Into The Lyon's Den: The Lyon's Den Connected World (Book 1)

by Jade Lee

  He arched a brow. “I am curious about you. Are you offended?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “I just don’t understand why. Given my father’s display…” She rolled her eyes at that. “I doubt you intend seduction. I am a means to an end for you, a way to replace a brooch and thereby get a vote. So why the conversation? It is a beautiful day. I am happy to look at an area of London I so rarely get to see.”

  “You think I am only interested in seduction or a vote?”

  Her brows rose as if that were obvious. “I am not of your class. What else could there be?”

  “Friendship? Conversation?”

  “With me?” She might as well have said, “With a zebra?”

  He chuckled. “Of course, with you. In truth, I find every person fascinating from the lowest bootblack to the highest-born gentlemen in the land. But you are especially interesting.”

  “Why?”

  Because she spoke with dignity and very little accent. Because there was absolutely nothing outstanding about her face or body, and yet he couldn’t stop sneaking peeks at her. Because a half dozen rough men treated her like spun glass and blushed when she touched them. “Because you are the one who is here. I have already peppered Tom with questions.” He jerked his head back at his tiger, who stood at attention behind them. “Go ahead, Tom. Tell her.”

  “He’s right chatty, miss. Talks to everyone. T’aint cruel or stupid.”

  “Isn’t cruel,” Elliott corrected and was pleased to see Tom repeat the proper words in a clear tone.

  “Isn’t cruel. And he don’t mind helping us better ourselves.” There was enough emphasis on the letter H that Elliott didn’t correct the rest.

  Miss Gold frowned, but eventually, she nodded. “You have a kindred spirit in Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She has found ways to help all her employees improve their lot.”

  By trapping unwary men into marriage. He had heard of a few men who had taken missteps in her den only to find themselves caught in a bind they could not escape. And at least one of those unions had ended disastrously. “You sound as if you admire her.”

  “I do. She educates her girls. That alone is worthy of respect.”

  “You have the reforming spirit, then.”

  She smiled. “I am a smart woman. Of course, I wish to reform the world. I want as many opportunities as you.”

  “As a man? Or as a peer?”

  She shook her head. “As a man, my lord. I know the world is not so open as to allow me to sponsor a resolution or bow before the king. But if I had the opportunities of a man, then I should be content.”

  “Because you could openly create jewelry instead of pretend that it is your grandfather’s work?”

  She hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “Yes. And I could run the store as well or take a walk without fearing attack.”

  “Men fear attack as well.”

  “Not in the same way,” she said.

  That was certainly true. “Do you see no advantages to being a woman over a man?”

  “You mean like carrying a child? Being at the creature’s beck and call. To feed it, clothe it, teach it, all while the father is off—”

  “Working hard labor to provide for you and the children.”

  “And drinking it away with his mates?”

  That was a dark view of marriage, but he couldn’t deny that it applied to so many. “Not all men drink what they earn.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose you are right. But I would rather do the work and leave someone else to carry the child.”

  “Hard labor hauling wares? Tilling fields?”

  “Fashioning jewelry, my lord. That is my gift, if you recall. I merely wish to do it openly.”

  He could not fault her for that. “I shall make you a bargain. If you do a good job on the brooch, I shall commission something from you and tell everyone that you are the one who fashioned it.”

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth slipped ajar in shock. “Truly?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  She didn’t take him at his word. Instead, she glanced back at Tom, who nodded.

  “’E’ll do it. ‘E’s a strange one.”

  Not exactly the ringing endorsement he expected. He shot his tiger a glare. “He,” he said.

  Tom nodded. “He’s a strange one.”

  Also, not the sentence he wanted repeated. He slanted a look at Miss Gold. “Do we have a bargain?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not much of a bargain. I was going to do an excellent job anyway, but you are the judge and jury. There is nothing stopping you from saying the work is not up to snuff, and then away you go.”

