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

Chapter Seventeen

London

Two months later

J une had arrived gracefully, bringing blue skies and mild temperatures. The horse chestnut trees were in full bloom, while the lake played host to swans and cygnets and the latest batches of mallard ducklings. Arm in arm with Joanna, Harriet strolled through the park, enjoying the mild spring breeze.

For the past while, she’d been listening with half an ear as Joanna chatted on about the dinner party she was hosting that evening.

“I do wish you would come, Harri,” she said finally. “It’s an informal evening, and it’s not as if you wouldn’t know anyone. Pendlewood will be there with his sister, and the Kinleys are coming as well. I can pair you with Lord Ross. He’s an old charmer but completely harmless.”

“Thank you, but no,” Harriet replied. “And do not dare accuse me of not going anywhere. I attended Lady Vaughan’s soiree last Saturday and came to your dinner party two weeks before that. This week I feel quite justified in staying home.”

“As you wish.” Joanna gave her a gentle nudge. “But if you should change your mind, dearest…”

Harriet smiled, her nose twitching as a floral perfume teased it. Given the weather and the fact that it was Sunday, the park was especially crowded. For some, it served as an unapologetic grandstand of wealth and title. For others, it was simply a gathering of friends or a romantic stroll. For Harriet, it was merely an enjoyable exercise, one that lifted her spirits.

The past few months had been interminably long.

She’d had no word from Edward. But then, neither had Lord Pendlewood, who had assured Harriet that it was just a matter of time. Then, to her great surprise, Mrs. Dove-Lyon had called upon her on a bleak evening in April. Harriet, still daring to hope that Edward would resume their association, had refused the lady’s offer to seek out another potential match. “Good,” had been the Black Widow’s instant reply, “for I am certain you’ve already met your match and Lord Eskdale has met his. He’ll be back to claim your hand. I guarantee it.”

Harriet wanted to believe it, but doubt was a persistent companion. For surely if Edward cared about her at all, he’d have contacted her by now.

She refused to let her thoughts linger on that, however. The day was too splendid to dwell on anything negative. She heard a woman’s laughter, and her gaze drifted to a group of people standing beneath one of the trees: three couples, chatting among themselves, their handsome conveyances parked nearby. As Harriet watched, one of the men walked over to a carriage and removed something from it. Then he returned to the group and handed whatever it was to one of the women. A parasol, Harriet realized, as the lady snapped it open.

But her gaze shifted back to the man, for there was something terribly familiar about him. His posture, the way he moved, the dark hair…

No!

A cold hand wrapped around her heart. She was imagining things. Dear God, she had to be. She halted as the world around her seemed to tilt.

“Harri?” Joanna frowned at her. “Goodness, what’s wrong? You’re whiter than a sheet.”

Struck dumb with disbelief, Harriet merely shook her head.

“Speak to me.” Joanna peered at her. “What on earth is the matter? Are you ill?”

“Edward,” she mumbled, holding tight to Joanna’s arm. “He’s over there. Beneath the tree.”

Joanna gasped and turned to look. “Where? Oh! Are you sure it’s him?”

“Positive.” Harriet glanced about. She had never fainted before, but at that moment, her head swimming with confusion, she feared she just might do so. “I need to sit down, Jo.”

“Come. There’s a spot over here.” Joanna dragged her to an empty bench nearby, and Harriet sank onto it gratefully.

“Thank you.” When did he get back? Why has he not contacted me?

“Goodness, you gave me a fright,” Joanna said, taking Harriet’s hand between hers. “Your skin is so cold. Your color is a bit better though.”

“I’ll be all right.” Her teeth chattered. “It just gave me a shock seeing him here, that’s all. I can’t believe he’s back in London and hasn’t bothered to…” She regarded the group once more. “Oh, no, he’s seen me. He’s coming over.”

“Perfect.” Joanna stood and shook out her skirts. “Which part of his anatomy shall I bash first? His nose? Or his balls?”

“Neither,” Harriet said, watching as he approached. “At least, not unless I give you the signal.”

Joanna looked at her. “What’s the signal?”

