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

by Jade Lee

  She knew she ought to say something. Deny it, if nothing else. But the shock of having her identity shouted like that left her addled. And the wash of conflicting emotions made her tongue thick and her mind lost amid the chaos of feelings.

  But Lady Byrn did not have such difficulty. “Just how much have you imbibed, Mr. Walsh?” she demanded, her voice even louder than his had been. “Speaking of such a thing among polite company! It is bad enough that you choose to frequent such a disreputable location, but do not ascribe your hallucinations to anyone else.” Then she strode over to Amber’s side, grabbed her arm in a vise-like grip, and hauled her forward. “This is my daughter’s dear friend from school, and you owe her the sincerest apology.”

  Mr. Walsh was not drunk, though he certainly had been drinking. He blinked as he stared at her. His mouth screwed up into a mean kind of smile. “Are you sure, my lady? As you say, I do frequent disreputable places, but I never forget a face. Certainly not one as lovely as hers.”

  He wouldn’t have seen her face…much. That was why her father insisted she wear a scarf to cover her features. But it got hot in the summer and sometimes late at night, she would discard the covering. He could have seen her then. He certainly could have heard her laugh.

  Mr. Jupp stepped forward, his tone cold. “You can’t tell your own mother’s face when you’ve been drinking, Rodney. Apologize and take yourself off until you’ve sobered up.”

  That was gallant of Mr. Jupp, and Amber flashed him a look of gratitude. And in that moment, she found her voice. “You seemed to have mistaken me for someone else, sir. In this darkened theater, I imagine I look rather common.”

  “No, miss, you do not,” the man said. But before Lady Byrn could castigate him again, Mr. Walsh sketched a mocking bow. “But my eyes have been playing tricks upon me lately. I do apologize for my error.”

  “You are forgiven, sir,” Amber managed.

  “Provided you make pains to explain your error to others who might be equally confused,” Lady Byrn said harshly.

  Mr. Walsh opened his mouth to speak more, but he wasn’t given the chance. Mr. Jupp released Amber’s arm to manhandle Mr. Walsh out the door. Another gallant move, except that it left Amber alone while everyone in the box looked at her with open speculation. And not just them, but people in the nearest box as well. And probably from the floor below and boxes all the way around the theater. At least that’s how it felt.

  She tried to tell herself that it had been bound to happen. She had lived in London for most of her life. It had been foolhardy to think no one would recognize her. But those words were useless to her. She felt awkward and miserable, standing there as the center of attention. In her dreams, people had always looked at her and exclaimed over her beauty, her poise, and her laugh. Now, they were remembering her laugh, analyzing her beauty, and no doubt sneering at her lack of poise.

  After a day of being subtly insulted at every turn, this was the moment that crushed her. And though Lady Byrn did her level best to distract everyone, the other ladies soon began whispering behind their fans. Amber had worked the ladies’ room at the Den enough to know what they were saying. They were forever attaching her name to the place, whether it was true or not. The speculation alone would damn her in many people’s eyes. That it was entirely true, only made it worse.

  But Lady Byrn was nothing if not a society maven. She deftly introduced a new topic of conversation, involved as many of the girls as possible with the eligible gentlemen, and did her best to distract everyone from what had just occurred.

  It didn’t erase what had happened, but it helped. Amber was soon brought into a discussion of the best weather for a fox hunt. Also, the best attire for a fox hunt. And of course, the best dogs for a fox hunt.

  Mr. Jupp returned just before the end of the intermission. His face was flushed, and his expression serious. Amber blew out a sigh of relief and hoped to renew their discussion, but she didn’t have a chance. She had monopolized him too much that evening, and the other ladies grabbed him up the moment he entered the box.

  He danced attendance upon them while she was left to hear about the best food for dogs who would be used in a fox hunt. And was never more grateful than when the tragedy began again. But Mr. Fox Hunt, as she now called him, had taken Mr. Jupp’s seat. She was left to listen to him prattle on about hunting while the rest of the play progressed.

