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

Chapter Fifteen

I t had gotten dark outside, and the fire needed to be stoked again. Had they been kissing for so long? Melissa touched her lips, hot and swollen. She already missed John.

But after the servants finally interrupted the kiss with a tray of ointment, hot tea, and a blanket, a maid escorted her to a hot bath. Now Melissa felt refreshed, warm, and stupid.

She slammed the door of her bedchamber with a sigh, the weight of her frustration making the simple act feel more rebellious against herself than the situation. If they hadn’t been interrupted, she would have gone further with John. All the way to hell because she wasn’t free from Prinny yet. She did the right thing; she withdrew to her chambers. Then why did she feel as though it were a mistake?

Her hair, still damp from the bath, clung in unruly tendrils around her flushed face. She freed her tresses to cascade down her back. The cool air against her scalp was a brief balm to her simmering anger. She should have been shivering cold and clad in wet clothes, but she was hot and bothered. Angry. But primarily steaming.

“Angus, where are you?” she called softly while she pulled on dry undergarments, scanning the room for the one creature that accepted her without judgment. And he was the culprit who’d brought her into this situation in the first place.

A small gray-striped blur darted across the room, and Angus, with his sky-blue eyes, gleamed mischievously when he began to bat a ball of yarn across the polished wood floor that peeked out beyond the edge of the large rug in the center of the room.

“I need to brush you; come here!”

Melissa’s thoughts churned as she paced the room, the slight swish of her stockings and garters matching the turmoil within her. She had fumbled another kiss with John, letting the moment slip through her fingers like sand. John’s gaze, filled with assumptions about her experience—false assumptions—burned her pride. Was it possible that he thought her a mistress seasoned in the art of seduction, yet she was as inexperienced as a young bride? The very notion made her cheeks flame. She wasn’t a bride, especially not his, even though she wanted to be.

Stop! First, be free of Prinny!

Melissa swallowed hard and tried to open the ties of her corset, but her arm felt bruised from the fall. The air was stifling, and she broke into a sweat.

Bride.

She’d been one; why did she wish to repeat the embarrassment of the wedding night?

Because it would be wonderful with John.

She ran her hands through her uncooperative curls, hoping they wouldn’t dry into a frizzy mess like her life. If only managing her emotions were as simple as taming her hair, though. Melissa walked to the dressing table and picked up her boar’s brush, slowly brushing her hair while calling for Angus.

“Where are you hiding, little kitty?” She followed a trail of yarn to the bedpost on the far left. She followed the trail and remembered her wedding night. The discomfort, the embarrassment in the dark. Her husband’s uncomfortable grunting. It was awful, and she’d been able to avoid the displeasure often, but not always. Mother had said it was her duty and the only way to produce an heir.

Suddenly, Angus’s playful meows broke her reverie, and she turned just in time to see him entangled in the yarn.

“Angus, you silly creature,” Melissa murmured, her voice softening. She knelt to free him, the yarn now ensnaring her left ankle. She tugged at the tangled mess, her movements growing more frantic as Angus’s distressed cries grew louder.

“Hold on, dear. I’m right here,” she assured, bending low to peer under the bed where Angus had taken refuge. In her haste, she lost her balance. With a graceless thud, she landed on the floor, her cheek pressing against the cool wood.

Melissa laughed ruefully, the sound mingling with Angus’s plaintive meows. “Well, at least one of us is having fun,” she said, her voice tinged with self-mockery.

She untangled herself with some difficulty, finally pulling Angus into her arms. The kitten nuzzled her neck, purring contentedly, and for a moment, the world seemed a little less complicated.

“At least you love me unconditionally,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the kitten’s head.

Then there was a knock. Perhaps the maid had arrived, her presence a silent reminder of Melissa’s dire need to prepare for the evening. She sighed. Oh, how could she face John after all this?

