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

Chapter Five

D aniel came awake slowly. He could tell by the morning birdsong and the sunlight that it was well past his normal hour to rise. No surprise there. He was used to hard labor some days, but not every day as had been his lot this past week. His body ached and he wanted nothing more than to lie in his bed and think about the beautiful woman in the next bedchamber.

Damn it, he hadn’t known how gorgeous she was. In London, he’d seen her for a brief, confusing moment when she’d been running and he’d been admiring her art. Last night, the lantern light had hit her full, unveiled face, and the shock of her beauty had rooted him to the floor. The black silk of her hair framed a smooth face with enchanting dark eyes. Her lips had been soft, her expression wary, and yet he had stood amazed by the sweep of her cheek and curve of her chin. Her features were striking, her expression reserved. She should not have been so attractive to him, and yet lust had beat hard and hot in his body.

Only his honor had kept him from trying to touch her. Worse, he’d acted like a boor to cover up his desire. In the end, it had been an act of will to leave her at her bedroom door and return to his own.

He took a deep breath and tried to quiet his lust. He was generally a patient man—especially when trying to woo an artist to sell to him—but Miss Lina had already tested his resolve. Once he’d discovered her identity at the Lyon’s Den, he’d tried to call upon the Abacus Lady only to discover that she spoke to no one. His only recourse had been Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who had been a frustrating intermediary.

Will she sell me her paintings? No.

Will she meet me face to face? No.

Will she discuss anything about her art with anyone? No.

In the end, Mrs. Dove-Lyon suggested he hire her for her bookkeeping skills, and then coax her into painting for him. Then she’d added one piece of advice. “Make sure Li-Na feels safe, otherwise you’ll get nothing from her but a bowed head and silence.”

At the time he’d thought it was the easiest thing in the world. How hard would it be to make a woman feel safe? Hell, he’d planned to make her feel not only safe, but pampered. He created the excuse for her to come check his late-brother’s accounts. She would stay at the manor home a couple miles away and work only part of the day. He’d even bought all the necessary art supplies and filled her bedroom with them.

The rest would happen naturally as he coaxed her to trust him.

Then the problems began. He’d had to leave early for Cornwall, so he couldn’t escort her here from London. That damned idiot Bob Mellin had broken his leg, necessitating Daniel’s help to keep the family alive. And a section of the manor home caved in from a storm, obliterating not only the art supplies he’d bought, but the bedroom she was supposed to use as well. Worse, his sister-in-law, her children, and servants now filled the rooms at the local inn. Where was Miss Lina supposed to go? The only decent place left was the castle, and so here she was.

He’d thought it was an acceptable compromise until last night. Good God, the woman had been terrified. That was his only explanation for the way she’d stood with her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her. As if even lifting her head would earn her a beating. And the more he tried to make her comfortable, the worse it got.

He’d escorted her to her room. It was a castle, for God’s sake. Castles did not have hallways. The only way to her chamber was through his, and in his idiocy, he hadn’t realized how that would look to her. Especially since her one narrow window was blocked by debris and boarded up. She probably spent the night in terror of being ravaged by him.

But he didn’t know how to reassure her. And until the manor home was repaired, there was nowhere else to put her. The best he could offer her was solitude. He would instruct her in her bookkeeping duties, and then disappear. New art supplies were due in from London this morning. Mrs. Hocking would pick them up before she came to cook. In time, he hoped Miss Lina would learn to trust him.

Daniel grunted as he got out of bed, using the motion to stretch and adjust stiff muscles. His morning ablutions took extra time without benefit of his valet who was off visiting his mother in London. Daniel was counting the seconds until the man returned.

By the time he was dressed in the most minimal attire for a gentleman, his stomach was grumbling for food and his brain wanted strong, dark tea. He wondered what she wanted in the morning. Was she even awake yet?

