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

Chapter Two

S ince the Black Widow of Whitehall did not like to go out in the sunshine, Lucas and Lady Beatrix said their farewells to her at the entrance to the Lyon’s Den. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” Beatrix said, giving the woman a warm embrace, “I thank you again for all your efforts. You have been ever so kind to me.”

“Oh, my dear, it has been my pleasure.”

Lucas listened patiently while Beatrix fawned over Bessie as though she were a dear grandmother and had not earned the reputation of being as lethal as a black widow spider.

Well, perhaps he was the one making too much of it. She had been welcoming to him and done a good service for his brothers.

He dutifully bussed Bessie’s cheek, lied about how much he had enjoyed their tea, and then assisted Beatrix into his elegant carriage. He did not own it but had merely leased it from one of the finer travel companies who specialized in this sort of thing for London’s elite.

It was large and well padded, very well sprung since he intended to ride in comfort back to Edinburgh, his feet propped on the opposite bench while reviewing the pile of documents he had brought along with him.

However, he was not some pampered lord who needed to be coddled.

Were it not for the work he had to do along the way, he would have hopped on a mail coach or purchased a sturdy mount to ride home.

But there was still that stack of documents to be read through, and he had meant to use the conveyance as a makeshift office. The work in question pertained to one of the most important loans his bank had ever financed. He had spent the past few weeks meeting with Lord Liverpool, members of his cabinet, and the ministers in charge of military affairs. Lord MacGlory was ready to commit the bank’s assets to the construction of a dozen Royal Navy warships, all the work to be done in Scotland, as the best ships were always built there.

Once the contracts were signed and the project underway, Lucas would be the one to personally supervise the work, his role being to protect Lord MacGlory’s investment and those of the other backers, his brother, the Duke of Mar, included among them. The War Office would send up a man to oversee construction, as well, but that would come later, once the project was underway.

Until that time, it was his arse on the line if the undertaking faltered.

For this reason, he needed quiet and concentration while poring over these documents before Lord MacGlory signed them. But not only did he have the lovely Beatrix to contend with now, he also had to put up with her aunt, the imposing Lady Rochester, and her yipping lapdog, who was no bigger than a hedgehog and went by the ridiculous name of Poseidon.

Worse, Lady Rochester had shortened the pug’s name to Posy and wrapped the poor thing in pink silk hair bows.

He hadn’t closely checked the dog, but he was fairly certain Posy was male.

The spoiled creature tried to bite him as he climbed in.

“No, Posy!” Beatrix cried, taking hold of the wee beastie before it sank its teeth into his hand. “Lord Lyon is a friend. We must be nice to him.”

The dog responded with a low growl.

Lady Rochester took the squash-faced pug in her arms and began to coo endearments. Lucas sank back against the squabs and silently groaned. Between the London heat, Lady Rochester’s overpowering perfume, and her dog, who was still growling at him, this was going to be ever so much fun.

There was not enough whisky in Scotland to numb him from the agony of this trip.

The only bright spot was the lovely Beatrix.

He would enjoy the sight of her until they reached Edinburgh, and Lord MacGlory roasted his chestnuts for being rude to her.

Why had Lord MacGlory never mentioned he had a daughter? Especially one as lovely as Beatrix. And why did he not have her raised in Scotland? Her accent was pure-bred English, not a trace of Highlands brogue in her.

As his carriage rolled away from the Lyon’s Den and wound its way through the busy streets of London, he attempted to engage in polite conversation with the ladies, tossing in a comment here and there about Lord MacGlory to discern whether they really knew him or were having him on. He would not put it past Bessie to have concocted the lie about them being related to his employer.

But it seemed they knew the man quite well.

Perhaps that part was not a lie, but neither did he believe they were telling him the full story regarding their reason for visiting Beatrix’s father.

“My mother was Lady Rochester’s sister,” Beatrix explained as he drew her out in conversation. She moved to sit beside him since her aunt seemed to require all the space on the opposite bench for herself and her pug. The little fellow now had his delicate rump settled on a pink silk pillow that matched the pink of his bows.

Lucas did not mind having the lass close. Nor did he mind that Lady Rochester had fallen asleep within an hour of starting their journey and was now lightly snoring. It would give him time for a quiet chat with Beatrix. “She died when I was quite young. My father remarried soon after.”

“I am sorry for yer loss, Lady Beatrix.” Lucas meant it sincerely, but her remark had also confused him. “Ye bear a striking resemblance to the current Lady MacGlory. Yet, obviously, she canno’ be yer mother.”

