The Lyon’s Legacy (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Fourteen

T he next morning, the pale light of dawn barely pierced through the heavy curtains of her bedchamber, casting a cool glow on the familiar surroundings. Melissa immediately felt that something was amiss. Where was Angus?

Her heart quickened as she scanned the room. She checked under the settee with the fringed hem, her fingers grazing the cold floor. Nothing. She then hurried to the pile of pillows in the basket near the fireplace, digging through them with increasing dread. Still, nothing.

“Angus?” she called softly, her voice trembling with unease. Pushing herself off the floor, she wrapped her nightrobe tighter around her, seeking comfort in its warmth as she opened the door.

The castle’s vast hallways greeted her with their intimidating silence, the only sound being the distant patter of an early summer’s rain against the windows. She hesitated, feeling the weight of the grand estate pressing down upon her. It was her sister Lexi’s life she was living, not her own. No matter how much she wanted to help, this wasn’t her place. She felt like an impostor, undeserving of striding down the elegant, curved staircase that led to the main hall. And yet, she couldn’t go to London because if she left John behind, she’d leave her heart with him.

Determined to find her fluffy friend, she padded down the stairs, her steps echoing softly.

“Angus? Kitty, kitty,” she called, her voice barely above a whisper. He could have gotten into mischief—or worse, trouble? But he was still wearing the bandage around his stomach, and perhaps it had gotten caught on something. Perhaps he’d seen a spider and followed it into a small space from which he couldn’t escape? “Angus!” Her breaths came out in uneven puffs, matching the erratic beating of her heart.

She surveyed the hall, but nobody seemed to be awake yet. Perhaps the servants had started their day in the kitchen, but breakfast wasn’t for another three hours. Melissa’s thoughts drifted to John and how he’d merely kissed her even though she’d been stark naked when Angus had pulled the red fabric off her.

But where was the mischievous little kitten?

She reached the bottom of the staircase and looked around, took her pelisse, and thought that the castle’s grandeur would swallow her whole as she buttoned the top. It was all so elegant, and she should belong, the daughter of an earl and a lady, but despite the opulence in her life, she felt insignificant, a fallen woman whose only companion was a missing kitten.

“Angus!” Her voice cracked as she ventured further, the cold stone floor sending shivers up her legs. She checked the drawing room and the library, each empty room amplifying her despair.

Melissa’s search led her to the front door. She glanced outside and saw the rain cascading down, washing the gardens in a somber gray. A lump formed in her throat as she pushed open the door; the cold raindrops hit her face. The wet grass beneath her boots sent the cold seeping through the soles to her skin. Still, she pressed on, calling for Angus in the drizzling rain.

If she couldn’t even keep a kitten safe, how could she possibly deserve anything more? A family? A child? John would be able to give her everything her heart desired: a husband with a son, the promise of a bigger family, responsibilities… Her thoughts spiraled, the shame of her past tightening its grip on her heart. She was beginning to believe the whispers about her, that she was an impostor, unworthy of love, respect, or redemption. When a former classmate from finishing school had given her the Cut Direct at a ball, Melissa had turned the other way. Now, she wasn’t so sure there was anywhere else to turn.

“Angus, please,” she whispered, her voice breaking as the rain mingled with her tears.

She wandered the garden, her pelisse over the nightrobe clinging to her, soaked and heavy. She tightened the sash as if she could warm up by sheer will to keep the layers together. Each step felt like a step closer to surrender.

Her eyes searched, and she blinked away the tears that had started to mix with the rain. She licked some drops off her lips when she saw something moving in the cherry tree about a hundred feet away. She ran to the tree and looked up, its petals drooping under the weight of the rain. Beneath one of the branches, clawing against the trunk, she saw a small, trembling figure.

“Angus!” Relief flooded her as she reached out, unable to reach the frightened kitten about five feet above her head. “I’m coming!”

She tightened the sash of her robe around her waist, the soft fabric clinging to her skin, damp from the mist. Her eyes, wide with worry, scanned the garden until they focused on Angus, her beloved kitten, marooned high in the blooming cherry tree. Even the fragrant blossoms looked gray in the rain, dripping with cold, relentless rain as if the floodgates to Melissa’s fears had been opened and came pouring from the heaven above.