Harriet smiled over her confusion as she rose, gingerly, to her feet. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

“Maybe he just got back to the city,” Joanna said. “Goodness, look at him. He’s terribly dashing, I must admit. The type of man who makes a bored wife like me yearn for a lover.”

Harriet knew Joanna’s humor was an attempt to make light of a distressing situation. “It looks as though he’s been back a while, Jo,” she said. “Who is the woman with the parasol? Do you know her?”

“I believe it’s Lady Annabelle Manning,” Joanna said, keeping her voice low. “She’s the Duke of Easterly’s daughter. To be honest, I’m surprised she’s allowing herself to be seen with Mayfair’s Fallen Angel. I’m not sure who the others are, but it seems Pendlewood’s attempts to polish Eskdale’s tarnished reputation are working.”

A duke’s daughter? Harriet swallowed against a sudden tightness in her throat. Well, that explains why he hasn’t called.

Edward drew near. “Lady Shipley. Miss Hurst,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you both.” This last he said while staring directly at Harriet, who managed, with no little effort, to find a smile and bob a curtsy.

“Lord Eskdale,” Joanna replied, curtsying also. “Fancy seeing you here! When did you return to London?”

“A little over a week ago,” he said, still looking at Harriet. “I would have called on you, but I’ve been rather busy.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you too, my lord.” Harriet breathed in a hint of citrus and spice and willed her frantic heart to slow down. “You look well.”

Indeed, he looked exceedingly well. More handsome than ever, in fact. He appeared to have lost a little weight, but it suited him. His hair wasn’t quite as neatly groomed as it had used to be, but the few errant curls flattered the outline of his face. And the blue of his tailored coat enhanced the gray of his eyes, which still possessed their devilish gleam.

“As do you, Miss Hurst,” he replied, his gaze wandering over her. “I saw you just now and wished to acknowledge your presence. I’ve made plans for this afternoon, however, so I regret I cannot linger for more than a few moments.”

Harriet forced another smile. “I understand, my lord.”

At that moment, with what felt like a weight pressing on her chest, she actually understood only one thing. Edward had been in London more than a week and made no attempt to contact her. If he’d ever harbored a tendre for her, it had gone.

“Then allow me to bid you good day, ladies,” he said, and bowed again, prompting another curtsy from both women, after which he turned on his heel and strode away.

Harriet sank onto the bench again. “Well,” she said, watching Edward make his way back. “I suppose that’s that.”

“Men.” Heaving a sigh, Joanna settled beside her and took hold of her hand once more. “Who can understand them? I’m sure he’ll call on you once he’s finished doing whatever—”

“Oh, I doubt that very much.” Harriet shook her head and smoothed an imaginary crease from her skirts. “I cannot begin to compete with the likes of Lady Annabelle Manning. Look at her, Jo. She is everything I am not.”

“Oh, stop it, Harri!” Joanna blew out an unladylike breath. “Having met the girl, I suspect Eskdale has yet to have an intelligent conversation with her. You are everything Lady Annabelle is not, and I refuse to believe Eskdale is serious about her. He cares for you still, judging by the way he looked at you just now.”

“He only cares because I’m Oliver’s little sister,” Harriet replied, rising to her feet again. “It has all been an attempt to assuage his guilt because he never came to Oliver’s funeral or even sent his condolences. Stepping in and playing the part of a big brother when Varley showed interest in me was his way of making amends. And that’s all it was, despite what Lord Pendlewood said. My mistake was believing it to be something more.”

Your kiss implied it was something more, Edward. What was it, then? Merely your arrogance at play? A jealous ploy to outmaneuver Varley? Curse my naivety!

Joanna stood and looped her arm through Harriet’s. “I’m not sure I agree with your summation, dearest. I suspect he’ll call on you once he’s finished whatever it is he’s doing.”

“I’m certain he won’t,” Harriet said. “I’ve been deluding myself. Think about it, Jo. Edward left me after he’d scared Varley away. He left me on the steps of Goshawk and at the village inn. Then he left me wondering how he was faring these past months. And he left me again just now and returned to Lady Annabelle. His intentions toward me, or lack of them, couldn’t be clearer if he spoke the words.”

