Chapter 12
Damien’s Inquiry
The Lyon’s Den looked exactly as Damien remembered it—an elegant facade concealing secrets darker than London’s infamous fog.
He approached not through the main entrance but via a narrow side passage that few knew existed.
Three precise knocks on a weathered door brought a grizzled doorman whose eyes widened in recognition.
“Your Grace,” the man muttered, surprise evident in his gravelly voice. “Been some time.”
“Indeed it has, Hobbs,” Damien replied, pressing a gold coin into the man’s palm. “Is she in?”
“For you? Always.” Hobbs pocketed the coin and stepped aside. “Through the back stairs. She’s in the red salon.”
Damien moved through the dimly lit corridor with the confidence of long familiarity.
Three years ago, he’d spent countless nights searching these rooms for Dominic, dragging his semi-conscious brother from gaming tables and private chambers.
The Widow had always known where to find Dominic, though her information came at increasing cost as his brother’s debts mounted.
The red salon was The Widow’s most private receiving room, reserved for her most valued clients—or those whose business required absolute discretion. Its crimson walls and heavy velvet draperies absorbed both light and sound, ensuring conversations remained contained within its luxurious confines.
The Widow was seated at a delicate rosewood desk when he entered, her silver-streaked hair arranged in an elegant coiffure, her black gown adorned with jet beads that caught the firelight.
She looked up from the ledger before her, a smile curving her lips that didn’t quite reach her calculating eyes.
“The prodigal duke returns,” she remarked, setting down her pen. “I wondered how long it would take you to find your way here.”
“Bessie.” Damien inclined his head in a gesture that was part greeting, part acknowledgment of their complicated history. “You look well.”
“And you look troubled,” she countered, rising to approach a sideboard where crystal decanters gleamed. “Brandy? Or would you prefer something stronger, given the circumstances of your visit?”
“Brandy will suffice.” He watched as she poured two glasses, her movements graceful and economical. “I assume my wife has already paid you a visit.”
The Widow handed him a glass, her expression revealing nothing. “Client confidentiality is the foundation of my business, Your Grace. Surely you remember that.”
“I remember you were always willing to bend those principles for the right price.” Damien took a sip, appreciating the smooth burn of excellent spirits. “I’ve no doubt that my clever wife has paid you a visit. What did you tell Eleanor about my brother?”
“Only what Society already knows,” The Widow replied, returning to her chair and gesturing for him to take the seat opposite. “And that I haven’t seen him, which is the truth.”
“Nothing of Dominic’s current difficulties, then?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I wouldn’t know of his current difficulties, would I? If you’re suggesting I had something to do with Dominic’s return, you’re quite mistaken.”
Damien swirled the amber liquid in his glass, considering how much to reveal.
“Dominic left me a note saying he was leaving for England. Against my explicit instructions.” He gulped the liquid and slammed the glass down on the wooden table, harder than intended.
“He’d been free of the influence of opium these eight months past when he departed from my care.
But I fear he has once again fallen prey to that vile substance. ” Damien’s voice hardened.
Concern shadowed her eyes. Strangely enough, the madam had developed a maternal affection for his little brother over the year she rescued him from countless opium dens.
“He hasn’t been seen. I spent three days searching for him before reclaiming my rightful place in the Sinclair household. I realized this search would last much longer than before.”
“Have you searched Croft’s establishments?”
Damien’s jaws clenched as his features displayed disgust. “I have, through my contacts. I fear my brother may be dead in a ditch somewhere.”
The Widow’s carefully composed mask slipped for just a moment, genuine concern flickering across her features.
She set down her glass with deliberate care, her voice softening.
“Dead? Surely not. Croft is too calculating for such crude methods—a duke’s brother found murdered would bring scrutiny he cannot afford. ”
“Unless it appeared to be misadventure,” Damien countered grimly. “An overdose in some squalid den. The tragic end of a young man’s battle with addiction. Who would question such a familiar story?”
The Widow’s expression grew troubled as she absorbed the implications. “You truly believe Croft would go so far?” The Widow asked as she refilled his glass and handed it back to him.
