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

Chapter Three

B eatrix said nothing as Lucas placed his hands around her waist and lifted her back in the carriage. He was a big man and achingly handsome, but he had been so furious when trapped into taking her and her aunt with him to Scotland, she doubted he had yet to forgive her.

Her heart began to race as he climbed in and settled his big, muscled frame beside her. Why did her father not choose him as a potential match for her? He was the son of a duke and brother to the current Duke of Mar. Her father obviously thought highly enough of him to trust him with important business negotiations.

She could see Lucas was an exceptionally intelligent man.

Intelligent and fierce, for he had the look of a warrior and not at all that of a man caught up in academics. For the life of her, she could not see him seated behind a desk, day in and day out, reviewing dry-as-bone documents. Nor could she imagine him developing a paunch as he grew older. Would his muscles ever begin to sag?

In the few instances when their bodies bumped, she had felt nothing but hard muscle on his sculpted torso.

His face also fascinated her with its masculine angles and bone structure. He had a broad mouth perfect for kissing if she ever got the courage to invite him to kiss her. Not that she ever would, for such a thing was not proper.

His eyes were a beautiful grayish green, like those of a wolf. Sharp and assessing as he hunted prey.

Oh, yes.

Lucas had dangerous eyes.

Indeed, everything about him was thrilling and dangerous.

Did she dare ask him to kiss her?

No.

She was mad to consider it, even though there was a rugged manliness about him that put her heart in riotous beats. Perhaps this is what marked him as a Highlands warrior, the raw strength of his body and the rough beauty of his face.

Would the Marquess of Greenock be anywhere near as handsome as Lucas?

If what Lucas had said about him was true, why would her father ever match her to that dolt?

No, it could not be.

And how dare her father decide her life for her when he had taken no part in it for all these years?

How was Lord Lyon not the far better candidate for matrimonial aspirations? Or was Greenock merely a distraction to divert her from her father’s true plan?

Feeling confused and more than a little dejected, she sank back against the plush squabs and closed her eyes.

“Beatrix,” Lucas said in a husky murmur, “ye can lean yer head against my shoulder if ye wish to sleep. It will be more comfortable than having it bump against the carriage frame whenever the wheels hit a rut.”

“Thank you.” She had not intended to sleep, but who was she to pass up the chance to nestle against him?

But it was not to be.

“Beatrix,” her aunt said with a gasp, “what are you doing?”

“I only meant to rest my head against—”

“You shall do no such thing. Move away from that man.”

She wanted to protest and claim Lucas was harmless, but he certainly wasn’t. In truth, she could not imagine anything more perilous to her innocence than to be left alone with him for any amount of time.

Sighing, she leaned her head against the hard, metal frame and peered out the window. It would not be possible to fall asleep in this overly hot carriage while under the watchful eye of her mindful chaperone.

She lost herself in thought as they rode past another stretch of rolling hills and green meadows dotted with sheep and flowers. There was an abundance of flowers to be seen along the road, many sprouting upon the stone fences they passed. She was entranced by these splendid blooms, their red, yellow, and violet petals quite vivid against the dark gray stones.

As they rode on, the breeze began to turn cooler.

They were now clattering at a fast pace alongside a river that cut a meandering path through the valley. She inhaled the bracing air off the water and noted a dozen places where they could have stopped for an idyllic picnic.

She suggested taking a few minutes to dip their feet in the water.

“Beatrix, do not be absurd,” her aunt intoned. “We are in a hurry to reach Edinburgh and cannot stop for something so trivial as an afternoon of leisure.”

“Of course, Aunt Harriet. You are right.” She sighed and returned her gaze to the river whose water looked temptingly cool.

They reached the Brockton Inn shortly before sundown.

Beatrix and her aunt were given a beautiful room to share.

This did not surprise her, for her aunt could be imperious and demanding when it came to requiring the best. As soon as they were settled, Beatrix took advantage of the lingering daylight to take Posy for a walk along the same river they had been following these past few hours. But it had narrowed here and was little more than a stream running behind the quaint inn.

She set Posy down and watched with amusement as he rolled about on the grass and then sauntered to the stream’s edge to lap up water. “You poor thing, you must be so thirsty.”

They had all been hot while confined in close quarters.

Hot and cramped and needing to stretch their legs.

She kept a careful eye on Posy as he finished drinking and had now jumped into the stream. He was such a tiny thing, she feared even an easy current would sweep him away. But the little warrior proved to be a strong swimmer and had no difficulty making it back to shore.

Good thing, for she would have had to jump in after him.

He trotted out of the water, shook himself off, and wagged his little rump to notify her that he was ready to play. “Very well, you have been good and patient for the most part. We shall overlook your tossing up your accounts earlier in the day.”