“Angus! Come down,” she called, her voice almost drowned by the patter of rain on the leaves. The kitten meowed plaintively; a tiny sound of distress pierced the rhythmic drumming of the rain. Each drop splashed against the foliage, sending a cascade of shimmering droplets to the ground and into Melissa’s face. She blinked the raindrops away and reached for Angus.

Melissa hesitated only a moment before deciding. Despite the slick, muddy ground beneath her bare feet, she approached the tree, the ancient bark rough and welcoming under her fingers. It was a great tree for climbing, like the ones outside the townhouse she’d grown up in. She had scaled many trees in her childhood. The pelisse she wore over her nightrobe fluttered like a poor excuse for armor against the increasing weight of the rain.

She gripped the lowest branch, feeling the sturdy wood beneath her palms, and hoisted herself up. The bark was cool and damp, sending shivers through her body. The higher she climbed, the branches swaying gently under her lightness. As she ascended, the rain grew heavier, fat drops splashing onto her face, obscuring her vision.

“Hold on, Angus. I’m coming,” she murmured, her voice now a muted whisper amidst the heavy rain splattering onto the tree’s leaves. The kitten’s fearful cries spurred her onward, each step more precarious than the last. The air was thick with the smell of rain, fresh and invigorating despite the danger it brought.

Melissa reached a slender branch where Angus cowered, his fur matted and soaked. His tiny body trembled, his big green eyes wide with fear, and his damp whiskers twitched with each gust of wind. The branch trembled under her weight, but she steadied herself, extending a hand toward the frightened feline. She could feel the kitten’s wet fur just as a gust of wind blew, making the branch quiver violently.

“Almost there, little one,” she tried to soothe him, her fingers brushing against Angus’s tiny body.

He wasn’t fluffy at all but rather drenched. Devoid of the volume of his soft fur, he looked even smaller and more vulnerable than usual. His bandage seemed to have gotten stuck on a twig. When Melissa reached him, Angus’s big, round eyes appeared even larger and more expressive, glistening with droplets and—it seemed—an appreciation that she’d come to find him.

“I promised to look out for you, my little sweetheart. I’m here now.” He cowered at her soothing words, his whiskers drooping slightly, weighed down by the moisture. When Melissa unwrapped the bandage, the kitten shivered gently, its tiny paws leaving faint, wet prints as it moved. Despite the rain, there was a certain charm in its vulnerability, a mix of innocence and resilience as it sought warmth and comfort from Melissa, and her motherly instincts surged. Angus was her baby even though she wasn’t a cat, as she’d told Herbert. She was his family and wouldn’t let anything harm him.

She cradled him close, his tiny body wet and shivering against her chest. “It’s all right, you’re safe,” she murmured, her tears mingling with the rain. At that moment, holding the vulnerable creature, a glimmer of hope sparked within her. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to protect what she loved despite her past.

With Angus nestled against her, her foot slipped, and she lost her balance. Panic surged through her veins as she felt herself lose grip, the slick surface offering no refuge. The world tilted, a blur of rain, leaves, and blossoms swirling around her. She plummeted, branches scraping her skin.

The last thing she saw before everything went black were Angus’s wide, terrified eyes and the blurred canopy of the cherry tree above, its blossoms trembling in the rain and the drops falling toward her like small avalanches bursting in her face.

Five minutes earlier, about one hundred feet away…

John’s mare moved with a steady gait across the newly plowed land, the rich, wet earth muffling the sound of hooves. The early morning rain was a gentle patter at first, one he welcomed to accompany his thoughts as he surveyed the fields. He had taken up his stewardship duties with a renewed sense of purpose, an effort to bring order amidst the chaos of his heart—there was nothing distracting himself from lovesickness like a good day’s work. Or a week. Perhaps a year.

No, Melissa was not a woman he could get over, John feared.

While she was at the castle, he mustn’t touch her. But when she’d go back to Prinny, John would surely go mad with jealousy. He had barely reined himself in when she stood in the study naked. Yes, he’d kissed her, but he wanted to do so much more. Years of pent-up energy soared through him. He thought he could never love again, but he did. So much! And he didn’t want Prinny to have her back.

It was preposterous to be jealous of the royal, but he was.

Nobody deserved Melissa, not even him; she was so precious and wonderful that John’s heart ached when he thought about it.

