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

Chapter Fourteen

E dmund was pacing his chamber. It was a task he’d taken to with such intensity and frequency of late that he was beginning to wear a path in it. In his bureau was a stack of duns. Bills of collection from half a dozen merchants. He could add them to the very healthy stack that had accumulated in his study. More would be forthcoming because he couldn’t keep Coraline out of the shops on Bond Street. God save them both.

The door connecting their chambers opened and she entered, draped in silk and lace. She did a turn, the peignoir swirling about her. Even in his current state of exhaustion and worry, he couldn’t help but admire her lithe form and lovely face. She was truly beautiful. Of course, she could also be the very devil when given the slightest provocation. And what counted as provocation seemed to change by the minute.

“That’s rather fetching,” he noted.

She preened. “It’s new.”

Of course, it was. “Darling, I certainly want to give you everything your heart desires, but until we get this business sorted out with your sister, I think perhaps we should curb our shopping just a bit—”

The hairbrush he hadn’t realized she was holding, most likely because his gaze had never traveled lower than her truly remarkable bosom, came hurtling at his head. It was accompanied by a shriek that seemed hardly human.

“You were supposed to take care of that today!” she snapped at him.

“I tried. I spoke with him. He is apparently quite firm in his dislike of us for how Madeline has been treated,” he answered her imploringly. “It will simply take some time for such things to be forgotten and fences to be mended. Once that occurs, I know he will get me into his club and I will be able to meet many potential investors.”

“I don’t want investors. I want what Madeline has! It isn’t fair that our grandfather left everything to her!”

“It’s unfortunate, my darling. It is. But those arrangements were made prior to your birth. How could the man have left you a bequest when you did not even exist at that time?”

“Provisions should have been made for other children who came after!” she snapped. “Madeline always gets everything she wants. She’s a countess now! A countess, Edmund! She doesn’t deserve it.”

“You have me,” he offered. “You have me and all the adoration I can give you.”

She smiled like a cat with the cream. “I have something else, too. I bribed one of the maids at Easton House. And I have a secret.” The last was uttered in a singsong voice, rather like a child.

“And what is that?”

“He’s not bedded her yet. They’re not really married until that happens, are they?” Coraline posited with a wicked grin. “And if they’re not really married, he’s not really entitled to her money. If I can’t have it, neither can they.”

Edmund swallowed convulsively. “I think it might be best to let such matters alone, my dear. I fear there may be heavy consequences if we try to interfere with their marriage.”

“Don’t be a coward,” she sneered. “You’re not afraid of him, are you?”

As a matter of fact, he was. With very good reason. The man had all but threatened to beat him to a pulp. “We’ve courted enough scandal, Coraline. We do not want to do anything that would hinder our ability to move in society… not to mention that having a brother-in-law who is an earl could open a great many doors to us that might previously have been closed. You could shine in society, my dear, as is your due.”

That seemed to mollify her somewhat. “I still want to see her humiliated. Can you imagine being so dreary and pathetic that your own husband won’t even claim you on your wedding night? And after being thrown over in church on her very wedding day—ha! Everyone will see her for what she is.”

“And what is that?” he asked.

Coraline smirked. “Inferior. In every single way. Inferior.”

It wasn’t the first time that he’d wondered if Coraline truly loved him at all or if he was just some instrument of petty revenge against her sister for some imagined slight. “Of course, she is. And everyone knows that already.”

“Yes, but she needs to know it,” Coraline insisted. “That’s what matters.”

“No doubt she will,” Edmund agreed, but it was hollow. Coraline did not seem to notice.

When the dinner gong sounded, Oliver was still seated at the desk in the library mulling over what he had overheard between Madeline and Mrs. Wilson. Was it possible that Mrs. Dove-Lyon urging him to patience and caution had been an act of her own accord and not at Madeline’s request? The one thing he could be utterly certain of was that Madeline was disturbed by his abstinence, a fact he had never considered before.

Cursing, he rose from the desk and made his way toward the dining room. There was much to consider and even more to discuss. But how did one broach such a topic when, aside from their brief sojourn in the garden, they were never alone. Maids and footmen hovered everywhere. His well-meaning and meddlesome housekeeper was also constantly watching them.

Entering the dining room, he found Madeline seated already. She looked up as he entered. Her eyes were unnaturally bright and her cheeks bloomed with color. Her lips curved in a tight smile, one that was far different from the natural and lovely expression he was becoming accustomed to from her. In fact, if he’d been a betting man, he would have taken odds that she was hiding something. Her every action and gesture seemed to be furtive in some way.

“Good evening, Madeline. You’re looking lovely tonight,” he said and proceeded to his own chair at the head of the table. She was seated directly to his left.

“Thank you, Oliver.” Her voice sounded a bit strange, the words ever so slightly slurred.

“I was informed,” he lied, “that Mrs. Wilson had a meeting with you. I trust it went well?”

“Quite well,” she agreed, never looking up at him as wine was poured into her glass by a footman. “She has agreed to continue all of her existing duties, including planning the menus.”

“I see. Do you not wish to take a more active role?” he queried.

