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

Chapter Eleven

O liver entered his study to find Edmund Wortham perusing the bookshelves and poking at things as if he’d been given leave to do so. Clearing his throat loudly, the other man started and then turned to face him.

“Foxmore,” Wortham said. “I presume that Madeline is well?”

“ The Countess of Foxmore is quite well, thank you,” Oliver replied.

Wortham laughed. “Countess! Ha. That’ll take some getting used to. Such a dowd. I daresay that the society ladies will eat her alive if she tries to enter their ranks.”

“Is there a reason you are here?” Oliver demanded abruptly. “It cannot be a social call as we have absolutely no reason to socialize with one another.”

Wortham blinked at that and then gave another laugh, this one nervous and a bit uncertain. “Well, we are related by marriage now. I came to ask for a bit of a favor. Coraline was certain that Madeline would harbor no ill-will given that she’s landed rather like a cat on her feet. I’ve gotten wind of an investment scheme that I’m hoping to buy into but it requires connections. I’ll need to have one or two other heavy investors to go along. And I thought, with our new kinship, you might stand for me at Brooks.”

“I don’t belong to Brooks. I’m a member of Boodles. And I’ve no intention of standing for you there. I’ll not be your entree into society… not after your truly abominable behavior,” Oliver replied. “If that’s all you’ve come here for, Mr. Wortham, you may spare us both further discomfort by taking your disappointment elsewhere.”

Wortham’s face fell, almost as if he were surprised to be met with such rancor. “Surely you cannot mean to deny the relationship altogether? That will not—I will simply have to take this matter up with Mr. Keyes. I’m certain he will be able to make Madeline see reason—”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to explain something to you, Wortham, and I need you to heed it well. I do not like you. I find you to be a coward who behaved without honor. You jilted a fine young woman in a publicly humiliating fashion and proceeded to marry her sister in her stead. You had no fidelity to her while betrothed and, no doubt, had you married her, would have been unable to muster any fidelity as a husband. You are a cad, sir. Madeline does not speak for me nor does she direct me in my dislike of you. It has formed independently based solely upon my observations of your groveling and entitlement.”

Wortham drew back as if deeply offended. “No one has ever spoken to me in such a manner!”

“I find that shockingly difficult to believe,” Oliver noted dryly. “I think it far more likely you simply never noticed. Or perhaps your mother was there to intercede on your behalf. Now, my butler will show you out. And should there be any confusion, you will not be admitted again unless expressly invited by me or my wife.”

He didn’t wait for Wortham to do as he’d instructed. For his part, the man had been dismissed and he was quite done. Instead, Oliver walked out and climbed the stairs to his chamber. He had but a few hours before afternoon tea, and he’d like to not be so sleep starved that he would say or do something that would inhibit his attempts at courtship. In all honesty, he could simply do the opposite of whatever it was he suspected Wortham would do, and that would likely be fine.

On the other side of the door that separated their chambers, Madeline was examining her wardrobe. Would it be terribly obvious if she changed into a dress that was more flattering just for tea at home with her new husband? Of course, then she’d need to change again prior to dinner and that was an awful lot of work for poor Lucy who’d have to help with her hair and then put all the clothes away.

“Drat,” Madeline muttered as she stepped away from the dressing room and retreated to her vanity table.

“You’re driving yourself quite mad,” Lucy observed as she re-entered the room, bearing a tray with a single folded slip of paper on it.

“What is that?” Madeline asked.

“It’s the menu for the remainder of this week. Mrs. Wilson would like your approval before she commits to anything else from the grocers and the butcher.”

Madeline’s stomach did a little flip. “I’m not equipped to be a countess. I know nothing of running a house like this. I can’t even conceive of it!”

“The house, so long as you have a good housekeeper, will run itself,” Lucy offered reassuringly. “And Mrs. Wilson is a very good housekeeper. Right now, she’s trying to impress you and trying to make certain she doesn’t overstep her bounds with you. Your best bet is to have a chat with her and let her know you think she’s doing a smashing job of it and that you’ve no wish to change anything.”

The advice closely mirrored Oliver’s sentiments from the evening before. Realizing that both of them were likely correct and that the best way of approaching the situation was to be proactive, Madeline nodded. “You’re quite right. If you would, ask Mrs. Wilson to meet with me in the morning room this afternoon half an hour before tea is served. And you may tell her that the menu is fine as is. She’s well-versed in Lord Foxmore’s preferences, after all.”

“Yes, m’lady. Will you be changing for tea?”

“Should I?”

Lucy considered that for a moment. “No. After all, we want him chasing you. We don’t want him to think you’re chasing him!”

“I’m already married to him!” Madeline complained. “There shouldn’t be any chasing at all on either side!”

Lucy shook her head and her lips curved in a smirk. “It’s women and men, m’lady. There’s always chasing. One or the other.”

Madeline frowned. She always felt as if everyone were speaking in some sort of code around her. It was like being a child all over again and overhearing a snippet of adult conversation without any context for understanding it. “I’m not in the mood for cryptic and enigmatic phrases that I’ve no hope of understanding. You may go.”

Lucy bit her lip, her expression a mixture of contrition and amusement. “Very well, my lady. I’ll come at six to help you dress for dinner.”

