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

by Jade Lee

  It was a lie because Geoffrey’s entire family had objected to the marriage. None of the children had welcomed her nor been remotely kind, which was especially hard as she was younger than the lot of them. But that was water under the bridge. Right now, Elliott had to find a solution for his sister that didn’t involve someone risking the hangman’s noose.

  Fortunately, the staff appeared to be on his sister’s side. The butler, Simpson, had been incredibly anxious to have Elliott intercede. In fact, the old guy stood sentry, and his jaw clenched as Geoffrey grabbed his hat and departed.

  Meanwhile, Elliott joined Simpson at the door. “Your staff seems to be somewhat thin of sturdy, young footmen,” he said. “It would be a kindness, I think, for you to provide employment for our veterans. They need good work to do.”

  Simpson winced. “If I might be candid, my lord?”

  “Please.”

  “The estate is crumbling. His lordship’s health has been declining, so he has not seen to things as he ought. And so…” He sighed. “There are no funds to pay such new servants.”

  That made sense. If the heir was a disaster, too often, the father was as well. “You leave that to me.” He wasn’t exactly flush with money, but for his sister’s welfare, he would find a way to pay for her protection. He only hoped it was enough. “Pray inform my sister and Miss Gohar that I had an appointment and will return in two hours.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Then he handed Elliott his hat and bowed deeply before holding open the front door.

  Elliott wasted no time in turning the horses’ heads to the Lyon’s Den. He hadn’t seen his quarry except as a glimpse of someone slinking into the shadows last night, but it had been enough. He arrived at the Den during the midafternoon heat, which was more damp than hot. He pushed his way inside and searched until he found Titan plucking a guitar in a dark basement bedroom. His face was tight, and his scarred hand moved with difficulty across the strings. Odd that it was the man’s ears that gave him away. His hair was shorn close, and there was a unique fold of ear that betrayed his identity.

  “Luke, what the hell are you doing?” he said by way of greeting. “Your entire family thinks you’re dead.”

  The desultory plucking at the instrument stopped. When the man spoke, his words were barely intelligible thanks to a thick accent of no particular origin. “You must be mistaken, milord. I ain’t—”

  “Stop it,” Elliott ordered as he stepped inside the dank room and shut the door. “You are Luke, future Earl of Wolvesmead. Your brother and I enjoyed an entire summer crawling around your dilapidated castle with you.” It had been perhaps the best months of his childhood. “Your mother spends hours on her knees every day, praying for your safe return. Does she know you’re alive? Does anyone?”

  Luke’s eyes narrowed, but that was the only reaction. He remained as he was, shrouded in shadow with his maimed hand resting lightly on the guitar. “I don’t know what ye mean—”

  Elliott blew out a breath. “I’m not here to banter lies with you, Luke. I need your help. Diana is in trouble. You remember her, yes? She’s of an age with you.”

  Luke’s head lifted the rest of the way until his haunted eyes looked out from a gaunt face. “I remember her. Married Dunnamore.”

  At least he wasn’t denying his identity anymore. “Her stepson Geoffrey is threatening her. I need a man in her house to protect her until I can think of a better solution. I’ve enough to pay you—if you want it—and another footman besides.”

  Luke’s mouth twisted down. “I know the blighter. He’s got a crew of fellows who act like a gang of bloody thieves.”

  “If they would stop at thievery, I would be less afraid.”

  Luke grimaced. “You can’t count on that.”

  “I know. Which is why I need you to stop playing wolf pack here and—”

  “Play wolf pack there?”

  They were referring to what the widow Dove-Lyons called her bouncers. She’d named them her Wolf Pack with Titan (Luke) as their leader. Elliott couldn’t think of a better group to look after his sister. “Do you have trustworthy men who could use the extra blunt?”

  “They’re all good men,” Luke snapped.

  Of course, they were. Luke wouldn’t tolerate anything less. “Then you’ll help me?”

  The man took a while to answer. He stared into the shadows for a moment, and his entire body stilled until he became one with the darkness. But in the end, Luke dipped his chin in agreement. “I will help on one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “You won’t tell anyone who I am.”

