Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Lyon’s Den
Rufus set the note on his desk and then strolled, hands behind his back, to the window. Contemplating the rear garden from his study, he wondered what news Bessie Dove-Lyon had that had led her to request his attendance at the blue house.
Since his engagement to Clem had become public knowledge, importuning suitors were a thing of the past, so whatever the reason, Bessie Dove-Lyon’s news was unlikely to affect her.
Hearing the chimes from his long case clock repeated by nearby church bells tolling the hour, Rufus made up his mind. He tucked the note into his pocketbook and then, having no further appointments for the evening, he called for his hat and gloves and set out for the premises on Cleveland Row.
Confident he was in control of the multiple strands he was slowly weaving together, Rufus pulled back the curtain and watched the passing faces as he was driven to the Lyon’s Den. Wheels were in motion and, despite the minor inconvenience of his engagement, everything would soon be resolved.
As for Will and Clem, soon all would be resolved. Unknown to the prince, the regent was his secret weapon, one he would make use of but never abuse.
The carriage pulled up in front of the blue house, a familiar sight over recent months as Rufus maneuvered people like chess pieces.
Grimacing at the analogy, he had to believe the only pieces he had sacrificed had deserved their fates: Hetherington, the widowed viscount who had gained a woman willing to exchange her impoverished life for a loveless marriage and then, Danvers, the red faced and portly lord undeserving of Clem even if she didn’t love Will.
As he considered the long game he’d played for Clem and Will’s sakes, the only piece one might consider sacrificial was him. The white knight, Clem had called him.
He was happy to have played the role.
Climbing the central staircase towards his meeting with the mistress of the Lyon’s Den, he felt an unexpected loss at the end of their joint effort.
She had proven to be a useful ally, and she was astute.
Evidence of her ability to gather relevant information and apply gentle pressure as needed had helped to keep Clem safe until Will had returned.
If ever the mysterious Mrs. Dove-Lyon decided to become a spy, Rufus would gratefully accept her on his side.
Then again, it was possible she already was a spy, one of whom even he was uninformed. It made sense, after all. Carstairs was canny and the widow’s husband had been an honorable soldier.
A footman admitted him to the same parlor and, as on previous visits, offered brandy and coffee.
He accepted both, and when the coffee arrived, motioned the maid to leave the brandy on the table rather than pour a glass immediately.
Depending on what Bessie Dove-Lyon told him, he might wish for a drink later.
As before, his hostess entered quietly, gliding across the rug to her usual position facing Rufus. “Good evening, my lord. I trust you are well.”
“Good evening, madam. I am, thank you, and you?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon inclined her head. “As ever. Thank you for coming so swiftly.”
“Your note intrigued me. I had thought our business concluded upon my engagement, so I assume this is some matter with which I may assist you.”
“In part, yes. There is something I would like you to do for me, but I believe we have other business to discuss first. It concerns a business with which I believe you are intimately connected.”
Glad he had chosen not to drink the brandy before this meeting, Rufus leaned back and crossed his legs, wishing, and not for the first time, that he could see his hostess’s expression.
But the mystery behind her veil had made him focus on more subtle physical signs, cues he had previously undervalued in favor of watching faces.
“You have my attention.”
“The two items are not directly connected, nor do they rely upon one another, but I am confident in my assessment of where your…business interests lie.”
Cold fingers trailed down Rufus’s spine, although he maintained an air of polite interest.
Was there a chance he had misunderstood her?
Her pause before that single, loaded euphemism was as charged a threat as he’d heard. Unlike a gun to one’s head, which relied on a single shot, knowledge was potent, with consequences far-reaching enough to bring down kings and governments.
Or in this case, two noble families and a network of spies painstakingly built up over many years.
If he understood her implication correctly.
Although calm on the surface, inside, his gut clenched. He concentrated on breathing normally while his mind raced.
Had he been wrong about her? Was the owner of the Lyon’s Den going to attempt to blackmail him over their dealings? A word dropped in the right ear could do enormous damage.
A smile played on her lips, and she shook her head. “I assume you are an accomplished poker player, my lord, but even you cannot control that tiny flicker of your eyes.”
She sat forward and lowered her voice. “Forgive any misunderstanding, and I shall forgive the unbecoming thought I read in your face. It is not my way to use the knowledge we uncover here for any purpose other than that to which we originally agreed. My people are loyal and trustworthy, as am I. But where national security is concerned, I see my path differently.”
“National security?” Another possibility slowly opened up to Rufus, one laden with nothing but good for him.
“I believe so, and I am confident you are the man to whom I may safely deliver the news.” She waited, and he felt her watchful gaze. When he did not dissent, she continued. “A small group of Frenchmen visited my establishment last night. They imbibed freely, perhaps a little unwisely for them.”
Relief washed through Rufus as he recognized what she was offering. Not blackmail, but a golden opportunity dropped into his lap.
“You’ve heard something?”
“Little more than a hint at the moment, but troubling if there is any truth in it, and in my experience, there usually is. Whispers of ways to remove something precious from a distant island.”
Breathing in slowly, Rufus thanked whatever benevolent god had led him to this place, to this intelligent woman whose eyes and ears could gather such important information. “Troubling indeed if it were to proceed.”
“I am a patriot, my lord, as was my husband. Should a need arise in the future, please know you may depend on my services and complete discretion.”
“I have seen both for myself already. My thanks for this latest, and my most sincere apology for ever doubting you.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon inclined her head. “One must earn loyalty and trust. They are not qualities to be taken lightly. And now, I am reassured that I was right in my reading of you.”
“As am I.” He drank his coffee and set the cup back in the saucer. “Earlier, you mentioned that this business was one part of our meeting. What is the second?”
From her pocket, she withdrew a small, dark green bag, tied with apple green silken cords. It chinked softly as she held it out.
When the bag sat on Rufus’s hand, it was heavy with coin. He raised an eyebrow in query.
“For Lady Clementine’s fundraiser for the hospital. I do believe she will be a force for change, and I wish to offer my support, though anonymously. You may tell only her if you wish, but I do not seek, nor desire, public acknowledgement.”
“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“I do it in memory of the colonel. He was a good man, and I believe he would have supported Lady Clementine’s work to make the public aware of the great sacrifices made by our soldiers.
And the great injustices heaped on many when they return.
I have seen shameful sights in the hidden parts of London, too many scarred veterans who have been forgotten. Bless her, and the work she is doing.”
Rufus smiled. “It was the best decision I ever made when I sought your help, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“Bessie,” she said softly. “But only when we are alone. And don’t forget my offer to help you find the woman who should be your wife, for I am certain your engagement to the young lady is not real. Not after all our efforts on her behalf while her true love was . . . away.”
Pocketing Bessie’s generous donation, Rufus took her hand, bowing over it. “You are a special woman, Bessie. I will see you again, I am certain of it.”