Beatrix nodded. “She is a cousin of my mother’s and Lady Rochester. From what I have been told, my parents married for love. Oh, I am sure there were financial benefits, as well. But my father was quite bereft when she died. Her cousin Lottie, who had joined the family in grieving, was similar to her in looks. Father married her after the proper mourning period had passed.”

She glanced at her aunt, who was still soundly sleeping. Poseidon was also asleep, laying on his back with his little legs up while comfortably tucked on his pillow beside Lady Rochester. But in that position, his little pizzle was exposed.

Did the woman not realize the dangling appendage between his legs marked Posy as male?

He was not going to mention it.

Nor would he comment on the bows.

No wonder the beastie was so ill-tempered.

Beatrix leaned closer as she spoke to him. He caught the scent of roses, light and fragrant, on her warm skin. “I do not wish to suggest theirs is not a love match either. The present Lady MacGlory is a good woman and has made him very happy.”

Lucas nodded. “Lady Beatrix—”

“Do please call me Beatrix. We have a long ride ahead of us, and I hate formality. May I call you Lucas?”

“Aye, lass. I have no quarrel with it.”

She grinned. “But you Scots do enjoy quarreling, especially with the English.”

He arched an eyebrow and smiled back. “It is in our nature. We canno’ help it. We’re as prickly as the thistles that sweep across our mountainsides. But ye have Scots blood, too…if ye’re Lord MacGlory’s daughter.”

“You still doubt me?”

He shrugged. “I dinna know what to make of ye. Who raised ye, lass? It was no’ yer father or Lady MacGlory.”

She glanced at her aunt, who had yet to stir. “Lady Rochester took over my care. My father was not fit to do so at the time, grieving too deeply for the loss of my mother. I reminded him so much of her, and he could not bear it.”

“And yet, he married her cousin because of their resemblance? Forgive me, I know it is unpardonably rude of me to comment on it. But how was this fair to ye? Did he not understand how badly ye must have been grieving, too? How old were ye when ye lost her?”

“I was four years old.” She cast him a wistful smile. “Lady Rochester had me in her tender care while he recovered from his grief. Afterward, it was decided to keep me in London with her and Lord Rochester since they had already made arrangements for my proper schooling.”

“Were ye not young for schooling?”

“I was not sent away but had tutors in addition to a governess. Later, when I was of suitable age, I was sent to a proper academy for young ladies and trained in the fine art of catching a husband and running a large household.”

He winced. “Ye do not appear to be an empty-headed fribble. Did they teach ye anything more productive?”

“Such as mathematics? Philosophy? Science? Economics and politics? No, they purposely veered away from those topics, although we were taught mathematics to the extent it was related to running a household.” She laughed at the look of horror on his face. “I am also quite well-read. Lucas, your eyes will pop out of your head if you do not stop gawking at me like that. I may not be as educated as you, but I was always well cared for and loved. I was not denied the pleasure of reading books. That is the point I was trying to make.”

He continued to study her quietly as a mix of feelings surged through him. He understood this was how women were taught…or kept from learning anything other than how to please a husband. He supposed most men would not appreciate a wife who would challenge his opinions or show herself to be more clever than he was.

However, he and his brothers had been raised differently. They were taught to respect a woman’s opinion and seek it out. Beatrix had mentioned she was well-read. He could see a depth of intelligence in her eyes and in her manner. Her father was a brilliant man, and it was obvious she had inherited his quick brain.

But it must have been difficult for a clever girl like Beatrix to suddenly lose her mother and be sent away from her father. She must have endured a lonely existence, no matter how well she had been treated by Lady Rochester. Her father had not been there for her, and that had to leave a gaping hole in her heart, which time could not diminish. “I’m sorry, Beatrix.”

As for him, he’d always had his brothers around while growing up and parents who loved him. He often bridled at the close watch his parents kept over him, but at least they were always there for him and his brothers, always quick to rein them in whenever they misbehaved. As strapping lads just discovering women, whisky, and how much fun one could have with both, they were routinely reined in.

“Do not be sorry for me, Lucas. I have plenty of friends, a good and loving family around me, and all the comforts. Lady Rochester and her husband treated me as their own daughter.”

“And yer da?”

She pursed her lips. “You have said it yourself, he is one of Scotland’s most important men. He was often too busy to visit me. But Lady MacGlory made it a point to spend time with me whenever she came down to London. Not just an afternoon visit, either. She truly paid attention to me and would always insist that my father do the same whenever he was in London. Unfortunately, he did not make the trip very often.”

