug as the carriage moved off.

Edward experienced a growing sense of desperation. Why couldn’t Miss Hurst see that Varley was nothing but a devious prick? This association could not be allowed to go on. They’d had three outings already. For some, that was tantamount to an engagement announcement.

“It seems, Eskdale,” he muttered to himself, “that there is only one thing left for you to do.”

He waited for his inner voice to whisper a warning, telling him to forget the idea and leave Miss Hurst to her fate.

But it never came.

Harriet set her book aside, removed her spectacles, and rubbed her eyes. There was little point trying to read, for none of the written words could get past the jumble of thoughts in her head.

The past week had proven to be a trial. There was no other word for it.

Three times. The blasted man had shown up three times. And each time, he had done nothing but shown himself to be an arrogant prig.

Despite Joanna’s reservations, Harriet’s initial opinion of Hugh Varley had been cautiously favorable. True, his personality didn’t quite tally with the answers he’d written, but he had been nothing but polite and pleasant. She’d decided to give the man a chance, and initially, she had quite enjoyed their first outing.

That was, until Lord Eskdale had put in an appearance. Harriet’s heart had leaped at the sight of him, but his subsequent arrogance had quickly dampened her mood. His pleasant remarks had meant nothing, since they had been edged with obvious sarcasm, and his dislike of Varley, though not voiced, had been immediately apparent. Harriet’s cheeks had burned with irritation. Rees, to Harriet’s annoyance, seemed to find the entire episode amusing.

The second outing had almost mirrored the first. Again, Edward had put in an appearance, seeming to come out of nowhere to cross paths. This time, Harriet had put herself on the defensive. Mr. Varley, after all, had been nothing but gracious with her. Edward had given her a cold smile that had bruised her feelings and taken all the joy from her day.

And as for today…

Harriet couldn’t fathom why Edward kept showing up. It was as if he held a grudge against Varley and was intent on hounding the man. Rees had made the outrageous suggestion that he was doing it out of jealousy. That he did not approve of Harriet’s association with Varley. But that made no sense. Why would Edward care? He’d shown no indication of being attracted to her.

A tap came to the door, and Yates entered, looking somewhat unimpressed. “Lord Eskdale is here, Miss Hurst,” he said. “He seems rather put out and insists on speaking with you.”

Harriet’s heart missed a beat. Edward? Here? She put her spectacles on, rose to her feet, and placed a hand on her stomach as if to calm the butterflies within. “He seems put out?”

“Yes, Miss Hurst. Somewhat…agitated.”

Harriet took a couple of breaths in an attempt to gather her wits. “Is he sober, Yates?”

“I believe so, yes, miss.”

She nodded. “In that case, you may show him in.”

The butler looked dubious. “Very well.”

Moments later, footsteps echoed down the hall, their rhythm solid and swift. The owner of them marched through the door as if he owned the place.

“Miss Hurst.” Edward bowed. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Harriet curtsied. “My lord. This is unexpected.”

“For me also,” he said and handed over a paper. “Read this, if you please.”

She took it, her eyes widening in recognition. “Where did you get this?”

“From Mrs. Dove-Lyon, of course,” he replied. “I know why you went to the Lyon’s Den, and I know why you’ve been associating with Varley. What I cannot begin to know is what on earth you see in that pompous idiot.”

“Pompous?” Harriet shook her head. “I suggest you critique your own character flaws, my lord, before you begin to critique the flaws of others.”

A frown flicked across Edward’s brow. “Have you developed a fondness for the nincompoop, Miss Hurst?”

“If you are referring to Mr. Varley,” Harriet said, “I do not dislike him.”

Edward moved closer. “He is not for you, Harriet.”

The informal use of her name irked, and she responded in kind. “That is not for you to say, Edward.”

“Oliver would not approve.”

Harriet gasped. “How dare you bring Oliver into this?”

He moved closer still. “He would not approve, and you know it. You would dishonor him by taking this unsavory association any further.”

“Dishonor him?” Tears blurred her eyes. “My God. Who the hell do you think you are? You didn’t come to his funeral, Edward. You didn’t even send your condolences. What right do you have, then, to speak of dishonoring—?”

Edward’s kiss was gentle at first. Hesitant, as if awaiting permission to continue. He drew her close, his kiss becoming bolder as he teased her mouth open. Harriet dropped the paper she’d been holding and clung to him, certain that if she did not, she would fall in a boneless heap at his feet. His tongue touched hers, coercing, demanding. Harriet dared to respond, meeting his thrusts with her own. The feral groan that erupted from him sparked a delicious tingle deep in her belly.

He lifted his head to look at her, his expression unreadable, his gray eyes intense, their color darker somehow.

“It seems I have developed an affection for you, Harriet,” he said. “May I call on you tomorrow?”

Harriet, still drunk on whatever elixir flowed through her veins, could only nod.

“And with your permission,” he added, “allow me to tell Varley that you are no longer interested in his suit.”

Harriet hesitated for less than a heartbeat. The rehearsal was over. “Yes, of course,” she said. “You may tell him.”

He bent and kissed her again. “Till tomorrow, then,” he murmured.

“Till tomorrow.”

Only after he’d left did she remember the paper Edward had brought. She picked it up off the floor, flopped into her chair, and read it.

How would your friends describe you?

Self-indulgent. Arrogant. Stubborn. Inappropriate. Loyal.

How would your enemies describe you?

The same, except for the loyal part.

How would you describe yourself?

I defer to question 1.

What is your greatest pleasure?

I have yet to discover it.

What is your greatest desire?

To tell the woman I love of my greatest desire.

What do you fear the most?

That my enemies will find out what I fear the most.

If you could change one thing in your life, what would it be?

Nothing, in case doing so becomes something I might later regret.

If you could relive one day of your life, which day would you choose?

Tomorrow.

Harriet smiled and held the paper to her breast. The answers, arrogant, clever, and so beautifully original, were Edward’s entirely.