  “You do not trust easily, do you, Miss Gold?”

  “Why would I have reason to? My father and grandfather are honest, but the only other men I meet are the ones who wish to pawn their trinkets for money.”

  What a sad statement. “Those are not the best examples of mankind.”

  “No, my lord, they are quite often the worst.”

  “Well, I am counted one of the best. So, I shall endeavor to expand your experience of men.” That was not phrased the way he intended, but she took it calmly enough. She even ventured a smile.

  “I shall endeavor to see you in a better light and allow you to impress me.”

  And with that, he had to be content. Unfortunately, five minutes later, he proved exactly how inept he was.

  Chapter Three

  They continued to talk, getting to know each other in the most generic terms. He preferred spring with the promise of the coming year. She enjoyed the colors of fall and the crisp bite. Amber spoke easily with him, knowing that this day was a respite from the usual grays of her life. And as they talked, her artist eye caught the curve of a bird’s throat as it broke into song. She saw a dewdrop catch the light on a spring bud. And she saw that everything smelled sweeter and looked cleaner as they progressed through London.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. But even before the words were finished, he pulled the phaeton to the side, and his tiger sprang into action. The boy held the horses’ heads while Lord Byrn set the brake, then leaped to the ground.

  She smiled as he landed, appreciating the solid sound. Not light like a boy, not precarious as a drunkard, but firm and easy as a man in his prime. And truly, she could not help but notice the muscles of his thighs and the curve of his calves. She had no quarrels with Lord Byrn’s form, that was for certain.

  He handed her down, grabbed her sketchbook and pencil for her, then held out his arm to escort her to an impressive home such as she had never been inside. There was nothing distinctive about it except that it was clean, large, and in Mayfair. Amber found an unaccustomed spring in her step as they walked up the steps.

  Lord Byrn knocked, and when a butler with a very large nose opened the door, he handed over his card. “Lord Byrn and Miss Thisbe—”

  “Miss Amber Gohar,” she corrected. She had no idea what prompted her to give her true name, correct surname and all, but the idea that she would step into a place so grand as anyone but herself was an insult to her pride. So she used her true name, and when the butler raised his eyebrows at her interruption, she shrugged. “He never pronounces it correctly.”

  “Quite right,” Lord Byrn said. “I can be most muddleheaded about names.” Then he patted her hand as if he were a fond uncle. “We’ve come to see the Joseph Wright portrait. Miss Gohar has a fondness for art, and we beg the countess’s indulgence.”

  “Very well,” the man intoned as he sketched a short bow. “Follow me, please.”

  They did while Amber eyed everything from the soaring column staircase to the dull wallpaper. They were escorted into a front parlor and asked about tea. Lord Byrn declined, but said, “No need to bother the countess. I’m sure she has better things to do than rattle around with us. We’ll only be a moment.”

  The statement fell on deaf ears. The butler bowed himself out, leaving the door ajar such that a footman stationed in the hallway could eye them suspiciousl
y. Lord Byrn fidgeted with his watch as they sat, his expression forced.

  “What?” she whispered to him.

  “I had hoped to catch the countess out. We’d have no problem otherwise. But if she is in the house…” His voice trailed away, and he looked chagrined.

  “Is the woman difficult to charm?” Amber had already figured out that Lord Byrn’s charisma smoothed his way as much as his title.

  “The worst,” he said with a funny groan. “She has heard too many pretty words in her life to enjoy any of them.”

  “Oh, dear. What will you do?”

  “Use not-so-pretty ones.” Then he shrugged. “But she’s mostly immune to those, too.”

  And that was all they were able to say before an elderly woman dressed in the finest silks stepped into the room. She was announced not by the butler, but by a firm stomp of her cane and a piercing look.

  “What is this about you and my portrait?” she demanded the moment she crossed the threshold. “You haven’t shown the least interest before now.”

