A Spinster’s Guide to Landing a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter One

“I’m here to buy a husband.” There. She said it. Aloud to someone else. The words were out into the universe now. There was no going back.

And although the words had been prepared—all six of them—they still felt thick rolling off Amelia’s tongue, like trying to unstick treacle from her lips.

But it was fitting to have such heavy words slip into the office where Amelia stood.

Gold-plated everything. Damask curtains.

Aubusson rugs. The finest of the finest. That’s what surrounded Amelia.

And the irony did not escape her. To be surrounded by opulence and greatness, yet feeling as though she were scraping from the bottom of the barrel.

“Won’t you please sit down.” Unfazed, Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon gestured to an ornate chair in front of her desk.

Nerves made it less graceful than Amelia might otherwise be, but she eased herself down and perched her bottom on the edge of the seat.

“Tea has a way of calming the body.” Perhaps Amelia hadn’t hidden the tremble in her knees as well as she thought.

“Oh don’t worry, dear. You’re the epitome of grace under pressure, but everyone who comes in here with that request has some amount of nervous tension.” She cleared the space directly in front of her on her desk. “So shall we have tea? Or something stronger?”

“Whatever you wish, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

A servant entered through the door opened as if being summoned, and a tray was dropped off with tea and whiskey. A few trays followed with treats and small snacks that Amelia had not seen the likes of before. It was clear that nothing but England’s finest was served here.

Her host took a few bites before reengaging in conversation, like Amelia had all the time in the world. Like she wasn’t under the fiercest of pressures to retain her reputation and save the ones she loved.

Amelia couldn’t imagine eating at a time like this.

Her stomach was rolling, and her throat was strained.

Her hands were clasped tightly in fists when they weren’t settled on her thighs.

But not loosely. No. With all the willpower she could muster, she placed her fingers straight, and with great tension, on her lap.

“Just take a deep breath, dear. How did you come to be here?”

She didn’t take that deep breath as instructed, but she did answer the question.

“If only I had known about you earlier, I would have more time. But only last night did I overhear someone talking about the Lyon’s Den and the ability to buy a husband here.”

“Timing is everything.” Amelia watched the older woman drum her fingers lightly on the desk. Loose. Free. Everything she wasn’t.

“Tell me exactly why you’re here.”

What did she possibly want to reveal to this lady?

Could she trust her? It seemed as though she could, but trust in strangers had rarely served her well in the past. Like that one time she had confided in who she thought was a friend that she had set her cap on Lord Brinley only to watch said so-called friend flirt with him for the rest of the evening.

Needless to say, Lord Brinley had not taken any notice of the cap Amelia had set before him.

And wasn’t that just the way it had continued to go.

Trust was a rare commodity. Affection from the opposite gender even more so.

So no, she would not trust her just yet. She would only share the minimum that she could get away with.

“I need a husband. Tonight.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s brows shot up to the ceiling and immediately flew back down. “Tonight?”

“I must walk out of here with a husband this very night. I don’t have time to spare.” Amelia’s toe felt compelled to tap itself on the floor, but she reined it in.

“You want to be married tonight?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon echoed with a questioning tone. A tone that might have made Amelia feel as small and about as soggy as one of the leaves in her tea were she not under such severe constraints.

Instead of backpedaling, Amelia rolled her shoulders back, sat up straighter, and plowed forward. It was the only way to move through life. There was no going back.

“I’ll pay you—”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon waved her hand in the air, acknowledging the obvious.

“But I must have a man willing to be betrothed tonight and married at the end of this week.”

“I don’t always ask why the urgency. But I must trust my gut this evening, for I’m not sure you’ll find what you want here tonight. And I don’t believe in the business of disappointing my patrons.”

“It’s not about what I want, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. It’s only about what I need. And I need a man willing to be betrothed. Tonight.”

The owner of the infamous gambling establishment, the Lyon’s Den, took another sip of tea. Suggesting Amelia to do the same. She refused.

“What if you can’t find the right man tonight?”

“I’ll take the best of the worst if I have to.”

It looked as though the older lady was mulling it over.

Amelia could not, would not, take no for an answer. This had to work. It was her only hope.

“If I may speak boldly, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. I’m walking out of here with a husband-to-be in tow. I’ll pay whatever sum to make it so.”

“Well, then. You have made up your mind my dear. Who am I to stop you? Have you taken a look around yet?”

With embarrassment masked in defiance, Amelia shook her head slightly.

“I dare say that before I take your money, you should at least walk around the place once to see if there’s a man you’d prefer to take home as your husband.”

Amelia bristled at the last phrase. Shifted in her seat. Refolded her hands.

“I’ll find one.” The words were full of resolve with pockets of fear.

“Go on, then.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood, indicating toward the door.

This was it. Her entire future, for her and her family, depended on this moment in time. This exploration of the den. This choosing. This was how she was going to save them all.

It was time to hunt for a husband.