  Which name was forbidden? Titan (his Lyon’s Den name), Lord Lucifer (his boyhood nickname), or Luke (his real name)? It didn’t matter. Elliott would not be party to deceiving a man’s family. “Your brother is my friend. Your whole family is in hell wondering if you’re—”

  “They think I’m dead. They’ve accepted it.”

  “But you’re not!” Elliott took a step forward. “And your mother definitely hasn’t—”

  “Believe me, she has. Or if she hasn’t, she’s praying that I stay away.”

  “That isn’t true.” But then Elliott remembered his summer at Wolvesmead Castle. Luke’s mother had never been a warm woman. She had a critical eye, a sharp tongue, and an unrelenting anger toward her eldest son. Elliott never asked the reason for it, but he couldn’t deny it. “Think of your brother, then, and your father.”

  Luke’s head dropped, and he began picking at the guitar again. “Find someone else,” he said over the plunking notes.

  Elliott stood there a while, too aware that he had no other options. He still tried to find a different way. He pulled up an old stool and squatted down on it as he tried every manipulative technique he knew. He employed reason, wielded guilt, even took a stab at patriotism. None of it worked. In the end, he gave in to Luke’s demands. Diana was worth the sacrifice, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was betraying one of his oldest friends in order to save his sister.

  “Very well,” he conceded. “How quickly can you start?”

  “Immediately,” Luke said as he set aside the guitar. “But you can’t have them call me Titan. You can’t mix your sister with the Lyon’s Den.”

  An excellent point.

  Luke grabbed his hat. “Call me, Mr. Lucifer.”

  Elliott snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Mr. Dunderhead would be more fitting.”

  Luke grabbed a pair of knives and slipped them into unseen pockets. “You never understood the intimidation of a good nickname.”

  Very true. Names meant nothing to him, and a nickname was less substantial than smoke. Still, he trusted Luke to know his business, and if that meant calling him Mr. Lucifer, then he would oblige. Besides, Elliott was anxious to get back to Amber and didn’t want to waste the time to argue. “Take whatever alias you like so long as you’re there tonight to protect Diana.”

  “From Geoffrey? My pleasure,” Luke said. Then he smiled in a way that seemed truly Satanic. “I shall keep her as safe as a vestal virgin.”

  Elliott opened the bedroom door with a snort. “You’re mixing mythologies, you know. Greek, Christian—”

  “Vestal virgins are Roman.”

  “Fine. Roman and Christian.”

  Luke adjusted his clothing, his body limber despite his ruined hand. “We can make plans as we take your chariot to Diana’s temple.”

  “Good God, when did you become so fanciful?”

  “I gave up reality when forty-eight thousand men died at Waterloo.”

  Elliott winced. “I thought the number was twenty-three thousand.”

  “Is it any less horrendous because the other twenty-five thousand were French?”

  No, it wasn’t. Every man had a mother, and every death marked a loss. In the end, Elliott had nothing to say but, “I’m sorry.” He had not fought in the battle. He had not seen the blood, smelled the gore, or heard the screams. He was not haunted as Luke so obviously was. But he
could still grieve the destruction even as he lay the blame fully upon the Corsican emperor. “Thank God it’s over.”

  “Is it?” Luke challenged.

  No, it wasn’t, but that was why Elliott was working so hard to get his resolution passed. He needed to end the misery for so many, including the newest member of Diana’s household --Mr. Lucifer.

  Chapter Five

  Amber followed the butler and Lady Dunnamore up the stairs. She tried to look with a critical eye. It was the only way she could combat the overwhelming sense of giddiness at being inside a majestic old home, at walking behind a lady who moved like she floated upon the air, and at being an imposter to a woman who seemed beset by her own troubles.

  She tried to be unimpressed but failed. Amber saw the peeling wallpaper but was left awed by the fine portraits hanging upon it. She noticed the thin fabric on the chairs but smelled the beeswax that glossed the wood to a shine. The staff was meticulous, she saw, but the family did not spend on upkeep. This wasn’t a surprise as the blighter, Geoffrey, had been to the Lyon’s Den often. He had pawned jewelry there, he had played deep and lost, and he had been escorted off the premises when he had become too drunk to hold a pair of dice.