  It was miserable, and she counted the moments until the first play was over all the while praying that Lady Byrn had no interest in staying for the farce. Another three hours of this would break what was left of her.

  Thankfully, Lady Byrn declared a headache, and Amber leaped to her feet to help the poor woman to their carriage. But in this, they were forestalled as Mr. Jupp did one last gallant thing. He asked if he might escort her around Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon.

  Amber was so stunned that she couldn’t even stammer out a coherent reply. He was a good man, and she had just enlisted him in duping the rest of the ton. It was horrible of her, and yet, what could she do? If she confessed all, she would shame Lady Byrn and her entire family.

  So Amber nodded, tears swimming in her vision. Lady Byrn had no such problem, of course. She loudly exclaimed that it would be a delight for him to take her to the park. She made sure everyone there knew that Amber had claimed him for tomorrow at the Fashionable Hour. And then she whisked Amber out the door.

  Done. Or nearly done as it took twenty minutes to make their way through the crowd and finally climb into the carriage. But finally, they were inside the dark and headed to Diana’s home. Amber could at last close her eyes and exhale. This day’s horrible round of parties and theatre was finally over. But the moment the carriage began moving, Lady Byrn snapped her fan hard on Amber’s knee. When Amber jumped in surprise, the lady spoke with loud, angry words.

  “Out with it.”

  “My lady?”

  “The truth, and all of it without exception.”

  “But…” What should she say?

  “Do you think me a fool? I know you are no dear friend of Diana’s. You have somehow gotten my son, my daughter, and now me involved in your havey cavey schemes. I will know the truth of it now, or I shall stop this carriage right here, toss you into the street, and be done with you completely. Do not think I won’t.”

  Amber believed her. Lady Byrn was livid, and Amber was out of convenient daydreams to fill in the silence.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Her fictions weren’t daydreams. They were lies, and she had been telling them to herself and everyone else for so very, very long. And now she was well and truly caught.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Elliott damned himself for a fool. He’d spent the day doing a dozen important things. He’d handled a letter from his steward regarding the management of their family estate. He’d met with members of his political party and had drinks with members of the opposition. Then he’d attended balls and danced with girls he might marry all while thinking about Amber

  No matter what he did, she was in his thoughts. The image of her, the smell of her, and the sound of her laugh. He thought about her words and the feel of her body pressed against his. And when he cursed himself for thinking so carnally, his mind wandered to her solution with Baron Easterly. He thought of her jewelry and wondered who sported designs from her hand.

  When the whispers about her identity as Thisbe Gold reached his ears, he finally had an excuse to see her. One that had him using his key to slip into Diana’s dark house. He tiptoed upstairs and pressed his ear to Amber’s bedroom. When he heard the unmistakable sound of tears, he knocked as quietly as could be managed, then slipped inside.

  He heard her sit up with a gasp and was quick to whisper. “It’s me, Elliott. I came to see if you are all right.”

  He heard her blow out a relieved breath as she lit a candle. The warm glow filled the space, and he was able to see her face clearly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her skin was blotchy, but she held her chin high.

&
nbsp; “What are you doing here, Elliott?”

  He wanted to wrap her in his arms. He wanted to hold her as she sobbed out her troubles so that he could fix everything for her. But he was already well beyond the bounds of propriety just for sneaking into her room.

  “I heard about what happened at the theater.” He took a step forward and offered her his handkerchief. “What can I do?”

  She took it and wiped her eyes. He used the time to sit down at the base of her bed. He would not leave her when she was this upset.

  “Sometimes, a woman just needs to cry. There is nothing to fix, no one to punish, and nothing to say. Unless you mean to chastise me for being stupid.”

  Elliott frowned. “You are not stupid. I am hard-pressed to find a smarter woman.”