  Lord Byrn was on his feet, bowing over the countess’s hand and giving her a very charming smile. “What very fine looks you are in today. Have you changed your hair? I do believe it is more fetching than ever.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said with impatience. “Whyever do you want to see my portrait?”

  “It’s not for me, but for Miss Gohar, here. She has a particular fondness for the man’s work, and I have promised her a visit to see it. It won’t take but a moment—”

  “Humph.” She looked sternly at Amber, who curtsied as gracefully as she could. She’d never had to do so before such an intimidating lady, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon had taught it to them all. It was part of the regular deportment class that all the girls were expected to attend.

  “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” she said.

  “We’re not acquainted yet, now are we?” The dowager clomped over to her seat and settled in with Lord Byrn’s help. Then she gestured to Amber. “Sit down, gel. Tell me about yourself.”

  Oh, dear. She had not planned a story with Lord Byrn. They’d talked of the weather, not of whatever he wished to say to the countess. Fortunately, she had spent much of her life daydreaming about who she would be back in Germany. Except the moment she opened her mouth, Lord Byrn rushed in to speak for her.

  “Miss Gohar’s mother and mine are distant relations, and when we learned that she would be traveling to London, Mama insisted that they visit. And then I was naturally all too eager to help. So here we are, hoping that you will indulge us. I’ve planned a visit to the Royal Academy as well.” He ended with his charming smile again, though Amber could detect the strain in his features. It grew quite obvious as the countess stared at him. Eventually, he realized that she wasn’t speaking, and he ventured a question. “Countess? Will you indulge us?”

  “I already am,” the woman retorted soundly. Then she turned to Amber and arched a brow. “I am waiting.”

  “My lady, there isn’t much to tell,” she began. And again, Lord Byrn opened his mouth to interrupt. He wasn’t being rude, Amber realized. He really thought he was rescuing her.

  “Countess, Miss Gohar is not used to—”

  His words were cut off when she stomped her cane straight down upon his foot. To his credit, he didn’t cry out, but he did wince. And while he was recovering, the countess spoke.

  “I do hate it when a man thinks a woman can’t speak for herself.”

  Amber had to struggle not to laugh. As it was, she was sure her expression reflected her merriment, and that made the dowager smile.

  “Pray, continue,” the woman ordered.

  “I grew up in Berlin,” she said, steadily warming to her fantasy. “My family has a moldering old castle in the country, but we rarely go. My great, great grandfather was a younger son, you understand, so the land is not ours and the connection distant. But I did love seeing all the art hanging there when I was a child on holiday.”

  “So you live in the city?” the countess asked.

  “We do. Papa is politically oriented, serving as secretary to…” She blew out a breath. “Well, it has changed recently as politics are wont to do. Mama helps him and, of course, looks after myself and my two younger sisters.”

  “No sons?”

  “Alas, no. We are girls sent to find husbands.”

  “And so you are here? Visiting your mother’s old friend and hoping to join the society whirl?”

  Of course. That had been the fantasy where she ended up dancing with the prince who was not the Prince Regent but someone much more impressive. “Lord Byrn and his family have been so kind.” But since she was not likely to enter the social whirl, she had to give an excuse as to why she would not be showing up at any balls. She leaned forward in a conspiratorial gesture. “May I tell you a secret, my lady?”

  “A secret? Well, doesn’t that sound dramatic?”

  It did, and the countess loved it. “I am not so good at large parties. We were not in society in Berlin, and I am…” She gave an embarrassed shrug. “I am shy among so many august personages.” She looked down at her sketchbook. “I am much more interested in London’s art.”

  “My first ball was intimidating as well,” the countess said. “I was trained as a young girl how to dance and play the harp, but nothing prepared me for the sheer magnificence of it all. So many people all looking at me.”

  Amber looked up, able to see it all in her mind. “I’ll wager you were the magnificent one.”

  The countess harrumphed, but she was well pleased. “Of course, I was. My father made sure of it by commissioning the painting just before my presentation at court. Everything was done so that I was launched correctly. I caught the earl’s eyes that very evening.”