“I’m still not sure I agree.” Joanna tugged her along the path. “Come on. Do not let him see you moping. Keep walking and do not look back.”

There had been three previous occasions in Harriet’s life when she’d had to pick up the pieces and carry on. The first had been the loss of her father, followed months later by the loss of her mother. Worst of all, though, had been the devastating death of her brother.

This fourth occasion could not really be compared to the other three. No one had actually died, thankfully. But for Harriet, the sense of loss was still extreme. The shock of meeting Edward in the park earlier that day remained, lodged like an icy stone in her stomach. It appeared as if he’d gone through some kind of reformation while he’d been away. That and Ambrose’s efforts to—how had Joanna put it?—polish the man’s tarnished reputation—appeared to have opened doors for him. That being so, he may well have decided to leave other, less enticing doors closed.

Harriet’s included.

Fatigued by her spiraling thoughts, she closed her eyes. All she’d wanted to do upon arriving home that afternoon was curl up in bed and wallow in her misery. Instead, since the sun had not quite set, she’d installed herself in a chair by the hearth with a pot of strong tea and some buttered toast.

Her wallowing could wait.

She sat up in her chair, took a sip of tea that had long since gone cold, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Maybe she would retire for the night, after all. Perhaps read for a while by candlelight. Or just bury her head in her pillow and weep.

At that moment, a tap came to the door, and Yates entered, balancing a small silver salver on his hand. “You have a caller, Miss Hurst,” he said, bending so she could retrieve the card placed upon it. “The card was delivered personally.”

Harriet regarded the name on the card for an extended moment, aware of her heart thrumming at the base of her throat. Her question was quite unnecessary, but she voiced it anyway. “Lord Eskdale is here?”

“Yes, miss,” Yates replied. “He apologizes for the hour but insists it is vital he speaks with you.”

Harriet set her cup down with a clatter. The temptation to refuse and send Edward on his way teased her mind, a truly pathetic impulse that never stood any chance of success. “Very well,” she said, rising onto a pair of wobbly legs and smoothing the creases from her skirts, “show him in.”

Yates nodded and went off, no sooner out of the door than Harriet set about pinching color into her cheeks and toying with her hair. Foolish, she told herself, struggling with a combination of abject fear and profound curiosity. The wretched man certainly hadn’t dropped by to admire her looks. Maybe he’d come to apologize for his abysmal treatment of her. She merited that, at least. But could that be considered “vital”?

Perhaps he merely wanted to explain himself. To tell her that any romantic impression he’d given her had been misunderstood. But that could not really be deemed vital either. Well, she’d find out what he was up to soon enough.

The ticking of the mantel clock matched perfectly with the sound of approaching footsteps. Determined to show no sign of her inner turmoil, Harriet lifted her chin and endeavored to remain unruffled.

Her valiant undertaking lasted about two seconds after Edward stepped through the door, at which point her wits scattered like marbles. The room became his immediately, filling up with the sheer magnetism of his presence. He looked much as he had that afternoon, right down to the tailored blue coat, though he’d perhaps acquired a touch of the sun on his face.

He’d left the door wide open, she noticed. As if she cared any longer about her reputation. Tomorrow, she decided, she’d begin her search for a fluffy little dog. The mere thought shored up her weary mind.

“Miss Hurst.” His expression sober, Edward bowed. “Thank you for seeing me. Please forgive the hour, but what I have to say cannot wait.”

“My lord.” Harriet bobbed a quick curtsy. “I’m curious to know what is so urgent.”

A slight frown marred the smoothness of his brow. “First of all, allow me to apologize. I fear I have behaved badly toward you.”

Harriet blinked. “Think nothing of it, my lord. It is of no consequence.”

“The look on your face tells me otherwise, Miss Hurst.” He moved closer. “You are vexed with me and rightly so.”

Harriet resisted an urge to step back. “You are mistaken, my lord. I am not vexed at all. Disappointed, perhaps, that you have apparently been in London for over a week and have not…have not made any effort to contact me.”

“Yes, that is quite unforgivable. But I have been very busy.”

“I believe you mentioned that this afternoon.”

He cleared his throat. “You see, Miss Hurst, I’m to be married.”