He crossed through the workroom while making as much noise as possible. He cleared his throat, purposely kicked his wardrobe as he passed it, then bumped into his desk and muttered a curse when pain radiated up his hip. If she wasn’t awake from that racket, then she slept like the dead.

“Miss Lina? I apologize for disturbing you, but I find I’m no good without a strong cup of tea in the morning. Would you like some? I would welcome your company, but if you’re still resting from your journey, then I shall be on my way.” He paused, listening intently for some sound from the opposite side of the sturdy door. “Miss Lina?”

“I am over here,” came a soft voice from behind him.

He spun around, and damn it, he was too big a man to spin easily in such a small space. He managed to do it without knocking anything over, but he needed to be careful of the vases set on the table to the right of her doorway. He scanned the room, seeing her standing in the shadowy back corner of the room. She stood like a statue, and indeed, he’d thought her one given that he’d recently had a large piece stored there. But of course, he’d sold it a month ago and now she was there, her head dipped down and her hands folded in front of her. She wore a gown of dark gray on her slender body and her hair was pinned atop her head with such severity that he wondered if it gave her a headache. And yet she reminded him of a doll he’d seen of an elegant Chinese woman. Her hair was pinned up, her face blanched white, and there was an arch to her neck that spoke of refinement. Miss Yen wasn’t dressed as colorfully as that doll, but he saw her beauty nonetheless and had to clear his throat to keep the hunger from his voice.

“Good morning, Miss Lina. I didn’t see you back there.”

She dipped into an elegant curtsey. “I apologize, my lord. I woke early and thought to get to work.” She gestured with one finger toward the account book open beside her.

“You didn’t need to start so early. Good lord…” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t imagine looking at accounts without tea. Strong tea that makes your eyes open and stops…” He cut off his words. He was about to finish it with a phrase he’d learned from an old army campaigner. But he doubted stops your prick from running your brain was a phrase she’d appreciate. “Um, stops me from making mistakes.”

She didn’t respond to that, merely stood there with her head bowed and her hands folded.

“Have you been beaten?” he blurted.

Her head came up with a jerk, her eyes impossibly wide.

Damnation, had he said that aloud? “I do apologize. That’s not at all what I meant to ask. It’s just that you stand like a person who has been… Who is afraid of… Who hasn’t been treated well.” He waited a moment, watching her closely to judge just how badly he’d botched it. She kept her head bowed, but she did speak, her eyes trained on the thick rug.

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon treats me very well.”

“Glad to hear it.” Of course, Miss Lina hadn’t been born working in a gambling den. There was a lot that could happen to a girl on her way from China to London, and he doubted much of it was pleasant.

“Well, we’ll have none of that nonsense here.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Come along. I need tea and sustenance. Then you can tackle those accounts all you want, but just until noon. Mrs. Dove-Lyon will have my ears if I force you to work longer.”

He started moving through his bedroom. Normally, he would have offered her his arm, but last night, she had clearly disliked being that close to him. He thought being brusque and leading the way would work better. Unfortunately, it made him feel like a boor. This was not how a gentleman should act. Nevertheless, he continued. He meant to do better with her than yesterday, and if trailing behind him like a ghost made her feel at home, he would allow it.

He made it to the kitchen and set about the work. He started the stove fire and inspected the basket of eggs left sometime this morning by one of his tenants. Six eggs. A good morning’s feast. Knowing his penchant for extra things in his eggs, Mrs. Hocking had left behind some vegetables for him in the larder. He would have to chop them, but his first task was the teapot. He got that started with a singular focus, and then he began to chop vegetables while his mind hopped between his work and his guest.

Miss Lina stood in her statue pose, but her eyes were wide as she watched him work. And if he didn’t miss his guess, her mouth hung open in shock.

“Have you never seen a man cook for himself?” he asked.

“No, my lord.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m only passable at it. Even Mrs. Hocking sets a better breakfast, but she won’t come until after noon. She’s got her own family to feed, and I enjoy my quiet mornings too much to force her to come here.”