Alone again, irritated as much at her maid as her new husband and Edmund for having the audacity to intrude on her life yet again, Madeline strode to her small dressing table. Seating herself before the mirror, she plucked the pins from the simple chignon and then uncoiled the length of her dark hair. Reaching for her brush, she began working it through the strands. It was a mindless task intended to while away the time and soothe her frazzled nerves.

Each stroke of the brush managed to ease some of her distress. When at last she’d completed the one hundred strokes, an inordinate number it had seemed to her as a child when their nurse completed the task, she felt somewhat less overwhelmed. Reaching for the small box of pins, she bumped it and the lid slid off, falling to the carpet. Getting up from the small bench, Madeline stooped to retrieve it and then halted. She was nowhere near the hearth. It was on the opposite wall. And yet, she could feel a draft. Air moved, stirring her freshly brushed hair so that it fluttered over her cheek.

Curious, she pressed her hand against the wall, running it over the heavy scrollwork of the wallpaper. There was an almost imperceptible seam. It was another door—a hidden panel just like the one Oliver had shown her in the breakfast room.

Overwhelmed with curiosity, Madeline began trying all the various moldings and protrusions along the wall to find whatever latching mechanism would release the door. At last, pressing a small rosette on the baseboard, likely something that was meant to be touched to operate by maid’s foot when her arms were full of bedding or clothes, the panel slid open.

It was terribly exciting, her secret discovery. It harkened back to adventures and games of hide and seek as a child. Taking a candle from the side table, Madeline struck a match to tinder and lit the wick before easing into the narrow passage. It was small, but as she neared what she had thought was the end of it, she discovered it was actually a corner.

As she rounded that bend, she could see a pattern of light on the wall. Curious, she approached the dappled light and turned to find its source. From the shape, it was another rosette on the outer wall, but this one was placed higher, possibly around some sort of alcove or mantel, given that the corridor had then ended abruptly against a brick wall.

Leaning forward, Madeline peered through the small openings that let in that bit of light and then stepped back with a gasp. Those openings looked directly into her husband’s bedchamber—a chamber that he currently occupied. A gasp escaped her. And he stirred on the bed.

It was a terrible violation of his privacy. It was something she ought to be ashamed of herself for. The truth was, there was no conscious decision to simply look her fill. Rather, she was simply frozen to the spot, half in shock and half in fear of being caught. Either way, peering through that small opening, she could see his tall form stretched out over his bed. He’d removed his boots, his coat, waistcoat and shirt. Clad only in breeches, he sprawled on his stomach, arms flung wide. The sculpted muscles of his broad shoulders and his back tapered to a lean waist.

Almost as if he felt her gaze upon him, he turned onto his back and sat up in the bed. She could see his chest, lightly dusted with golden-brown hair that appeared quite crisp. His skin was darker than she would have imagined, as if he spent a great deal of time in the sun. Or perhaps it was just his natural complexion. She had no way of knowing. It was hard to imagine a man of such station working shirtless in the sun, but stranger things had occurred, after all. She was married to him.

When he rose from the bed, stretching as he did so, muscles rippled beneath his skin in such a way that her mouth went dry. She hadn’t known a gentleman would look like that. During her extended betrothal to Edmund, she’d wanted him to kiss her. And with Lucy’s help, she had devised a plan to make it happen. While walking in the garden, she’d feigned tripping over a root and stumbled against him. There had been no kiss. He’d set her back on her feet and admonished her to be more careful while shaking his head at her clumsiness.

But gazing at Oliver, she was fairly certain that there was no similarity between the physique before her and the one that Edmund possessed. When she’d found herself pressed briefly against Edmund, there had been a softness to him, except about his middle. Corset. He’d been wearing a corset.

Madeline had to stifle a giggle at the thought. As she brought her hand up to do so, her knuckle connected with the wooden beam nearest her and she let out a soft hiss of pain. In the room beyond, Oliver looked up, his brows furrowed as his gaze locked on the spot where she stood. Did he know the passage existed? Did he know that she might be watching him that very instant?

She didn’t dare try to rush in the darkness. Instead, she whirled away from the small rosette panel and pressed her back against the wall. A moment later, the small bit of light entering the passage was blocked out entirely. Almost as if someone were standing before it.

Madeline didn’t even dare to breathe. She stood there in the darkness, holding her breath and waiting to be branded as a woman of loose morals. Though she supposed that had technically already happened.

The seconds ticked by like hours. Finally, she heard a sigh.

“Birds in the chimney,” she heard him mutter. Then he walked away and the light filtered in once more.

Madeline didn’t hesitate. She turned and fled back to her own chamber. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but only in part because of her fear of being caught in such a damning activity. It was the vision of him, shirtless in the sunlight that filtered in through those windows, that made it difficult to breathe. Difficult to think.

Is this what it feels like to desire someone? The hot, fluttering feeling inside her was almost unbearable. But it brought with it an excitement she had never known. She felt alive, as if she’d been sleeping her whole life and had finally awakened to something thrilling and new.

But she still had no notion of why he had not consummated their marriage. Lack of will? Lack of ability?

“Oh, dear,” she murmured. “This is most definitely a complication.”