Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)
First Epilogue
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A mbrose had been summoned to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office, though he couldn’t for the life of him think why. If the Black Widow had another scheme in mind, he wanted nothing to do with it.
He knocked and was given leave to enter. As usual, Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat behind her desk, her face veiled.
“Lord Pendlewood,” she said. “Thank you for coming. Sit, please. Will you have a drink?”
He opened his mouth to refuse but saw the label on the bottle of cognac and thought better of it. “I will, thank you. May I know what this is about?”
“In due time.” She handed the glass to him. “But first, let us drink a toast to a successful outcome. The wedding was quite lovely.”
Ambrose raised a brow. “You were there?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” She raised her glass. “Everything worked out exactly as planned, and may they live happily ever after.”
“I echo the toast,” Ambrose said, raising his glass also, “although I wouldn’t say it worked out exactly as planned. Lord Eskdale was gone for quite some time.”
The woman shrugged. “It took a little longer than expected, but I am rarely wrong about these things, and I never doubted the result. Given the happy ending, my lord, you owe me something.”
Ambrose’s drink paused on the way to his mouth. “And what is that?”
“An answer.”
“To what?”
“To whatever it was you had on Varley. You said you’d tell me, provided things went as planned.”
“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” Ambrose took a sip. “In the end, I didn’t carry out my threat even though he blabbed all to Lord Eskdale. Felt sorry for the poor sot. I actually believe he fell for Miss Hurst.”
“Tell me. What did he do that was so terrible?”
Ambrose smiled. “I would remind you of the need for discretion, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“The reminder is not necessary, Lord Pendlewood, I can assure you.”
“Very well. It was two years ago, on the night of Lady Dalton’s ball in Brighton. I happened to wander into the conservatory and discovered Varley stark naked with…”