But as she stood, cradling Angus and smoothing her disheveled hair, a new resolve took root within her. She might have fumbled the kiss, but she would not fumble the next opportunity. She would face John with her head held high, determined to show him—and herself—that she was more capable than he probably imagined. And soon, she would be free from the prospect of having to sleep with Prinny. Only ever wanted to be John’s.

With a final pat to Angus, she readied herself, her heart beating with a newfound determination.

At that moment, she tripped with her right foot over the yarn that was still tied around her left ankle and landed sideways on the bed. Angus darted off, the ball of yarn in his mouth, and the web caught her tightly, so she struggled like a fly in a spider’s web.

Downstairs in the study, John was reeling from the kiss. Servants had swept Melissa away, and he felt lightheaded—no, empty altogether without Melissa in his arms. He’d let the maid draw her a bath, of course; Melissa needed to get warm. But now John was hot and furious for letting circumstance steal his moment with her.

John paced the length of the study, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, as if holding them together could somehow restrain the chaos within him. The taste of Melissa lingered on his lips, a cruel reminder of what he could never have. He shut his eyes, but the image of her—her flushed cheeks, her teasing smile—only burned brighter in his thoughts. His chest ached with yearning, a sensation that felt as though it might split him apart, but he forced himself to focus on the colder, heavier matter of reality.

What kind of fool was he? Pursuing Melissa was akin to stealing from the palace, as she was the Prince Regent’s mistress. To even entertain the idea of more with Melissa was madness, reckless and selfish in the extreme. It wasn’t only his reputation at risk. No, it was the entirety of Starcliff Castle and all who depended upon it. If he yielded to his heart’s foolish demands, he would drag down everything in his family’s grasp.

How could he protect the estate if he allowed such a scandal? The Prinny’s good favor for Dustin, the new Duke of Duncan, was the strongest shield they possessed. Without Dustin’s protection, the tenants who relied on their provisions, their medicine, their very safety, would be abandoned to uncertainty. The doctors from Harley Street would only make regular visits, ensuring old wounds healed and children survived the winter’s chill, if Dustin helped their London practice thrive. That arrangement existed only because of the Royal Warrant that Dustin had made possible, and the estate stood to secure it. Any hint of dishonor, any risk of John’s dalliance bringing shame to the Duke of Duncan’s name, and it would take just one whisper—a single breath at court—to sever everything.

And Herbert was his anchor in the storm. That boy represented hope for Starcliff’s future, for its legacy. How could John rob him of the life he deserved? If the Dukedom fell into ruin, if the tenants abandoned their loyalty, what sort of life would remain for Herbert? He couldn’t study medicine and he’d certainly lose the chances to learn from the doctors on Harley Street—not to mention the apprenticeship at the rehabilitation center at Cloverdale House. No family, no heritage, no respect safeguarding his future. The sacrifice was unthinkable.

Yet deep in John’s mind, another voice whispered, cruel and insistent. What of love? What of the fire that Melissa had awoken in him? Was he meant to walk through the rest of his life untouched? Unmoved? Was duty his only master? But what use was love if it burned all else to ash around him? He curled his fingers into fists, his nails digging into his palms as though the pain might ground him. He could not be selfish—not with so much at stake.

When he opened his eyes, there was no clarity, only the same torment twisting through him. He wanted her. He wanted her with every breath in his body. But John tightened his jaw, steeling himself, determined to push this yearning deep into the corners of himself where it could not harm anyone else. Melissa could never be his. To pursue her would be to choose destruction.

No matter what his heart argued, he could not lose sight of that.

Suddenly, he heard a thud, and his heart skipped a beat. He was already on edge, but this noise from Melissa’s room propelled him into action. He rushed to her door, knocking urgently. A sharp yelp pierced the air, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder this time, and balled his fists as he fought the instinct to burst into her room.

“Melissa?” he called out, his voice strained with worry. Still no answer.

Then, a yelp, something fell over with a metal clank, and another thud followed.