  Amber smiled. “Did he dance with you?”

  “Twice,” she said with a fond smile. “I would have danced a third time, but twice was scandalous enough. My mother would have none of it.”

  “Oh, tell me everything,” Amber begged. She wanted to know everything from the earliest dance lesson through the color of the gown all the way to what music was played and how each and every gentleman appeared. It was like a fantasy come to life, hearing it from the woman who had done it all. And though part of her had outgrown fairy tales, this was like looking at a childhood dream with entirely new eyes from a lady who had lived it.

  So after gentle pleading, the countess relayed her memories in gorgeous fashion. Tea was served and drank, but Amber barely cared. So beautiful was the recitation and so different from anything she had ever experienced in her life. All her daydreams had been of showing up in a lovely gown and dancing. Suddenly, she had details that had never occurred to her before. Hair and gown designs, ways to maneuver her fan, and even how to flirt while still appearing modest. These were things she’d never considered before, and the dowager countess dropped them freely in every sentence.

  Until the lady was done. She was tired, it seemed, though her eyes were misty with memories. “Oh my, how you have gotten me talking.”

  “I have loved every second,” Amber said with complete honesty.

  “Well then, come, come. Give it to me,” the countess said as she waved her hand at Amber’s sketchbook.

  What? Oh no! The sketchbook did not show anything of Berlin or Germany. In truth, it didn’t have much at all in the way of portraiture. It was jewelry designs and a few dreams. “No, my lady. Please. I am nothing but a dabbler.”

  For the second time that hour, the cane came down with force. Fortunately, Lord Byrn had moved his foot, so he was unharmed. This time, the irritation was directed at Amber.

  “Show me, girl. I do not expect you to be Joseph Wright.”

  Amber looked desperately at Lord Byrn, and he tried to help. “She is most private about her sketches, Countess.”

  “Piffle. Modesty has its place but not right now.” Then she held out her hand, and Amber had no choice but to pass her book over.

  “These ar
e new sketches,” she hedged. “Nothing of home.” That was a lie, but a necessary one. She had to explain why all of her sketches were set in London. Then she had to sit there in excruciating silence as the countess paged one by one through her sketches, while Lord Byrn looked over her shoulder.

  No one said a word, but their faces were much too expressive. Lord Byrn’s eyebrows rose higher and higher with each page. The countess, however, pursed her lips and frowned as time went on. Amber knew that she had only modest talent with sketches, but she was damned good with jewelry. She had to be. She made the pieces there on the page. The cat cufflinks with diamond eyes and the tiara fashioned to look like ivy with tiny ruby berries. She wasn’t very good with pearls. That was her father’s specialty, but she designed the metal that supported the strands.

  Fortunately, many of the sketches showed jewelry on a person. Her best ones were given to her father to show potential customers. The dowager paused a long moment on a sketch of a distinguished woman with a cane sporting a wolf’s head with ruby eyes. Lord Byrn appeared especially interested in a fanciful watercolor sketch of a couple dancing in the middle of a ball. She wore a breathtaking gown of palest blue. Sapphires adorned her ears, wrist, and lay tantalizingly above her décolletage. He was no less stunning, dressed in the latest fashion with a waistcoat that matched her sapphires in color and a cravat pin that looked like a cat leaping onto a pearl.

  Finally, the countess finished her perusal. She looked up and spoke with a dry tone. “Well, I can certainly see where your interest lies. Gemstones do hold a particular fascination for many women.” Her finger tapped on an intricate bracelet design of two dogs with garnet collars. They looked like they were running around the woman’s wrist, and Amber thought it one of her best designs. Too bad she was supposed to be interested in portraiture.

  “They’re just silly sketches,” Amber said.

  “They’re extraordinary,” Lord Byrn said, and she heard true admiration in his tone.

  “Very well,” the countess intoned as she pushed to her feet.