He watched as her head lifted as if she wanted to ask a question, but the words never left her mouth. In the end, she pressed her lips tight and stood watching him work.

“Do you have a question, Miss Lina?” he said as he began to chop the vegetables. “I assure you, I enjoy a friendly conversation much more than silence.”

She frowned. “You said you prefer your mornings quiet without Mrs. Hocking.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but he understood her confusion. “I prefer friendly conversation.” He didn’t elaborate. He could see she wouldn’t understand why he employed a woman who was as irritating as she was an excellent cook. Surely, he could find someone who could feed him well without voicing her opinions about every aspect of village life. But the truth was that Mrs. Hocking needed a job and he needed a cook. So he had worked out an arrangement that allowed him his peaceful mornings, and he was sure to be far away whenever the grumpy woman did her job.

“Are there other servants?”

He pulled out a bowl and began to crack eggs into it. “My valet is visiting his mother in London. He’ll be back in a few weeks, thank heaven. I don’t think my clothes can stand the local laundress much longer. The stable hands, gardener, maid, and the like come over from the manor. As I’m not here more than a few months out of the year, my brother is happy to accommodate my needs…”

His voice trailed away, grief hitting him like a dark wave crashing over his thoughts. His brother had died seven months ago. Peder no longer accommodated anything, but his sister-in-law was happy to maintain the agreement. Especially since most of the work he did now was on behalf of her twelve year old son, the new earl.

“My lord?”

Daniel blinked, his thoughts returning to the present. He looked at Miss Lina who was looking at the stove. He turned and cursed. He’d let the stove get too hot, and the water was boiling over. He cursed and rapidly pulled the teapot off the stove. Just how much time had he lost in remembering his brother? Obviously too much.

Embarrassed, he dealt with the tea, adjusted the stove, then scrambled the eggs. He worked in silence, his thoughts still tumbling around beneath the wave of grief. Eventually it would recede, and he would stop feeling like he was drowning. He would speak calmly again. In the meantime, he would cook eggs for breakfast and wait until he could drink his tea.

He glanced at Miss Lina as he worked. She remained in her statue pose, but she watched him with steady eyes. She noticed whenever he looked at her, of course. And on his fourth glance her way, she pulled her mouth into a smile.

“Would you like me to cook?” she offered.

“What? No, no. You’re not here to cook.”

“Then perhaps, when you are ready, you could tell me what I am here to do.”

To paint, but he couldn’t say that aloud. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had been very clear about that. “I need you to verify the account books. I’m trying to understand what my brother’s…er, what the steward has been doing. It makes little sense to me and the man refuses to explain himself.” He frowned. “What were you doing this morning if you weren’t looking at the accounts?”

“I was studying the records. They are very lazily done, but I do not know what exactly you want me to do.”

He poured the eggs into the pan and prayed he had the heat right. “What can you do with them?”

“I can set them in order. I can search for theft. I can explain them to you. What would you like?”

“All of that! Every bit of it. I need to understand the way of things here so that I can keep it running until Stefan inherits.” He threw the vegetable mix into the eggs and stirred vigorously. “I’ve never been one to follow crops and sheep.” Even Peder had had little interest, and it was the source of his income. “But if I’m to care for things now for Stefan, I’ve got to understand it.”

He was still waiting for the grief to recede, but it washed through every thought.

“I will begin right away, my lord.”

“What?” He looked up as she moved away. “No! You’ve got to eat, and I need that tea.” He grabbed two large wooden bowls and began scrapping the eggs off the pan into them. There were fine porcelain plates at the manor house, but something that delicate wouldn’t last here in a stone castle. Too many ways to break them. He winced at the sight of the common fare as he pushed it toward her.

“You were supposed to stay at the manor home,” he said, his cheeks heating. “But the roof caved in last week. The place isn’t fit for anyone, and so you had to come here.” He looked down at the table. He hadn’t even set the table. He never bothered when it was just him. Setting aside the pan, he put a fork and spoon beside her bowl, then found another set for himself. The teacups came next. These, at least, were of good quality though there were only three left of the full set.