“He needs to be stopped,” Damien said, his voice low and intense, “before he can target more young men for his schemes, extracting information he uses for blackmail and manipulation. Before he destroys my brother entirely.”
“If Dominic is still alive,” The Widow said carefully, “could he provide evidence of these activities?”
Damien set his glass down carefully when, in fact, he wanted to smash it against the wall.
“My brother began keeping a journal once he recovered enough to understand what had been done to him. It took more than two years of traveling from continent to continent, through countless relapses and recoveries, before he achieved the eight months of true sobriety that gave him clarity. During those final months of recovery, he documented conversations, names, dates—enough to build a case against Croft that would stand up to scrutiny.”
“And this journal is now with Dominic, who has vanished back into Croft’s circle,” The Widow supplied, connecting the pieces. “Which means if your fears are founded…” She didn’t finish the thought, but the implication hung heavy between them. If Dominic was dead, the evidence died with him.
“I need to find him, Bessie.” Damien leaned forward, intensity radiating from his frame. “Before Croft realizes what Dominic possesses.”
The Widow studied him for a long moment. “You’ve always been remarkably devoted to your brother,” she observed. “Even when his actions brought scandal to your door. Even when it cost you your position in Society.”
“He’s the only family I have left,” Damien said simply.
“Croft is the most patient and calculating of vultures,” The Widow murmured. “He has quite the talent for identifying vulnerable targets.”
“Unfortunately, my brother met the criteria perfectly. A young man of means without sufficient guidance or protection,” Damien said, his hand tightening around the arm of the chair.
“And your marriage? How does that factor into your crusade?”
Damien’s expression turned guarded. “It doesn’t.
The arrangement with the duchess was and is purely financial.
I cannot live in exile any longer, however.
Not if he can influence Dominic all the way in the Orient.
” He looked up, staring past The Widow with a stern expression.
“It’s Croft or me. I shall destroy him or die trying. ”
“May I suggest, Your Grace, now that you find yourself with a surprisingly beautiful and intelligent wife,” The Widow remarked with a knowing smile, “that you do strive to thrive?”
Heat rose unexpectedly in Damien’s neck as he recalled Eleanor’s smile, her smooth skin, the soft slopes of her… He cleared his throat. “Have you forgotten your matchmaking is finished? No need to go the extra mile.”
“I disagree, Your Grace. My matchmaking is never done.” The Widow’s smile deepened. “Your expression tells me this arrangement has developed complications.”
He glanced at the madam resentfully, then rubbed his smooth chin. “She’s not what I expected.”
“Did I not mention that she was young and beautiful?” she asked innocently.
“Of course not. You would have wanted to keep me away from here, not entice me to return to claim my rightful place with my stunning and intelligent wife with her own ambitions and resources. A woman who challenges every word I utter.”
“You wound me, Duke. I would never prevent a couple from falling in love.”
“And yet, here we are. I return to discover I’m helpless in my wife’s presence, saying things against my will purely because… she’s infuriating,” Damien said, shaking his head even while a smile tugged at his lips. “Stubborn, sharp-tongued, fiercely independent—”
“And passionate about her causes,” The Widow added helpfully. “I hear she’s involved with Madam Tansley’s rescue mission—quite admirable work, helping exploited women and children escape terrible circumstances. Such efforts require both courage and resources.”
Damien’s expression shifted, a flicker of genuine admiration crossing his features. “She mentioned charitable work but not the specifics. Rescuing exploited women?”
“From brothels, primarily, though her network extends to factory workers and street children as well. Your duchess has been quietly funding safe houses and providing alternative employment for those brave enough to seek escape.” The Widow’s tone carried rare approval.
“It’s dangerous work—the sort that makes powerful enemies among those who profit from human misery. ”
“Like Croft,” Damien said grimly, pieces clicking into place.
“Precisely. Your wife’s activities threaten his business interests in ways she may not fully comprehend. Another reason he’s so determined to neutralize her influence.”
Damien felt a surge of protective pride he hadn’t expected. “She’s braver than I realized.”
“And resistant to your charms,” The Widow finished with amusement. “Something of a novelty for you, I’m sure. How inconvenient for a man who planned to marry in name only and remain detached.”