“In—in time, perhaps,” she stammered a response, reaching for her glass and taking a long sip of the dark liquid. “When I feel more capable of managing a house such as this, with her help, I will do so.”

“Do not be afraid to ask for changes,” he offered. “This is your home. You should feel comfortable here, as well.”

She ducked her head. “I’m certain I will before too long. Thank you.”

He didn’t say more. The footman served the first course and it was impossible, with servants hovering all around, to do more than make the barest polite conversation. That is, until Madeline hiccupped after finishing her wine. She glanced up in shock, and it was then that he noticed how pink her cheeks were. It wasn’t the flush of embarrassment. It wasn’t the whispered conversation he’d overheard her having with Mrs. Wilson. It was something else together. That telltale flush was the result of intoxication.

Leaning closer to her, he whispered, “Are you foxed?”

“I didn’t mean to be. I was having tea with Mrs. Wilson and it was suggested that she might feel more comfortable if a bit of brandy was added to the tea… but I’ve never had brandy and I didn’t know that so little of it would do so very, very much,” she whispered back, wide eyed and staggered by it.

And with each course, more wine would be poured into her glass until she passed out like a drunkard on the docks. She would be mortified. Decisively, he said to the footmen, “Have this cleared away and have a tray sent to our chamber. Lady Foxmore is not feeling well and we shall retire.”

Rising from his chair, he offered her his arm to help her stand. She did so, and despite her current inebriated state, she was remarkably steady on her feet. He led her to the stairs, placing his hand over hers where it rested on his forearm as they climbed them. It was only near the top that she swayed a bit and he caught her, holding her close to his side. “No more brandy. Not unsupervised, at any rate,” he advised. “It’s a heady spirit and requires a certain degree of tolerance that you have yet to acquire.”

“I think I’d prefer just ‘no more brandy’. It’s rather sneaky, isn’t it?”

He grinned as they neared their adjoining chambers. “You would not be the first to find it so.”

“Who told you I was meeting with Mrs. Wilson?” she asked.

“One of the footmen, I think. I’d inquired as to your whereabouts prior to dinner,” he said, adding another lie to his conscience. But really, to tell her that he’d overheard any portion of their conversation would only add to her embarrassment. It was for the best.

“Oh, why were you looking for me? Is there a problem?”

“Can’t I look for you just because I want to see you?” he asked. “Does it have to be a problem that would make me seek your company?”

“What other reason could there be?” she asked.

Opening her chamber door, Oliver ushered her inside. But he didn’t let her go far. “I would offer you an explanation, but I think, under the circumstances, that a demonstration would be more effective.”

Without allowing her time to reply or consider what he might mean by such a statement, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms about her. It was the closest contact they’d had. Indeed, other than polite exchanges at dinner or in the garden, it was their only contact. The softness of her body pressed against his was something he could not truly have prepared himself for.

The rush of sensation, of heat, was unexpected. But she was his wife. His. The strange possessiveness that he suddenly felt, the overwhelming urge to lay claim was shocking. Desiring her was welcome. Craving her like a man dying of hunger and she was the last morsel of bread? That was a disaster waiting to happen. Perhaps Mrs. Dove-Lyon urging him to exercise patience and caution had not been so out of hand, after all.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her face a mask of confusion.

“Something I should have done much sooner,” he replied.

Without another word, he kissed her. He dipped his head, pressed his lips to hers, finding them plump and petal soft. It was a gentle kiss, despite what his baser instincts might be urging him to take from her. It was their first kiss, possibly her first kiss ever. Even if Wortham had kissed her, he’d likely have done just as shoddy a job of it as he had everything else. All the more reason to get it right.

In his arms, Madeline was warm and responsive. She leaned into him, tipped her head back and returned his kiss—tentatively, but more for lack of experience than enthusiasm. When a soft sigh escaped her, her lips parted slightly beneath his. It was an opportunity he would not deny himself. Deepening the kiss, he swept his tongue between her parted lips, tasting her fully. Gentle as it was, it was not a kiss that could be described as innocent. It was carnal, heated, seductive. Within it was the promise of more pleasures yet to be had.

Still, he was cautious. He didn’t allow himself to succumb to his own desires. He held back, keeping his need in check, despite the cost. And as the kiss continued, growing into a living and breathing thing between them, he carefully extricated himself from it. Easing back, pressing soft kisses to her cheek, her chin, the curve of her jaw, until at last her eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him in hazy confusion.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Because I wanted to,” he replied. “Because I have wanted to since I first saw you at the Lyon’s Den.”

“You did? Really?”

It wasn’t fishing for compliments. It wasn’t false modesty so that he would stroke her vanity. She had no idea of how appealing she truly was. Likely because all of the people closest to her in her life had never allowed her to see it and perhaps had never permitted themselves to see it either. Everything wonderful about her had been hidden away and left unacknowledged in favor of her younger sibling’s demands and tantrums. And despite what she might have been led to believe, she was a beautiful woman in her own right, and not simply a faded bloom in her sister’s shadow.

“I did… and when you are not in your cups, I mean to do so again. And more, Madeline. So very much more.”