“I don’t know where the cream or sugar is,” he said looking around. “I usually take it plain.” And strong. It had to be strong.

“I am content with this,” she said, not touching her food. “Indeed, it is most kind.”

It wasn’t kind at all. It was the barest of amenities, and he was doing an incredibly bad job of it. He gestured at her food. “Please, sit down. Eat before it gets cold.” He poured the tea and was pleased to see that it was dark enough for him, though God knew if she liked it that way.

“You wish me to eat here?” she asked. “With you?”

“Yes, I do.” He sat down on his stool, realizing belatedly that she had no chair. There were only stools in the castle kitchen. “It’s a lot brighter in here than in the great room. Without a fire going, it can be downright gloomy in there.”

“I can eat next to my work, if you prefer. I will not spill on the ledgers.”

He stared at her. “Is there something wrong with the kitchen? I know it’s not a dining room, but I thought it pleasant enough.” Especially with the door open to bring in the morning air.

“It is lovely,” she said, her words rushed.

“Then why aren’t you eating? Why aren’t you sitting?”

Her cheeks tinged rose as she quickly settled on her stool. She brought her bowl close and took a quick bite. He did the same with his food, feeling like a great beast across from her slender frame. He watched her closely as she ate, every bite small and perfectly proportioned. She sipped from her tea as well, looking as stiff as a mechanical doll. The motions were performed precisely, but she was the opposite of at ease.

He sighed. This wasn’t working. And damn Mrs. Dove-Lyon for telling him that it was the only way to get her to paint for him. Subterfuge was not natural for him. And though he had dined with kings, queens, and the Pope, he was a miserable lout when it came to proffering his own hospitality. Which meant there was nothing else to do but to drop back on his strength.

Forthright honesty. And money. Lots and lots of money.

“Miss Lina, do you know who I am?”

Her gaze widened. “Lord Daniel, second son of the Earl of Walden, lately ward of Stefan.”

“I’m not his legal guardian yet,” he said. The church court hadn’t signed the paperwork yet. “But he’s my nephew and an earl. I’ll not have him taken advantage of by a havey-cavey steward who won’t explain the numbers to me.”

She nodded. “Of course, you should take care of your nephew.”

“I’m the only man in his life who can look out for him.” And he felt that duty strongly, though suddenly taking the reins of an earldom was no small matter. It was, in fact, why he was able to be patient with her. Any other time, he would be on the continent right now looking for unusual art pieces to bring to England. “But do you know my other work? What I do out of love and passion?”

Her gaze darted around the room as if the kitchen would answer that question. “No, my lord.”

“I buy and sell art, Miss Lina. I travel throughout England and the Continent finding artists, nurturing them when I can, and selling their work at great profit.”

She looked down at the floor, her entire body tightening into a hard knot.

“You remember me,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but she answered it anyway.

“You were in Hyde Park a few weeks ago.”

“And you ran away. Indeed, you refused to see me when I tried to speak with you at the Lyon’s Den.”

She lifted her head. “I don’t speak with any of the men at the Den.”

That was reassuring. He’d seen the crowd there. He didn’t like the idea of her being around some of the clientele.

“I tried every way I could think of to speak to you, but you refused me at every turn. Why?”

“You want my paintings, yes?”

So she did understand. “Yes, I want to sell them and make us both a great deal of money.”

She did not speak. He didn’t think she even breathed.

“Do you understand what I’m asking, Miss Lina? I want you to paint for me. Mrs. Dove-Lyon suggested I hire you so that you could come to trust me.”

“What does that have to do with the bookkeeping?”

“Absolutely nothing. It was a ruse to get you out here. Nothing more.” He leaned forward. “I’d like you come to know me. To see that I will deal honestly with you.”

“So I would paint for you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“But—”

“No!” Then she stood and walked away.