The Lyon's Den in Winter: The Lyon's Den

by Whitney Blake

  Viola frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I find you can get far more out of a living, clever person than you can a dowry, or even assets—or a dead man.”

  “You think that if we marry… he will… you want to control…” Viola paused. Since she was not considering marriage to this oily, sinister person, it did not bother her to think things through. One way or another, I shall find my way out.

  She could see jilted love, or a denied conquest, forming a grudge that could carry through years. What she could not fathom was this level of involved planning to get revenge. Not outside of an opera or a Shakespearean tale.

  Yet if retribution was what Everett was after, rather than only satisfying a lust for flesh or resources, she imagined that gaining control over the victor’s livelihood and means—her Papa’s—through marriage would be a thorough retaliation, indeed.

  She did not fear that Everett would violate her. They’d been alone long enough for him to do so, and he had not so much as touched her. At the moment, he was not eyeing her with anything more than indulgent curiosity.

  “I want to control him, to be succinct. You are just the means through which I can do that for years to come. Well, for however many more years he is with us—then, I do assume that you would inherit everything of value that you legally can inherit.” She blanched. He laughed at it. “Come now, I am more interested in killing you than taking you to bed. Let that be a consolation.”

  “Of a kind,” she said. She wanted to know what precisely had happened to make Everett so intent but knew better than to ask someone who so clearly had few scruples.

  Plenty of strategy, apparently, but few scruples.

  If he saw her as impetuous, he might get angry, and she would wager her left eyetooth that he was unpredictable when angry.

  Instead, she said, “So, the ransom?”

  “It’s just a foretaste, and a means of getting the Silver Tongue to come to me.”

  She hated that name. It meant nothing to her, yet apparently, very much to Papa. It was like hearing someone call him Mephistopheles. “You know he won’t consent to it.”

  “Did I not just say I was more interested in killing you?”

  “I did not think you would be so expedient. You do seem to like talking.”

  “Miss Black, I have spent enough time having you watched to know your father would never allow you to be harmed.”

  Viola swallowed and endeavored to look haughty. “Sadly for you, Mr. Everett, I am engaged.”

  “I think you’ll find that doesn’t much matter if I am intent upon having you.”

  She had no time to make a rebuttal. Upon finishing the sentence, Mr. Everett fell onto his own lap.

  First, she thought he might be having a turn.

  But Duncan stood behind Everett’s chair holding, of all the banal things, a fire iron.

  Chapter Six

  “Duncan…”

  Viola’s eyes were so round he worried she might faint.

  He nodded. “As you see, darling. Come, we must leave—the housekeeper let me in, but I still snuck up here. Not sure if anyone else is particularly trustworthy.”

  “The housekeeper? I suppose that is the old woman. Does someone live here?”

  When she did not move, he came around Everett’s chair, resisting the desire to hit him again for the satisfaction of it, and pulled her to her feet. She seemed uninjured. “Aye, well. I don’t know if anyone does reside here. But she’s in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s employ as well as this Everett’s and, evidently, Dove-Lyon pays better than him. Your papa told me to speak to her.”

  They stared at each other, on the cusp of kissing.

  Then she said, “To Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”

  “Yes, before I came here. He seemed to think your captor wasn’t going to harm you and told me to, ah, coordinate with her. I am given to believe she has all manner of contacts who would be useful in tracking down just about anybody in London. Including this Everett fellow.”

  “He was correct about that. I am unscathed. But… why are you here?”

  “He went to a magistrate.” Duncan knew it was not exactly what she meant, as her eyes searched his expression. Still, he left the discussion of anything deeper to one side. “Come. Let us get you away from this place.”

  She took a step as he spoke, then said, “Is anyone else in the house? He said there were men… guards.”

  “Not that I saw, but I’m sure he has more than I paid off. Which is why we need to go.” He brandished the poker and smiled.

  “Paid off. What… on earth…”

  There would be time to explain to her how her father and Mrs. Dove-Lyon retained enough contacts in the demimonde to make their escape easier than it might have been. Some, like the housekeeper, were directly in their employ. Well, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s, in this case. Others, said Malcolm, could be bought off. He’d been right about that. Duncan got into the house through the servants’ entrance because of the housekeeper, but there had also been two burly men who responded only to bribes. He assumed they were present to watch the premises.

  But Malcolm was correct: there was actually little honor among thieves. They would let Duncan and Viola pass because they had been paid.

  “I would hit a hundred more men for you. I’ve a pistol, too. But being honest, I’d prefer to get us out without further incident.”

  She looked at the poker and smirked, face pale but eyes bright. “That is fair.”

  “Glad you agree. Now… if you go out to the landing, we shall be free as birds in a moment.”

  “When do you think he’ll wake?”

  “With luck, not for a while.”

  Or ever, he thought. Hitting anyone on the head was a strange thing. It might knock a man out, or it might injure him. Duncan cared little if he had caused Everett any lasting trouble. He’d tried assiduously to sneak through the house and to the room the housekeeper said Mr. Everett was keeping a young lady, and it paid off.