“I know. I’ve been working for yer father enough years to know that he rarely leaves his office, much less Scotland.” If he could have wrapped his arms around Beatrix, he would have. “And what about now? This trip. Did he send for ye, or is this yer idea to drop in on him unannounced?”

“I doubt you will believe me when I say he sent for me. As to the reason for his sudden interest?” She shrugged. “My aunt wrote to him about sponsoring my London debut. I did not see the letter he wrote to her in response. All I was told was that I was to meet Mrs. Dove-Lyon. So I did last week. Then I was told to pack my bags because we were to leave today for Edinburgh under your escort.”

She cast him a heartwarming smile. “The bulk of my trunks were packed and immediately shipped up last week. What is weighing down your carriage is the bare minimum of travel clothes and other necessaries to get me there.”

Although he returned her smile, for who could resist those glorious dimples and bright eyes, his thoughts were not on her luggage. “Beatrix, is it not obvious? I am unmarried. Ye are unmarried. We shall be spending the next ten days, likely longer, in close quarters. Can ye not see they are matchmaking?”

He wasn’t pleased about it, but he could not blame the sweet lass. She was as much a victim as he was.

“No, Lucas. It cannot be so.”

“Why no’?”

“Because I was also told I am to be introduced to the Marquess of Greenock.”

If Lucas could have shot out of his seat, he would have. “Greenock? That flaming horse’s arse? Yer father canno’ be serious! The man is the stupidest…no, lass. There has to be some mistake. Yer father would never do such a thing to ye. Match ye with that cod—”

“Lord Lyon! Your language!” Lady Rochester had suddenly stirred awake, almost knocking over her precious Posy as she jerked upright. She was now shooting daggers at him with her furious gaze.

Posy was growling at him again.

“My niece is delicately raised.” She reached over and patted Beatrix’s hand. “My dear, are you all right?”

“Yes, Aunt Harriet. Quite fine. But I do believe Lord Lyon knows the marquess and does not think too highly of him. Are you sure this is the man my father meant for me to meet?”

Her aunt nodded. “Quite certain. He is a favorite of Lady Pierce-Mallow. I have met him myself, and he is charming.”

“For a horse’s arse,” Lucas muttered, earning him another quelling look from Lady Rochester.

He said nothing more, but his blood was boiling, and it had nothing to do with the temperature outside. They had made it past the crush of London and were now rolling at a fast clip amid the gentler countryside, passing lush, green meadows, rolling hills, and quaint farms on the road to Luton.

He hoped they would make it beyond Luton by nightfall, for he knew of an elegant coaching inn between there and Bedford where they could stop for the night.

Of course, they would also have to stop sooner to change horses, see to their needs, and perhaps manage a quick bite before getting on the road again. There were also Posy’s needs to be considered.

His driver could attend to whatever that beastie needed to do.

Lucas would pay him handsomely for his troubles.

As for him, he wanted nothing to do with that dog. Besides still trying to bite him, Posy was also now awake and cheching up whatever unsavory bits Lady Rochester had been feeding him earlier in the day.

Beatrix took the poor creature onto her lap, placing her handkerchief under his mouth to protect her clothes.

Was his position at the bank really worth all this?

He had served in the Scots Greys for a time during the war and been in the heat of battle a time or two. He had endured, for it was fight or survive.

But this?

How angry would Lord MacGlory be if he tossed Lady Rochester and her pug out of his carriage?

As for Beatrix…he was not letting go of her.

If he was going to toss her anywhere, it would be into his bed.

No.

That was an utterly stupid idea.

Nor would it earn him any favors with Lord MacGlory. The man would not only roast his chestnuts but would have him drawn and quartered before roasting all of him like a pig on a spit over a roaring fire.

Still, how could he think to match this lovely lass with Greenock?

Lucas would marry her himself before he ever allowed that wretched lord to get his lecherous hands on her.

Well, his thoughts were not too proper either. Lord MacGlory would not be happy with him, Lucas supposed.

But matching her with the Marquess of Greenock?

Seriously?

Posy emitted another chech and tossed up—“Bollocks! Does he do this all the time? Aw, that smells foul.”

“Oh, dear. His stomach is rumbling.” Beatrix looked up at him in alarm. “We had better stop the carriage at once.”

Lucas did not need a second request. He banged on the roof. “Holmes, pull up. Now!”

He flung the door open as soon as his driver had halted the carriage and hopped down. “Let me help ye, lass.”

He held out his arms to assist Beatrix, who was carrying the blasted pug. Since her arms were laden, he scooped her up by the waist and set her on the ground, holding onto her to be certain she had regained her balance.