She tossed a stick that was almost twice his size into the distance. He was a determined little thing and managed to drag it back to drop it at her feet. “Good boy,” she crooned, patting his head and doing him the favor of removing his bows while he played, and her aunt wasn’t looking.

The bows were wet anyway and would trip him as they untied.

He barked.

“Ah, you want me to toss the stick again?” So, she did.

Posy ran after it with joyful vigor.

She had just tossed it again when she felt someone watching her.

She turned, realizing it was growing dark and she really ought to head back inside the inn. But she smiled when she saw Lucas casually leaning his big frame against the stone fence that stood between the inn and the stream.

He had his arms folded across his chest and a most appealing grin on his face as he studied her.

“How long have you been spying on us?” she asked.

“Not long. I came to fetch ye and the scrunch-faced beastie before it got too dark out here.” He unfolded his arms and started toward her, kneeling by the stream and taking a handful of water into the cup of his hand. He drank a little and poured the rest of it down his neck and along his throat. “Feels good.”

She knelt beside him and took some water for herself, doing as he did by spilling it down her neck and along her throat. She closed her eyes and moaned. “I should have done this earlier. Posy immediately went to the water to cool down. That dog is far smarter than I am.”

Lucas brushed a stray curl off her brow. “Ye do all right. Ye’ve more of a brain between yer ears than most of the Sassenach women I’ve met. Ye’re a lot more tolerable, too. It’s the Scottish half of ye, I’m sure.”

She laughed. “Are all you Highlanders so arrogant? I am not a wedge of cheese you can cut in half and eat the parts you like. There is no separating the English and Scottish in me.”

“Och, dinna say that,” he said with an exaggerated wince, his playful manner surprisingly endearing. “I am certain a week in Edinburgh will rid the last of the English out of ye.”

She regarded him in dismay.

That remark was not endearing at all. “Is this what you think of me? A pretentious Londoner?”

“Och, no. Lass, not at all. I am only teasing ye. Badly, it seems, because I am a shamelessly prideful Scot. Ye’re a lovely thing. Every bit of ye.”

“Truly, Lucas?”

“Aye, lass. Ye are smart, considerate, and prettier than a Highlands summer.” He brushed another stray curl off her cheek, although it felt suspiciously like a caress as he ran his thumb along her cheek. She was not going to complain. This man was growing on her. Indeed, she liked him more than was safe.

Why would her father not consider him as husband material for her? This thought kept nagging at her mind.

“I only have the barest memories of our home in Scotland. I was brought down to London when I was only four, as I mentioned earlier.”

“Aye, too soon after ye lost yer mother.” He took her hand and wrapped it in his, holding it a moment before releasing it. “Ye were such a wee child.”

She nodded, surprised by the compassion in his voice.

“I’ll show ye around Edinburgh if yer father will let me. If he means to keep ye with him for longer than a visit, I’ll take ye and yer aunt to our family home in Stonehaven. It is a grand castle overlooking the sea and is the seat of the dukes of Mar. My brother Cheyne is duke now and resides there. It is fitting, not only because he is the eldest, but because the place is in his soul.”

“And you, Lucas?”

He scooped up Posy and rose, then surprised her by taking her hand once again as they walked back to the inn. “I love Stonehaven. But the castle belongs to Cheyne. I have no place I consider my own yet.”

“Not even in Edinburgh?”

“No, I merely let a townhouse in a respectable area of town not far from the bank. I’ve had opportunities to purchase nice properties, and I do own a few. But they are merely investments. None of them call to my heart. I’ll know when I find my home. I’ll feel it in my bones and in my soul.”

She turned quiet.

“Beatrix? Have I said something to upset ye, lass?”

She slipped her hand out of his as they neared the inn. “No, but your words now have me thinking about myself.”

“How so, lass?”

“I do not know what I own or if I even own anything. Men are trained from boyhood to run the family assets, to know what is theirs, what could be theirs, and what should be sold off because it will never be profitable. But what are girls taught? To dance. To pour a perfect cup of tea. It is horrifying how little prepared we are to face life.”

She tried not to appear too distressed, but this lack of knowledge on her part was something that did worry her from time to time. More so now that her father was thinking to put her on the marriage mart. Although it was more of a private auction than a market if he had already convinced the Marquess of Greenock to marry her.

What if he was only one possible suitor, and her father meant to put her out there like a prize heifer to be paraded around?

No, she would not allow herself to be turned over to the highest bidder. “Lucas, will you help me?”

He stared at her, obviously uncertain what to say since she had not made clear what she was talking about. “What I mean is, do you know anything about me?”

“Nay, lass. I never knew of ye until I met ye at Aunt Bessie’s.”