  With the element of surprise, he’d been able to simply knock him unconscious.

  That would be considered dishonorable and perhaps unmanly by many, but all he cared about was Viola’s safety. How he secured it was of little importance to him, so long as she was out of harm’s way.

  “Good,” she said. Then, after a look at Duncan, she drifted to the landing and waited for him to follow. He exhaled and took a moment to ready his weapon, handing the fire iron to her. She took it with alacrity, and he had to smile.

  He said, “Shall we?”

  “Yes.”

  He took her free hand with his, squeezed it, and nodded her forward. “Straight down all the stairs and out the servants’ entrance.”

  She relinquished his hand and padded her way down.

  Duncan avoided the steps which he knew creaked, and she barely made any noise as it was. “That’s it,” he said, so quietly that only she would hear him. He was thankful that so many London architects were unimaginative. The house was no doubt used for nefarious things, but it was not laid out in any fashion that might be hard to discern.

  By the time they neared their exit, Duncan was sure they’d emerge unscathed.

  To his surprise, the destination Everett instructed Malcolm to visit was on Berwick Street. That, however, could work in their favor. When they emerged, it would be during the day and on a street that was not at all secluded or out of the way.

  Duncan did not necessarily think that all of humanity was altruistic. He did not rely on the thought that a stranger might help them, but he knew that activity bred confusion. They would find rooms above the public house where Malcolm had recommended they wait, then send word to him.

  Duncan shook his head. To think of taking Viola into paid accommodation. It was a good thing they were marrying.

  Getting out was the most important issue to address, not morality. Although Everett had been dealt with for the moment, and so had his hired help, Duncan was sure there were more loyal henchmen to contend with—ones whom he hadn’
t bribed. He wished to avoid them.

  “Miss Black,” said a cool voice from just opposite the door they needed to get through.

  Viola froze. Though Duncan cursed himself for not going first, he used the space between them to covertly aim.

  He did not have time to worry about whether he might hit her; he knew he was good and close enough to ensure he didn’t.

  However, he needn’t have worried.

  Viola was allowing the man, a large specimen, to come closer. Either she was actually cowering, or she feigned fear. It worked, for even though he was interested in Duncan, he kept most of his attention on her.

  “Leaving us so soon?”

  When the man had her nearly against the corridor wall and Duncan was seething at how close he loomed over her, she whipped the fire iron up and between his legs, causing him to shriek with pain and fury.

  “Actually, you’ll find I am leaving so soon, Mr. Barney.”

  Heedless of what might be waiting on the other side, she opened the door.

  Had he not been beaming, Duncan might have cautioned her to be less assertive about it. But it was difficult not to be pleased, and piqued, when he saw how clever and stalwart she was.

  —

  Catching her breath was no small thing when it was so frigid and she had been frightened. Looking around, she didn’t recognize where they were, but the sounds of the city she’d been raised in were unmistakable.

  Duncan was close behind her.

  “Where are we?” she asked. It was a small passage. He came alongside her, took her hand, and tugged her along—presumably away from Mr. Barney’s shrieking.

  Mr. Barney hadn’t told her his name, of course. He was much too brutish for that. But the grandmotherly woman had called him such in the corridor, so she assumed it was his name. Or the one he worked under.

  Her head was still trying to sort out all that she’d learned, never mind experienced. The ground was hard under her feet, but it served as a good reminder to focus on the moment. She peeked at her slippers, which were ruined.

  “Berwick Street. The house is on Berwick Street. As to where we’ve come out…” his eyes darted between the bricks. “Doesn’t matter, eh? Close enough to the public house your father mentioned, I’d think…”

  “I can’t run like this,” she said, interrupting him to discuss the pertinent matter at hand. “And who wouldn’t notice how I’m not clothed?” She flung her arms out to indicate she was still in her nightclothes.

  Sighing, Duncan handed her the pistol.

  “What the hell do you want me to do with this?”

  “Hold it.”

  “Why?”

  “We haven’t time to argue,” said Duncan, “just be careful with it.” Without further ado, he scooped her up and set off as quickly as he could.

  It was just as well. She didn’t quite register that Mr. Barney’s noise had abated. Rather than give in to any fear, she concentrated on the task she’d been given and tried not to shiver with the chill.

  Duncan was so warm. She leaned into his chest as he carried her through the passage, then through to the actual street. They did not merit as many strange looks as she would have thought, but life was often so strange that perhaps no one spared them a second thought.

  He stopped outside a public house that looked less than illustrious but still habitable. Actually, she thought, it was probably better to choose one that is a little more dubious in appearance, especially if Papa has dealings with… these folk. She assumed that, somehow, they were to get word to him. Even so, she had no idea how to characterize his associations.

  She would make Duncan explain all. If he knew anything. Clearly, he knew something, if he was here now.

  First, she had to make sure he knew the implications of what they were doing. This was not so different from going into the Lyon’s Den with him. But now that they were ostensibly, if clandestinely, engaged to be married, she felt the decision to be somewhere so private with him weighed more heavily.

  “Duncan?”

  “Yes?”