  “Lord Dunnamore rests in there,” Lady Dunnamore said in the barest voice. “My chamber is there.” She pointed to the room next door. “And you shall be here,” she said as stepped into a bright yellow room set directly beside her bedroom. “It only needs an airing and bedding. That shan’t take long. In the meantime, you must come into my room, and we will look at what gowns can be fitted to you.”

  “None of them, I’m afraid,” Amber said. Lady Dunnamore was thin and light. Amber, on the other hand, had a larger chest, rounder hips, and muscles that added bulk.

  “Don’t be too sure,” the lady said as she eyed Amber. “I’ve thinned in the last few years. I’m sure I can find something that will serve.”

  “My lady, please. I don’t wish to impose—” she began, but Lady Dunnamore cut her off.

  “Why don’t we talk in my bedchamber as yours is being set right? I am quite curious, you know. Mama said so little about you.”

  Her Mama had said nothing of her at all, but Amber had no way to know if she was impersonating a real person who was the daughter of Lady Byrn’s friend or someone completely imaginary. Either way, she couldn’t construct a story until she learned the facts from Lord Byrn. Unfortunately, his sister wasn’t giving her any choice as she held open her bedroom door and gestured Amber inside.

  “Come in,” she said in a soft voice. “Only we must keep our voices down. Lord Dunnamore’s rest is easily disturbed.”

  “Of course, Lady—”

  “Hush.” She carefully shut her bedroom door and then went to press her ear against the door that adjoined with her husband’s room. They could both hear the snores that came from inside. So with a smile, the lady turned back to Amber. Except the smile was not friendly. It showed teeth and did not reach the ice in her blue eyes. “What is your real name?” she asked quietly.

  “Amber Gohar, my lady.”

  “I will have the truth. All of it.”

  “I have no wish to burden you, my lady. It was not my idea to involve you.”

  The woman nodded, and though she seemed like a stiff wind could blow her aside, the look she settled on Amber had weight. A distinctly uncomfortable weight and Amber barely restrained herself from shuffling her feet like a guilty child.

  “Did you know that Elliott inherited his title when he was twelve years old?” she asked.

  This question was asked in a casual manner at distinct odds with her heavy stare. Amber wasn’t sure what to make of it, so she answered in the politest tones. “I did not know that, my lady.”

  “I was the eldest, so I had to keep things going. It was years before he was old enough to pay attention, you know. So it fell to me.”

  “Not your mother?” Amber’s mother had died years before, but when alive, she had been a force to be reckoned with. She kept all the men in line and raised Amber with a stern hand.

  Diana shook her head. “My mother did what she thought best.”

  That was not a compliment to her mother.

  “Once my brother grew of age, he fought for me, my mother, and my sisters. Nothing was easy, and my husband was cruel to him. And yet, he found a way, and I am in a better place because of it.”

  That was a surprise. Just how bad had it been? And what had Lord Byrn done to make it better? Questions swirled in her mind, but she kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t her place to ask.

  “Suffice it to say that I am extremely grateful to my brother, and so I will do whatever he asks to the best of my ability. Whatever that means regarding you.”

  “That is extraordinarily kind of you.”

  “It is nothing of the sort,” she answered, her tone growing more tart. “It is what I will do for my family.” Then her voice took on more volume and strength. “Which means I will also destroy anyone who harms him, and in the most humiliating way possible. Do I make myself clear?”

  The threat was clear, as was the steel inside Lady Dunnamore. It was impressive, and Amber responded with a meek, “Yes, my lady. Perfectly clear.” Except that was not her only response.

  This whole situation was like something out of her dreams. That she should attend a ball or even spend a night as a guest of a true lady was akin to her dream of dancing with the prince. None of it felt real, and tiny champagne bubbles of giddiness tickled her insides. They teased her sense of humor and made her smile when she should be curtseying like the lowest maid.