After a moment of hesitation, he grasped the doorknob and pushed the door open. His eyes widened at the chaotic scene before him—a web of yarn sprawled across the room, from the chair to the bedposts, looping around the legs of the table and the tools by the fireplace scattered on the floor. It was an absolute mess. He wished he could laugh; surely the kitten was responsible for this, but his breath caught in his throat when he saw Melissa.

She stood amidst the tangle, dressed only in garters and a corset because her shoulder hurt too much to slide it into the robe, her hair cascading wildly down her back. She was tied by the foot, bent over in an attempt to unknot the yarn. John’s body stiffened, his heart pounding as he took in the sight.

A gentleman would turn around, call the maid, and prepare for dinner. He ought to erase the image of the siren tangled before him, but it was just too good to be true.

“I’m not decent!” Melissa shrieked when she tugged at the web of yarn.

“Milady!” The maid who must have heard the commotion came rushing through the hall.

“Leave us!” John said.

The maid froze, a stack of neatly folded garments in her arms. “B-but the—”

“Leave us. Now. Please take the afternoon off and enjoy the nice weather.” John didn’t manage to peel his eyes off Melissa. Her eyebrows were high, but her gaze was hungry—just as it had been downstairs.

“It’s raining.”

“Then have a cup of tea and enjoy the quiet inside. Take any of my novels. Read.”

The maid hesitated, but then she set the gown on the chair near Melissa’s dressing table, cleared her throat, and left.

John winced as she shut the door. It was obvious what he’d do, untangling the half-naked beauty in his house. But this was his home, his mess, his yarn, and most importantly, he wanted the beauty to be his with all of her caring nature and loyalty.

“John, I—”

“Shh!” He reached for one long strand of yarn, connecting the bed posts with—he suppressed a groan—her delicate and most certainly naked ankle. It was a lovely ankle indeed, leading to an equally lovely leg dressed in only a sheer light stocking and topped with a lace garter. The other leg flexed and showed her strength—or the strong effect she had on him.

No matter.

He’d withstood every trial fate threw his way, albeit his lingering suspicion that fate had come in the shape of Mrs. Dove-Lyon this time. He didn’t act on his impulses when the kitten had stripped Melissa of the red satin cloth, then when the kitten again had caused Melissa to fall from a tree, and he’d carried her shivering in his arms, but he was just a man, and enough was enough.

Pushing reason and propriety aside, he darted forward to help her.

“Melissa, I’m going to get you out of this mess.”

“The yarn or the other one?” Her eyes met his, and John looked at her—deeply searching her expression for any remorse that he’d found her in such dishabille. But instead of reservation or anything akin to shock that he’d found her as she was and sent the maid away, she smiled.

It wasn’t like any smile, but a warm and welcoming one that old friends shared after they had been apart for a long time. She was full of warmth, and he was burning for her. It was purgatory but there was no way to escape.

John offered his arm and looked down at her ankle in a tightly knotted web. She steadied herself with one hand on his arm, reaching for her ankle and pulling her foot out.

As he reached for the knotty yard to lift it off, the kitten suddenly appeared, leaping onto his shoulder with startling agility. John jerked back in surprise and stumbled, but not before Melissa instinctively grabbed him to steady him with both hands. The kitten then dashed over the bed, dragging the yarn with it.

This cat!

In the chaotic scramble, the yarn seemed to develop a life of its own, tying John and Melissa together and connecting them both to the bedpost at the foot of the bed. They ended up in an awkward, tangled embrace. John could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he looked into Melissa’s eyes, both of them trapped in a mess that was, somehow, much more than just a tangle of yarn.

With a final warning gaze to Angus, she set her back and looked down at her heaving breasts. She was blushing fiercely.

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension. Melissa’s eyes widened, and she bit her lip, seemingly waiting for him to make a move. John’s breath caught in his throat—this was it. Would he risk everything for a chance at what his heart desired? Would he dare to act on his impulse this time? Only one thing was certain: whatever happened next would change everything.