If the man had tossed a bucket of cold water over her, she’d have been less shocked. It took her a moment to respond. “Married?”

“Yes.” He took another step toward her. “And sooner rather than later, so I have had much to occupy me. A license, the location, the guest list. You know, all that kind of nonsense.”

“Forgive me, I cannot quite fathom…” Harriet rubbed her temple. “Am I to understand you came here to tell me you’re to be married?”

“Yes. I thought you had a right to know.”

She stared at him. “And you thought I needed to know this tonight? At this hour?”

“Correct. Well, actually, I suppose it could have waited till tomorrow, but I’ve been eager to announce it, since it concerns you. Excuse me, Miss Hurst, I just need to…” He reached out as if to touch her, but she drew back with a soft cry.

“What are you talking about”

“Um, you have a…” Frowning, he pointed at a spot behind her ear. “You have a loose curl. I was merely going to tuck it back into place for you.”

“That is not what I meant, Lord Eskdale.” She felt for the supposed errant strand of hair. “I do not see how news of your marriage concerns me. Are you foxed, sir?”

“Certainly not, Miss Hurst. And I much prefer when you call me Edward. Um, no, you didn’t quite…that is, your hair is still…” He reached out again. “Please allow me.”

She gasped and slapped at his hand. “Stop it!”

His brows lifted. “You didn’t object to my touching you the last time I was here.”

“That was different,” she cried. “You weren’t betrothed then.”

“I’m not betrothed now.”

“You just told me you’re to be married!”

“Which is absolutely true.”

“And which is no concern of mine! Is this all just a silly game to you, Edward?”

His expression softened. “No, Harriet, it’s not a game.”

“Then why are you here?” She gave an exasperated huff. “Are you truly so oblivious to my feelings? Do you think it didn’t upset me to see you with that woman in the park today? It broke my heart, damn you! I thought you and I—”

His mouth descending on hers put paid to anything else she might have said. He drew her close, one hand moving up to cradle her skull as his lips caressed hers.

At first, Harriet leaned into him, if only to reassure herself that she still held a place somewhere in his heart, that he still found her desirable. Her stifled cry of pleasure was answered by a ragged groan, his kiss more urgent as he pulled her hard against him. She felt his desire pressing against her belly, and reality returned, cold and bitter.

“No!” Harriet turned her head and pushed at his chest. “Stop this, please. I will not be your lover or your mistress. You know I will not.”

His chest rose and fell as he gazed down at her. “In that case,” he said, “will you be my wife?”

Harriet’s heart skipped a full beat. “That is not funny in the least, Edward.”

“Good, because I’m not joking, Harriet.”

“But…” Still not daring to believe, she shook her head. “You’re marrying Lady Annabelle Manning.”

“The hell I am,” he said. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Whatever gave me…?” Harriet gasped. “I saw you with her in the park today, and it looked as though you were…well, together.”

Frowning, Edward fiddled with Harriet’s hair. “There,” he said. “The errant strand is tamed. And no, I wasn’t with the irritating Lady Annabelle at all. I was actually with Lord Kirkstone, her fop of a brother. Did you happen to notice the carriage with matching grays parked nearby?”

Harriet pondered. “I remember seeing the carriages but didn’t pay much attention to the horses.”

“Understandable, I suppose.” Edward grinned. “You probably couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

Harriet scowled at him. “You were saying?”

He shrugged. “Kirkstone was selling the grays, but I wanted to see how they handled before making a decision, so we took them out. A few of Kirkstone’s friends hitched up and came along too. We’d stopped in the park to give the beasts a bit of a rest, that’s all. As of this afternoon, the grays belong to me. In fact, they’ll be pulling our wedding carriage.”

“ Wedding carriage?” Harriet frowned. “Forgive me, my lord, but I don’t recall accepting your proposal of marriage.”

The familiar gleam came to his eyes. “But you will.”

“Actually, no, I’m afraid I will not,” she replied with complete sincerity. “Indeed, it’s arrogant of you to assume otherwise while there are things still to be said.”

Edward’s expression fell, and he looked away for a moment. “You’re right, of course,” he said, turning back to her. “I owe you an explanation.”