  “Do you think I am jesting with you?” Lady Dunnamore demanded.

  “No, my lady. Definitely not.” Amber did her best to school her voice and expression to one of deepest contrition. But she couldn’t. She was just too happy.

  She was living out one of her favorite daydreams, where she was the poor relation of a lonely woman of means. Where she arrived at the house, brought friendship to the lady, and one day was able to attend a ball where she danced with a handsome man. Some days it was the prince. Other days, he was a king already. And sometimes, he was quite simply the fiercest and most handsome warrior in the land.

  “Then why—”

  “I did not ask to come here. That was his lordship’s idea. But now that I am here, I find I like you quite well and will be pleased with whatever time I get to share with you.” That was true, although not the whole truth since she was not going to talk about her dream of going to a ball.

  Her ladyship frowned for a moment, then lifted her chin. “Will you tell me everything?”

  Amber bit her lip. “Perhaps you should ask your brother.”

  “I am asking you.”

  And here, Amber had a choice. She could confess all, or she could invent another story from her fertile imagination. She could pretend all sorts of nonsense, and she had a large store of fantasies from which to draw. The need to spin a tale burned on her tongue, but Lady Dunnamore deserved better. Why? Because her stepson was the blighter Geoffrey, and so her life could very well be a disaster of his making.

  “I am a tradeswoman,” she finally said, feeling her cheeks heat in embarrassment. If Lady Dunnamore wished to humiliate her, this was the best way. “Your brother needs me to fashion a brooch for him made exactly as appears in Lady Morthan’s portrait.”

  “And you cannot see it except at the ball?”

  Amber shook her head. “We tried, but she refused.”

  “And issued an invitation instead?”

  “Insisted, my lady.”

  Lady Dunnamore blew out a breath. “My brother cannot afford to dismiss her. Her family is quite political.”

  “So, I have come to understand.”

  Amber waited a long moment as the woman seemed to inspect her from head to toe. She frowned as she did so, as if she were looking at a dirty child. “It won’t serve, Miss Gohar.”

  “What?” Amber bristled. She would have said a great deal more, but
the lady held up her hand.

  “You cannot be the daughter of one of mother’s lost friends. Mother doesn’t have any lost friends. Enemies, perhaps, but she will never admit that she sponsored one of their children. You must be the younger sister of one of mine.” She frowned. “From Berlin, you say?”

  She hadn’t said, but her brother had. “Yes, my lady.”

  “And we can’t have any of that either. You will call me Diana, and you shall be Amber.”

  The very idea that Lady Dunnamore would call her by her given name made her eyes water with gratitude. She was Thisbe to the aristocracy who frequented the Lyon’s Den. Daughter to her father and child to her grandfather. None but her dead mother had ever called her by her given name. Until now. Until Lady Dunnamore opened up her home and her closet to her. Even knowing that it was done for her brother did not dim the warmth in Amber’s heart. They were to be friends, and the enormity of that made every part of her flush with gratitude.

  “You are too kind,” she managed.

  “And you had best not be lying.”

  “I am not,” she said firmly.

  Diana smiled, then threw open her wardrobe. “Then let us see what can be done for tomorrow night.”

  The answer was clear. A very great deal could be done. Lady Dunnamore had plenty of gowns and a maid who was a wizard with needle and thread. They barely noticed when her brother sent a message up that he had an errand and would return in a couple hours. Amber was measured as they discussed colors. They enjoyed a late tea while analyzing trends in fashion. In this, Amber had a great deal of knowledge thanks to the women who frequented the ladies’ half of the Lyon’s Den. And then they laughed together as Amber encouraged Diana to reminisce.

  The woman was indeed lonely, and she needed little prodding to speak fondly of her childhood and especially her brother’s antics. He had been a lively boy and a late addition to a mother who had produced only girls. They feared, at first, that he would grow up to be timid beneath so many women. Quite the contrary, Elliott had joined forces with the gardener’s sons and the village boys. They became the terror of the county, and if it were not for the stern hand of Diana’s father, he might very well had run roughshod over everyone.