  “If we take a room together, we’re as good as married. You might be able to shed the reputation, but I wouldn’t.” It could have been all the upheaval, being carried at such a quick trot that her skull rattled, or—most troubling of all—she was worried that he might change his mind.

  “You mean, if someone were to find out about it.” He peered through the fogged windows from where they stood.

  “Well, if you want to be precise, yes.”

  “I thought we were engaged. You told Mr. Everett.”

  “I am sure many engaged couples do not abscond to public houses.”

  Finally, Duncan looked down at her. “Of all the things… you… did you think I… wanted to be rid of you?”

  She blinked up at him. “You didn’t seem keen on the circumstances.”

  “Well, were you?”

  “No, I wasn’t… but since it was you…”

  For a brief moment, he seemed self-satisfied. Then, he said with more humility, “I felt the same.” His arms tightened around her, so that she was brought even closer to his chest.

  “I know what we all said in front of Mrs. Dove-Lyon, but how can she make us marry?”

  If she’d been less addled, she might have admitted that possibly the safest thing that could happen to her would be wedding Duncan. Fleeing the country. That existed as a fact outside of her regard for him. But it was her interest that stoked her fear.

  If she cared more and he did not mind as much where fortune took him, she was certain it would feel terrible.

  “Let me get us indoors,” he said. He spoke tenderly as he set her down. “We’ll take a room. I promise you—if you want to break from me, I won’t force you to stay in any agreement. But if you try to go now, I fear you may lose some toes.”

  She wanted to explain that she did not want out of the agreement—she thought he would—but, securing his pistol out of sight, he ushered them inside and out of the cutting breeze.

  While he procured a room, she waited at his side and enjoyed being somewhere warm once again, even if the common room was permeated with the smell of stale tobacco and populated by stained tables. After the landlord told them which room they could occupy, Duncan said, as she took the stairs first, “I would watch this if it were a play, you know.”

  “I wonder how it will end.” It was not the most exciting thought, but she realized she would have to talk to Papa about what he’d been withholding about himself.

  For her whole life.

  She kept trying to marvel at Duncan’s presence of mind—few men would dare to do what he’d just done with such calmness or panache, and even if some of his success was down to luck or having an imminent father-in-law with unexpected connections. But she kept fretting over how on earth her and Papa’s relationship would return from Everett’s little operation.

  She laughed instead of shouting or crying. “It may never make it to the page by my hand—I fear this is all rather melodramatic for me. Better you should write a poem about it.”

  “An epic.”

  Viola smiled and said, “An ode.”

  “No, that implies I would want to admire it. And I cannot admire a man who ransoms people for a living. Much as I would find fictional accounts of his life intriguing.”

  She stepped inside when he opened the door to the room. “Right, so—if I am to be compromised, I would quite enjoy knowing everything you can tell me.”

  “We have not even… proceeded… to the part where you might be enjoyably compromised,” said Duncan.

  “Who knows how long it will take Papa to arrive? I assume he is arriving,” she said.

  What she wanted was to be pleasured out of her mind on the small bed in the corner. But she also needed to have more of an idea what was afoot.

  In the end, that need won.

  Off Duncan’s short nod, she added, “Then until he arrives, tell me how you came to know of my disappearance.”

 
; “I forgot to have the landlord send a boy to him.”

  “Good, then we shall have even more time.” She almost collapsed when she sat down. In the end, she was pleased she stayed upright.

  “Your father will want to know!” Duncan gave more of a laugh than a grumble, but she sensed he was a little conflicted about which Black’s orders he heeded. He placed his pistol carefully on the splintery mantel.

  “I didn’t know anything about him! Maybe he doesn’t mind at all that I’m not anywhere I should be.”

  As soon as she said it, she knew how petulant it sounded.

  She also knew it was not true. Her life was full of evidence of that, even if Papa had made this vast mistake.

  Duncan shook his head at her exclamation. “No. He more than minds. He clearly…” he licked his lips, and she was seized by the yearning to kiss them. “He must have felt that you not knowing was…”

  “Convenient.” Viola crossed her arms from where she sat in the chair, attempting to keep some of her myriad of emotions to herself. “He should have told me. This, this is why he was always accepting of my—”

  “With respect, the most important thing now is to tell him where we are and that we are safe for the moment.”

  “Why?”

  “So that he can… Viola, I don’t actually know for certain.” Duncan had to step aside to admit a girl to tend to the hearth. They had not shut the door. But he continued speaking as he moved. “I don’t know much more than you, particularly if Everett was speaking to you. You might have found out more than me. I don’t know exactly what your father is going to do, but I trust that he will protect you. And the longer we stay nearby, the more likely it is that we might be discovered.”

  “Did you two bond over my peril? How wonderful.”

  What she really wished to ask was if Everett posed that much of a threat. It did not seem his style to track down anyone and physically harm them without a labyrinthine plan.

  That was not to say she thought he was incapable of ordering it, only that he would not do it himself.

  “No… well, a little,” he said.

  “Do not misunderstand me,” Viola said. “I am very happy I’m no longer confined with that… eel.”