  “Oh, there are quite a few who are cleverer than I,” she said dryly. “Your mother, for one.”

  A cold chill ran down his spine. “What has she done?”

  Amber shrugged, and he was momentarily distracted by the shift of her breasts beneath the high-necked nightrail. “She has been clever, Elliott. She knows I am not Diana’s dear friend.”

  “Did Diana say something?”

  She shook her head. “Mr. Walsh said something, and though she covered, she was smart enough to know it was the truth.”

  “I will set him straight,” Elliott growled. He was startled by the violence in his own voice. She was, too, because she pulled back from him with wide eyes.

  “He was right,” she said firmly. “I am Thisbe Gold.”

  “You are Amber Gohar,” he said clearly. “And I will challenge anyone who says differently.”

  She threw up her hands. “Then you might as well draw a pistol on me because I told her the truth. I told her who I am and that you needed me for your resolution to help the veterans.”

  He held his breath. “Anything else?” Did she speak of how he had kissed her or that he had asked her to be his mistress? Had she told his mother of the shameful way he had treated her?

  “I told her I make jewelry.” Her lips curved. “I offered to make her a lion like the one I wear, and she became very interested in that.”

  “That is no surprise,” he said as the clench in his belly eased. “Be sure that she pays you a fair price. She will try to—”

  “I don’t need your advice on how to get paid.” Her tone was tart and angry, and he flushed at her words. He was completely in the wrong here. He shouldn’t have tried to make her his mistress, he shouldn’t have brought her into his family to be harassed by his mother, and he definitely shouldn’t be here in her bedroom. Yet, he couldn’t make himself leave.

  “Why were you crying?”

  She leaned back against the headboard. “Have you ever had a dream come true only to find it was nothing like you expected?”

  He frowned. “As a boy, I wanted to swim the channel only to discover that the water is really cold. I barely got two feet before coming back.”

  She smiled. “Why did you want to swim the Channel?”

  He tried to remember, but it was so long ago. “I thought it would be fun to swim to France.” He squeezed her ankle through the coverlet. “But I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

  “In a way, it is. I have always dreamed of dancing among the ton. Of being one of you, of meeting a handsome prince, and falling desperately in love.”

  “That’s still possible, I suppose—”

  “I am among you, Elliott, and it’s nothing like I thought.” She looked up at him, her eyes large and dark in the dim light. “It’s hard.”

  She didn’t need to explain more. He knew how difficult it was to move through the ton, especially as an unmarried woman. He had heard his sister Gwen complain often of petty cruelties and vicious gossip, and she had been born to her position. “I will be more public in your support. Perhaps if I take you to a ball tomorrow—”

  “No,” she said softly. “Your family has already given me more than I deserve. You wanted me to make a brooch. We should go tomorrow—”

  “You deserve respect. You deserve to enjoy yourself without being harassed. You deserve to dance with your prince and fall desperately in love.” His words were vehement. He hesitated, but somehow the question came out anyway. “And have you found someone? It isn’t Mr. Walsh, is it?”

  Her lips curved. “That drunkard? No. But Mr. Jupp seems nice.”

  He was. A sober poet of a man. Nothing objectionable, and in fact, they might have a great deal in common. Elliott hated him. It was irrational. He wanted Amber for himself, and everyone else be damned. But that wasn’t what was best for her, and so he forced himself to stand up.

  “I should not be in here.”

  “Is it always so mercenary?” she asked abruptly. “Does no one fall in love?”

  “Scores fall in and out of love all the time,” he said. “But none marry.” Then honesty forced him to admit the truth. “There are a few love matches every Season.”

  “And do they stay in love? Do they live happily ever after?”

  He opened his mouth to assure her that, of course, they did. It was what she wanted to hear. Instead, he sighed. “Do you want me to lie to you?”

  “No.”

  “Many love matches fail, but there are a few that seem based on mutual respect.” He swallowed as he took a step closer to her. “I am looking for that in my marriage. One where I respect her, and she me. We can work together to achieve the same goal.”