She nodded. “Yes, you do.”

He raised her hand to his lips. “It might take some time, my love.”

Harriet’s heart leaped at the unexpected term of endearment. “We have all night, my lord,” she said. “Would you mind closing the door, please?”

Edward had had an inkling that Harriet wouldn’t fall at his feet upon his return to London. He couldn’t blame her either. As far as she knew, his retreat to Goshawk had been due entirely to his discovery of Ambrose’s well-meant attempt at matchmaking. Whereas the scheme had rattled Edward’s foolish pride, it hadn’t offended him so much that he’d have thought to take such drastic measures.

That, before all else, needed to be made clear. He settled beside Harriet on the sofa and took her hand in his.

“My reason for leaving London was not what you thought,” he said, stroking his thumb across her knuckles. “When Varley told me about the collaboration between the Black Widow and Pendlewood, it dented my pride a little, but it would never have been enough to send me scurrying back to Cheshire. The reason I left without a word was because I learned something else that day. Something far more troubling.” Edward paused, confronted by an internal barrier that was as much a part of him as his right hand. Recent wounds, though healing, were still sensitive to the touch. He risked opening them, exposing weakness. Such weakness was acceptable in a woman. Expected, even.

But not in a man.

He regarded the woman who, despite her very recent refusal, was absolutely guaranteed to be his wife. She sat quietly at his side, waiting for him to continue at his own pace. In his own time.

I love you.

I have faith in you.

And I believe you are bound to do great things.

Edward passed through the barrier. He would never be weak in her eyes.

“Varley told me my marriage to Julia had also been the result of a scheme,” he said. “A malicious scheme. Apparently she was already with child when I…when we were first together. Our rendezvous on that night was entirely orchestrated, evidently, and I was too stupid and too damn drunk to realize what was going on.”

Understanding showed on Harriet’s face. “So the child was not yours.”

“No.” Edward swallowed. “She was not.”

Harriet inhaled softly. “But why would Julia marry you and not the child’s father? Was he already married?”

“I don’t think so. He was a soldier, it seems. A commoner. That’s all I know.”

Harriet shook her head. “That poor girl.”

Edward smiled. “Not one woman in a thousand would have said that.”

“Oh, Edward! I didn’t mean to make light of your predicament. It’s just—”

“No, do not explain yourself. I love the way you think. And you’re correct. Julia must have suffered immeasurably. I just didn’t see it till recently. Or more accurately, I refused to see it, selfish prick that I am. It took me weeks to get past my own damn misery and self-pity. Oddly, what hurt the most was finding out the child wasn’t mine. When she was stillborn, it came as a shock to realize that I’d wanted her, that I’d actually looked forward to being a father. I genuinely mourned the loss. Then to learn that she wasn’t even mine to begin with…” He bit down. “God help me, it has not been easy to accept.”

Harriet’s eyes had softened while he’d spoken. “You should not have suffered alone,” she said. “You should have let me in the day I came to Goshawk.”

“Absolutely not!” He assumed an affronted expression. “I have my pride, damn it. I was a wreck.”

“It would not have mattered to me, my lord.”

“But it mattered to me. At the time, anyway. If it makes you feel better, you should know that I didn’t sleep a wink that night. All I could think about was you being so close.”

“I didn’t sleep either,” she said. “I almost came back to Goshawk the next morning to try again. The house is truly magnificent, by the way.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He trailed his fingertips over her cheek. “And actually, you did get in that day.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded and well-worn piece of paper. “This,” he said, “was both my undoing and my awakening.”

Harriet drew a swift breath. “Is that…?”

“Your letter, yes.” He opened it. “It has been read many times. I treasure it. I will always treasure it.”

Harriet’s hands flew to her face. “Oh, Edward.”

He slid from the sofa, dropped onto one knee, and took her hand in his. “Marry me, Harriet. I swear I’ll justify your faith in me. I love you. I know my soul will be safe with you.”

She laughed through a visible veil of tears. “That’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me. Yes, of course I’ll marry you. In fact, I cannot wait to marry you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he replied, “because the church is booked for next Saturday morning at ten o’clock.”