As he glanced toward the distant manor, a flash of white caught his eye, swiftly moving across the grass toward the cherry tree. His breath caught in his throat. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the ghost of his late wife, her ethereal form gliding through the mist. Could she be telling him something? But then, a voice shattered the illusion—a voice he knew well, calling out with urgency.

“Angus!”

It was Melissa. She wasn’t merely calling; being with her was his calling.

John urged his horse forward, curiosity and concern propelling him. As he drew nearer, he saw her climb into the cherry tree, her lithe figure disappearing among the branches. The rain began to intensify, heavy drops bouncing off his hat and cloak, the smell of wet earth and blossoms filling the air.

He heard a scream, piercing and desperate, followed by the sharp crack of a branch breaking free. Panic tightened around his chest as he spurred his horse into a gallop.

“We’ve got to save them!” John spoke to his mare as mud splattered from his horse’s hooves as they raced toward the tree.

When he reached the base of the cherry tree, it was too late. Melissa, his beloved Melissa, was falling. In a heartbeat, he was off his horse, arms outstretched to catch her, but the ground met her first. He knelt beside her, scooping her frail, muddy body into his arms despite every instinct screaming at him to keep his distance. Angus jumped out of her grasp, and he picked up the shivering kitten, too.

“Melissa, can you hear me?” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the pounding rain. Her eyelids fluttered, and he pressed his lips to her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the cold rain. Relief and fear battled within him as he held her close, the rain pouring down, soaking them both.

Her eyes flickered open, and she looked up at him, confusion and pain mingling in her gaze. “John?”

“I have you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as she nestled against his chest.

The rain continued to fall. He cradled her gently, his heart pounding with a mixture of terror and love, knowing that this moment, drenched in rain and fear, was one he would never forget. Surely, Prinny wouldn’t ever forgive if he knew how hard John’s body was as soon as he held Melissa’s hot body wrapped in the cold, soaked layers of sheer clothes against his chest. John was supposed to serve the Crown. He may have lost the title, but not his loyalty. And yet, all he could think of when Melissa was near was what he wished for—it was her.

But as he held her, a gnawing fear gripped him—he knew he mustn’t lay a hand on her. Yet, at this moment, all he cared about was her safety. The lines blurred, making it impossible to discern duty from desire. She meant more to him than anything else in the world, and he wanted her vibrant and fierce again, not cold and limp.

“John, I…” she began weakly, her fingers clutching his coat. “Where’s Angus?”

Something meowed from underneath his coat, and John spotted the drenched kitten in his pocket. Soaked to the bones, Angus was even smaller than usual.

“There’s the little fur ball,” John handed Angus to Melissa, and she cradled the kitten.

“He was… and I tried t—”

“Shh, don’t speak. Save your strength,” he whispered. The rain poured harder, their bodies cold and wet, but her presence burned like a brand upon his soul.

John’s heart pounded as he rose to his feet, holding Melissa in his arms. The mare, sensing the urgency, had bolted toward the stables at John’s command. John carried Melissa to the castle, mud squelching under his boots.

Melissa clung to Angus, the tiny kitten shivering against her chest. Her arm, now clearly visible as she wrapped it around John’s neck, was swollen and bruised. She winced with each jolt, but John knew there was no time to tend to her injuries here. The rain came down in torrents, cold and relentless.

“Almost there. Hold on,” he urged, his voice trembling with emotion. He tightened his grip, feeling the softness of her body against his own, the warmth that defied the cold rain. Her presence was both a comfort and a torment, a reminder of what could never be.

The manor door swung open, and servants rushed out, their faces pale with concern. John crossed the threshold, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the raging storm outside. He laid Melissa gently on a settee in the drawing room, his fingers reluctantly releasing her.

“Fetch the arnica ointment from Dustin’s cabinet,” he commanded, his voice firm despite the turmoil within. As the servants scurried to obey, he knelt beside her, brushing a damp lock of hair from her forehead. “You’re safe now, Melissa,” he murmured, though his heart continued to race with fear and longing.

In the dim light of the drawing room, he watched her, the most precious and beautiful woman he had ever known. The rain still pounded against the windows, a relentless reminder of the storm both outside and within him. Holding her had felt like holding the world, yet it was a world he knew he could never fully possess.

Time to try something else.