It had nothing to do with the fire coursing through his veins at their mere touch or that his hands now seemed fused to her lithesome body.

Did she feel anything for him?

It did not appear so, since all her attention was on Posy.

They had stopped beside a meadow, and the pug took off as fast as his little legs would carry him. He was soon lost amid the tall grass. “Posy! Wait!” Beatrix cried and began to chase after him.

Lucas chased after her for no reason other than…he did not know why.

He did not want her out there on her own.

What if a farmer had set traps?

Although who would set traps in an open meadow where cattle grazed?

He kept his eyes out for a bull.

Wherever there were cows, there could be an angry male looking to preserve his territory.

Fortunately, there was no bull.

Posy did whatever nature called him to do and came trotting back to Beatrix’s side.

Lucas was also at Beatrix’s side by now. “How is he?”

“Posy is fine,” she said, smiling up at him, her dimples on display. “But it was close. Good thing your coachman stopped so promptly.”

She shook her head and laughed gently, her voice a melodic lilt to his ears. Her attention now turned to Posy. “How are you feeling, my little sweetheart? All better?”

Lucas took hold of her elbow to steer her back to the carriage as she continued to coo and fuss over that undeserving pup. “Ye do know the wee beastie is male,” he said when she began to straighten Posy’s hair bows. “Ye canno’ be ignorant of that fact.”

“I know. So does my aunt. She so wanted a female pug and had already named her Posy. Not only named her but had embroidered the name on the little dog’s bedding.”

“The beastie has bed linens?”

“Yes,” she said, sharing a chuckle with him. “But this little man came along instead, upsetting all my aunt’s plans. It was love at first sight between them. Since she was already fixed on the name, she kept it as his pet name. He would not know the difference anyway. Poseidon. Posy. Dogs understand loving actions, not words. So, he is Posy.”

The pug looked so comfortable in her arms. Lucas could see how much the dog trusted and adored her.

Well, who wouldn’t adore this lass?

Posy surprised them both by smiling at him with affection.

Did the pug now trust him, too?

Lucas chuckled. “He does have a way of growing on one, doesn’t he?”

He reached out to take the pug and was once again surprised when the dog willingly jumped into his arms. “Look at that. He likes me.”

Beatrix gave a light, mirthful laugh. “No, Lucas. He now senses you like him. This is why he has stopped trying to bite you.”

“And what of you, Beatrix? Still angry with me for my earlier rudeness?”

“It is early days yet. I have not made up my mind about you.” But she was smiling and did not appear to be angry.

“Fair enough.” He nodded as they proceeded across the meadow and approached the coach. “Let me help ye climb in. We’re already running behind schedule, and I would like to make it to the Brockton Inn before nightfall.”

“Is that where we are stopping?” She gazed up at him as they stood beside the sleek conveyance. It had started out gleaming, a polished black metal without a speck of dirt on it, but was now quite coated with the dust of the road.

But he was not paying attention to the carriage, for his gaze was fixed on Beatrix.

Were her eyes suddenly bluer?

Were her lips truly as soft and pink as they appeared?

Posy growled, no doubt sensing his sudden desire to kiss Beatrix.

Well, he would not call the feeling sudden so much as overwhelming.

This lass made him ache.

She had all his senses reeling.

He attributed his presently heightened awareness to the way the afternoon sunlight fell upon her and seemed to envelop her in its amber glow. Perhaps it was the way the gentle breeze blew through her hair, lightly tossing her curls out of place and causing her gown to swirl becomingly around her body.

The breeze also carried the sweet scent of meadow grass and honeysuckle that grew in a wild tumble along a nearby hedgerow, all of it mixing with Beatrix’s delightful rose scent. He wanted to put his lips to her neck and inhale the warmth of her skin.

“Lucas, why are you looking at me that way? Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said, handing the pug to her aunt and then putting his hands around Beatrix’s waist to help her into the carriage.

But it was a lie.

Perhaps he was lightheaded from lack of food.

The thought of giving up this splendid lass to anyone, especially an oaf like Greenock, made his stomach churn.

It was not going to happen.

Beatrix deserved better than that dandified lord.

Besides, he was not giving her up.

This decision had nothing to do with falling in love with the lass. Indeed, how could he be in love with her? Love did not happen while traveling with a dowager who wore overpowering perfume, a cheching dog, and a lass he had known for less than a day, who may or may not be betrothed to a Scottish peer.

However, now that he had assured himself this could not possibly be love, it still left him with an unanswered question.

If not love, then what was this all-consuming feeling he was experiencing?