“Then you would have no idea of my wealth? Any property holdings that might come to me when I am of age? I do not even know what that means…come of age. How does one put a date certain on competence? I could be twenty-five and a witless fool. Or I could be fifteen and sharp as a rapier.”

“How old are ye, Beatrix?”

“I turn twenty in October. But is it not horrifying that I do not know a thing about my circumstances? For all I know, I could have nothing.”

“Yer father is not an ogre. He would never leave ye destitute.”

“How can you be sure? After all, he never bothered to mention me to you, even though you are probably his sharpest man. Is Greenock wealthy?”

He frowned. “Would that make ye like him more? He’s still a horse’s arse.”

She laughed. “No, that would not make me like him more. I was just curious as to why my father would choose him over anyone else. Is he nice looking?”

Lucas shrugged. “Obviously yer aunt and her friend, Lady Pierce-Mallow, seem to find him charming .”

“But you do not.”

“He’s a weasel.”

She laughed again. “He is a weasel and a horse’s rump. Any other animal names you wish to attribute to him?”

Lucas chuckled. “Lots, but I’ve made my point. Ye are too good for him. If ye were a dullard and a dimwit, my opinion would be different. But ye are clever and pleasant. Ye deserve better than him.”

“Who do you think I deserve?”

He held the door open for her as they entered the elegant inn. “I dinna know ye well enough to say for certain yet.”

“But you will give it thought?”

“Aye, Beatrix. It has already crossed my mind.”

Did he mean that he was thinking of her for himself?

It was hard to tell.

Nor would she press him on the matter because he was right. They did not know each other well enough. But certain things were obvious to her. He was handsome, for certain. Smart, also for certain. He had spent much of the time during their journey studying documents. She had glanced over his shoulder a time or two, attempting to make sense of them. It was a hopeless endeavor. But he seemed to understand what he was reading and would scribble in a notepad from time to time when he came across something of concern.

Often, she would steal glances at him.

There was something fascinating and impressive about him. Perhaps it was in the seriousness of his expression while poring over those papers. One sensed one was in capable hands with him.

Speaking of which, she also loved his touch.

But she dared not dwell on the thought while there was still so much to learn about him.

He had mentioned his past, and she hoped to have the opportunity to visit his childhood home in Stonehaven. It was a place he loved, one which had obviously played a role in forming his hopes and dreams. Spending time there with him would be helpful in finding out who Lucas Lyon was at heart.

“Beatrix!” Her aunt called to her as she entered the dining room. Of course, her aunt was seated at the finest table, being fussed over by the inn’s attentive staff. “I was afraid you had lost track of time. Or wandered off, and some villain had abducted you.”

The delightful aroma of a honey-glazed ham wafted toward her. She inhaled it and sighed, realizing she was hungry. “I was quite safely in the company of Lord Lyon and Posy.”

“Well, do sit down and have your supper. You too, Lord Lyon. We are already dining late, and it is terrible for the digestion.” She gave a majestic wave of her hand. Immediately, food and drink were set before them. Wine for Lord Lyon and cider for her, since her aunt obviously considered her too young to imbibe spirits. “Do not eat too much, Beatrix. Your stomach will bloat and growl all night. I am sure it will keep me awake.”

“I shall take mere nibbles,” she said, tossing Lucas a grin.

Mirth shimmered in his eyes. “I see Poseidon is also to dine with us.”

“Posy always dines with us,” Beatrix said, hoping he would not be displeased. “Do you mind?”

“A dog’s company? No, Lady Beatrix. They are entertaining company and often better behaved than people, dinna ye think?”

“Aye, my lord.” She mimicked his brogue. “Ye have the rrright of it.”

He emitted a hearty chuckle. “We’ll make a good Scottish lass out of ye yet, mark my words.”

Lady Rochester frowned at both of them. “I did not spend years training Beatrix to enter London society only to have her turn into a blue-faced heathen. If the Marquess of Greenock wanted a braw lassie , he would have stayed home and chosen one from the local stock in his backyard.”

“Auntie! That is a wicked thing to say. I am sure there are plenty of lovely ladies in Scotland.”

Her aunt set down her fork. “Perhaps, but none are as beautiful or refined as you. My dear, you shall take Edinburgh by storm. Is that not so, Lord Lyon?”

Lucas took a sip of his wine. “Aye, Lady Rochester. Your niece is an Incomparable.”

Beatrix blushed. “That is ridiculous.”

He set down his glass and eyed her briefly, no more than a glance, but she felt the heat of his gaze, and her body warmed to it. “Not at all, Lady Beatrix. Your aunt is right. You shall have no rival. But I think you would have made the same impact had you remained in London. Your beauty is transcendent.”

She gulped down her cider.

Was he just saying this to be kind, or did he really think she was beautiful?

And if so, was it only her physical appearance?

Or did the admiration go deeper with him?