  “Your political career.” It wasn’t a question, but he answered it anyway.

  “Yes.”

  “And did you find her tonight? Do you have a list of eligible ladies who will fit your plans?” She gestured over the writing desk. “That’s Diana’s list for me.”

  He saw that it was crumpled and tossed into a corner of the writing desk. “You don’t like her suggestions?”

  Amber looked up at him, and in the candlelight, her eyes seemed to glow. “It’s not falling desperately in love, is it? It’s not happily ever after if it’s planned like a military campaign.”

  “So, you cry because your dreams aren’t coming true the way you want them to?” He wasn’t chastising her for that. He was merely trying to understand, and her nod took away his confusion.

  “I am such a fool,” she whispered.

  “Actually,” he said as he leaned against the mattress, “It makes you remarkably clearheaded to both feel the emotion and know its cause.” He touched her cheek. It wasn’t wet, but her skin was heated, and her eyes still swollen. “I cannot think of many men or women who understand themselves so well.”

  She snorted. “Then, you have remarkably stupid friends.”

  “On the contrary. I find you remarkably intelligent. And given that my sister Gwen is a great bluestocking, that is high praise indeed.” She didn’t respond to that, and in time, he said what he really wanted to say. “I want to make this better for you.”

  Her lips curved. “Will you fall desperately in love with me?”

  His gut clenched, and his heart thudded hard in his throat. “Amber…” Her name came out in an anguished sigh. She was not a possible wife for him, and yet his blood surged at the thought.

  She waved him aside. “No, no. It is a silly dream.”

  He pulled her face back to look at him. “It is not silly. I want you. Can you not tell?”

  She frowned, and her head moved back and forth in slow denial.

  He should not do this. He had already taught her too much. But he did not stop himself as he took hold of her hand and slowly, gently brought it to the heated bulge behind his falls. The press of her hand was electric as sensation burst through his body. He steeled his spine so as not to thrust forward at her touch. And when he spoke, his voice was rough with need.

  “Do you know what that is?”

  “I… Yes.” She wet her lips, and he could not stop looking at the glisten of moisture on her mouth.

  He forced himself to release her hand and was grateful when she did not pull
away. She used her fingers to measure the length of him. It was curiosity, he knew, but it felt like the touch of a talented courtesan. She inflamed him. And while he controlled his breath, his hips surged forward into her hand.

  “Is this all right?” she asked as she pressed back, adding resistance to his thrust.

  The candlelight showed him the flash of desire in her eyes. “Minx,” he said as he teased her back. “You know I want it. I have told you so.”

  “I have heard about it,” she said absently, her gaze focused on what she did as she outlined the tip of his cock. “The upstairs ladies talk a great deal about it.”

  “I shudder to imagine.”

  “Is yours considered large?”

  Such a question! “Above average, I should think.”

  She grinned at him. “Isn’t that what all men say?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” The sight of her grin made his heart light. Indeed, everything about her made him happier, though it made no sense whatsoever. He might have thought about it more deeply. He was a man who considered such things. But he had no more thoughts as she deftly unbuttoned his clothing and began to peel the fabric away.

  “Amber.” He groaned. “This is not proper.”

  “Neither am I,” she said bluntly. “And if you don’t mind, I should like to see it for myself.”

  He didn’t mind. He wanted it desperately, and she knew it. He didn’t help her free him from his clothing. Instead, he touched her cheeks, her hair, and the sweep of her ear.

  “You don’t need to do it. This is not why I came here.”

  “But I want to.” She abruptly changed her position on the bed, coming forward to sit on her knees. He stood with his knees pressed against the mattress. She inspected his cock from all angles, then she looked up at him. “I would like to experience a little.” She touched him with tentative fingers and curiosity. But while the blood roared in his ears, she began to grip him more firmly and squeeze the head.