Damien glared at the older woman. “Whatever attraction exists between us must be temporary. Once I’ve secured Dominic and his evidence, we’ll leave for Westmore Hall. The arrangement will continue as originally planned.”
“Will it?” The Widow’s smile was full of mischief. “Even knowing she’s risking her life to save others? That she’s exactly the sort of woman who would understand your devotion to saving your brother?”
Damien stared at her, his certainty wavering as he considered Eleanor’s courage in an entirely new light.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled knowingly but rose to signal the end of their meeting. “I’ll post my men around Croft’s residence and his preferred watering holes. Let us pray he leads us to Dominic.”
Damien studied The Widow’s face for any sign of deception. She was a master manipulator, after all, and rarely showed her true intentions. “Are you certain you want to cross Croft on my behalf?”
The Widow’s smile turned cold. “Let’s say Lord Croft and I have competing interests in certain areas of London.
I’ve been gathering evidence against his operations for months—documenting his criminal lending practices, his coercion methods, his network of corruption.
I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to use it. ”
“And I represent that moment?”
“You represent something far more valuable—a peer of the realm with both motive and standing to present evidence before Parliament.” Her expression grew appraising.
“Your three-year absence hasn’t ruined your reputation, Your Grace.
Quite the contrary. Many in Society view your dedication to your brother’s recovery as the highest form of familial honor.
To them, you’re seen as the noble duke who sacrificed his own comfort to save his family; there’s considerable sympathy for your position. ”
Damien frowned. “Despite Dominic’s difficulties?”
“Precisely because of them. The ton respects a man who handles family crises with discretion rather than abandoning troubled relatives. Lord Croft’s activities have crossed the line from distasteful to criminal.
With your testimony and my documentation, as well as Dominic’s journal, we could see him stripped of his title and transported. ”
“Parliament would hear such accusations?”
“From a duke of your standing? Against documented criminal activity? Oh yes, Your Grace. The House of Lords takes a dim view of peers who engage in usury and extortion—particularly when the accusation comes from someone whose own character is above reproach.”
She paused, studying him with calculating eyes. “Though I confess, our conflict became rather more personal after your marriage.”
“How so?”
“Lord Croft approached me just as your wife’s period of mourning was ending, seeking my assistance in arranging a most advantageous match.” The Widow’s voice carried silky satisfaction. “He was quite convinced that the grieving Lady Sinclair would benefit from his… protection.”
Damien felt ice settle in his veins. “You refused him.”
“I did better than that. I arranged her proxy marriage to you without informing him of the opportunity.” Her smile turned cunning. “He was rather displeased to discover I’d facilitated her union with a duke instead of delivering her into his tender care.”
The thought of Eleanor trapped in marriage to Croft—vulnerable, isolated, systematically destroyed by his manipulations—sent a surge of protective fury through Damien so fierce it left him stunned.
“He would have destroyed her,” Damien said, his voice rough with emotion he couldn’t entirely control.
“Completely. Her independence, her fortune, her spirit—all would have been ground beneath his need for dominance.” The Widow’s expression softened slightly. “Which is why I chose you instead. A man who would cherish what Lord Croft would have corrupted.”
Rising to leave, Damien managed, “I’m in your debt.”
“Yes, you are,” she agreed pleasantly. “Though I wonder if you realize the true nature of that debt.”
“Meaning?”
“You will learn soon enough just how precious my gift truly was.” The Widow began to fan herself languidly. “I’m curious about one thing. You and Dominic briefly returned to England last year. Not the most practical for you to return amid Dominic’s struggles… Did you return for Lady Laura?”
“No. I had returned only to assess the damage to Westmore Hall after the fire. I did meet with her once to confirm I had no intention of taking her back.”
“I see. Rumor has it that she had a change of heart after you left England.”
Damien nodded wordlessly. It was expected that she’d fall for another after his departure. Though he was mildly surprised he felt nothing for her now.
As he made his way back through the Lyon’s Den’s hidden passages, his mind returned unbidden to Eleanor. The arrangement had indeed become complicated in ways he hadn’t anticipated.