Even though he was only about three inches taller than her, she crouched next to him on the settee like a shivering young girl who’d fallen from a tree—the damsel in distress the prince wanted to save. And yet, John knew he was not the prince with the right to claim her—but did he indeed? Wasn’t it Melissa’s decision and only hers?

Her hair dripped and lay flat, curly strands making a full loop over her shoulders, curling as if it wanted to turn back and return to her beautiful face.

And she was so beautiful indeed that John’s heart longed to tell her. Melissa was so good in the most elemental sense of the word that she’d climbed a tree in the rain to rescue a kitten. She’d forgiven Herbert’s antics, remained at the castle, and shown nothing but loyalty to her sister and her family. She was the sort of woman who put John in awe of her selflessness, and all he wished was to serve and please her.

That was selfish of him, he thought, because giving her pleasure would give him even more.

She shivered.

“I’ll ring for tea,” he mumbled, removing the crochet throw from the back of the settee and opening it up to drape it over Melissa. She shook her head and held her arm out to take it but then flinched.

“Ouch!” She dropped her right arm to her side and brought her other hand over the back of her shoulder.

“Is this where you fell?” John hesitated to touch Melissa, but when she furrowed her brows and looked at him over her shoulder, he realized that she needed his help. She gave a faint nod, and he gently brushed her wet hair off her shoulder. He had permission to proceed even though he wasn’t sure how far.

The fabric of her soggy pelisse and the equally wet white muslin of her—he swallowed hard—nightgown fell off her shoulder. There was her bare skin.

In the dimly lit room, with the rain on the windows quieted to a soft crackling of the fire in the hearth, John stood spellbound by Melissa. Raindrops adorned her like crystals on dew-touched blossoms, especially one daring droplet that danced along her shoulder. John’s heart skipped, observing its delicate trail, a physical echo of the storm swirling within him.

Driven by an irresistible urge, he reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed the droplet away. Melissa’s body subtly shivered at his touch; a silent dialogue sparked by their fleeting connection. Her eyes, dark and fathomless, ensnared his, conveying depths of emotion he dared not name. The slight parting of her lips seemed to him a silent sigh, stirring the space between them with the jolt of unspoken desires.

His fingertips, barely grazing her shoulder, discovered a softness that beckoned his soul. Their locked gazes needed no verbal exchange. Through his eyes, John saw a reflection of his deep-seated desires mirrored in Melissa’s. Each heartbeat, each breath was the permission he’d hoped for.

“Melissa,” John’s voice broke the silence, a low murmur barely rising above the gentle patter of raindrops around them. “I…” Words failed him, lost in the depth of her eyes.

Her reply was a breath, a whisper to match his own. “John,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of an unspoken invitation while her eyes seemed locked onto his mouth.

John could feel the heat radiating from Melissa’s skin, drawing him closer until only a breath remained between them.

When he was so close that he could already feel the warmth from her mouth, he paused.

“May I?” he asked, his voice a mere wisp of longing and hesitation. It was a question of permission, of crossing the threshold between them beyond the kisses they’d shared. This was an admission of devotion beyond mere sentiment.

Melissa’s response was not in words but in the gentle tilt of her head, an unspoken assent that sent waves of relief and desire coursing through John’s veins.

Slowly, achingly, he closed the distance, his eyes never leaving hers until the last moment before their lips met. The touch was soft and tentative at first. But then, the hardness of his body seemed to narrow down to the sensation of her lips against his, warm and yielding, sparking a fire that threatened to consume him whole.

Their kiss deepened a slow dance of lips and breaths, exploring the newfound intimacy with a reverence that made John’s heart swell. Time lost meaning, suspended in the space where only they existed.

Pulling back slightly, John searched Melissa’s face, looking for any sign of regret, any hint that he had misread their silent conversation. But all he found was warmth, a soft glow in her eyes that mirrored his feelings.

“This is madness,” he whispered, the words tinged with wonder and a trace of fear for the implications of their actions.

Melissa smiled, a fleeting, beautiful curve of her lips seeming to chase away any shadows of doubt. “Perhaps,” she agreed, her voice laced with a warmth that filled John with a boldness he hadn’t known he possessed. “I’m willing to risk it for you.”

At that moment, with the rain softly serenading them and the world held at bay, John realized some risks were worth taking. He would brave any storm for a chance at a love that defied convention and circumstance.