Fall of the Lyon: The Lyon's Den

by Chasity Bowlin

  Her lips parted in surprise, forming a soft “o”. “I see,” she finally managed with a sly smile. “I suppose dressing was a bit premature.”

  Leo grinned. “Not exactly… I find undressing you to be a very rewarding endeavor.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hours had passed and the last rays of the sun had dipped below the horizon. They’d watched the sunset through her window from the bed as she rested in the shelter of his arms. Meg considered their argument. It wasn’t difficult to see that she’d been pushing. He terrified her. She already felt dependent on him in some ways. Needing him was a sure path to ruin and heartache. But fighting him at every turn wouldn’t make them happy either.

  “I purposely, albeit without thought, started that argument,” she admitted.

  His hand stroked the curve of her hip, tracing patterns there in a way that was both playful and sensuous. “I’m aware,” he said softly.

  “That’s it? No demand for apologies? No scolding me for being a silly female?”

  He shrugged. She could feel the movement of his shoulders behind her. “I don’t think, as a husband, it’s my place to scold. Scolding is for children.”

  “Then you are unlike any gentleman I have ever known or heard of,” she stated flatly.

  “For the better part of my life, all I did was stumble under the weight of my father’s criticism. Who am I to treat anyone, much less my own wife, in such a manner? We are what we are and who we are, because of the people we’ve known and the things we’ve experienced… and right now, you are grieving, you are angry, and you are, I think, a bit lost. Lashing out is natural.”

  He was right in that regard. She was angry. Angry at Roger and Neville. She was angry at him. She was even angry at Sir William. It boiled inside her, barely contained, yet always seeking its way toward the surface. Looking back at him over her shoulder, she said, “How do you know this? How is it that you, a man I barely know, can see me so clearly?”

  “Because I look at you. Because I don’t have preconceived notions of who you should be, it’s easier for me to see you for who you are.”

  That statement hinted at intimacies far greater than the physical ones they had shared. “We should go to the gallery and begin cataloguing the collection now.”

  “At night?”

  “Yes,” she answered firmly. She needed space between them and the armor of her clothes. His words had stripped her naked far more effectively than his questing hands. Sitting up, she used the sheet to cover herself. “While everyone else sleeps, it’s the perfect time.”

  He sat up then, once again heedless of his own nudity. As he strode across the room with his back to her, his limp was more pronounced than before. Meg noted the vicious scars along the side of his knee. They stretched up the back of his leg, almost to his hip. She couldn’t imagine how painful it must have been. How painful it must still be.

  Roger had done that to him. And if they didn’t stop him, Roger would see them both ruined.

  Getting up from the bed, Meg donned her chemise, then her stays and petticoat. Reaching for her gown, she didn’t have a chance to put it on. He’d moved behind her. His arms came about her, but he simply plucked the garment from her hands. With precise, measured motions, he gathered the fabric and slipped it over her head. When she’d put her arms through the sleeves, he pulled the panels in the back together and carefully did the laces. How was it possible that he could seduce her with equal ease by helping her dress as helping her undress?

  “You’re a menace,” she said.

  She could feel his grin as he pressed a kiss to her neck, just below her ear. “I’ll remind you of that later.”

  With her hair still in tumbled disarray, him in bare feet, with only his breeches and a shirt on, they headed along the corridor toward the gallery that had become a storehouse of sorts for her stepfather’s collection. “I think,” she whispered, “that Sir William had a second log of all his acquisitions… one that, I hope, Roger has not yet found. If so, we might stand a slim chance of determining what is missing… and also when he acquired the necklace and what other pieces might accompany it.”

  “Then lead on,” he urged her. “We need all the evidence we can gather.”

  An hour and a half later, Leo’s clothes were covered in dust. While the collection of antiquities might have been Sir William’s pride and joy, it was obvious the room that housed them had been sorely neglected during his illness. As if to prove his point, Meg emerged from a stack of particularly dusty crates and promptly sneezed. But she wore a brilliant and victorious smile afterward that all but stole his breath.

  Forcing himself to think, to speak, to act as if he weren’t some cow-eyed infatuated youth, he asked, “What did you find?”

  “The bill of sale for an emerald parure.” Her tone was pitched low enough that one couldn’t say she crowed, but it was quite clear she was certainly feeling her oats.

  “Are we certain it’s in reference to Julia Drusilla’s emeralds? It might have been a gift to your mother,” he said.

  “It’s dated four years ago, long after Mother’s passing and at a time when I would have been far too young for such a gift. I know it’s possible that Sir William had a mistress, though I doubt he’d be so extravagant. He rarely went to town and when he did, he didn’t linger there,”

  It was impossible to determine, though he tended to agree with Meg on the matter. If a man was inspired to give a woman an emerald parure, he’d likely be seeking her company on a regular and frequent basis. “Four years ago… do we know where Roger Snead was at that time?”

  Meg cocked her head to one side, appearing deep in thought. “Scotland… Neville had some gambling debts and they fled to relatives of Neville’s mother in Aberdeen.”

  Leo cursed. “Fitzsimmons?”

  “I believe so. You know them?”

  Leo shook his head. “I know of them. Fitzsimmons is well known in the world of antiquities as a purveyor of stolen and forged goods. It surprises me not at all that he’d be involved in this mess somehow. I have to wonder if perhaps Snead didn’t have Fitzsimmons broker the sale of the jewels to your stepfather on his behalf.”

  She looked back at the bill of sale. “Oh, well, I’d say that’s a fairly astute guess. They weren’t particularly creative with their aliases, if so. The sale was brokered for a man by the name of R. S. Neville.”

  Leo would have laughed if he hadn’t been so furious. “He stole that from me eight years ago… and he held on to it for four years before selling the items to your stepfather. Why?”

  “His financial woes didn’t really begin until then,” Meg mused. “Sir William and Roger’s mother only died just before all this happened. While she still lived, she was still in control of a great deal of her own wealth, but on her death, it went to Sir William. Perhaps Roger had been holding on to those items for a rainy day… their mother had been sick for ages, after all. She was forever at death’s door only to miraculously recover and then falter once more. She was a terrible woman, as well. Far more like Roger than like Sir William… she despised me, but she thought Neville hung the moon.”

  He made a face at that. “There is certainly no accounting for taste then. Perhaps it’s more about the husband who fathered each of her children than the children themselves?”

  Meg continued shuffling items in the crate. “Anything is possible, I suppose. There’s something else here. A book. I think we’ve found Sir William’s ledger—the catalogue for his collection!”

  Leo moved from the crate of items he’d been sorting through himself. Together, they went page by page through the book until they found the notation about the emeralds. J.D. emerald parure. Amberley.

  “He knew. He knew all along,” Leo mused.

  Meg looked up at him then. “How?”

  “The antiquities world is a small one… collectors talk. Several of us spent time in Spain and Italy together searching for just this sort of find. It was no secret that I’d found
it and that it had been stolen out from under me. There were those who doubted the story, but the story itself was well known,” he explained. “No doubt, your stepfather had heard it from someone and put two and two together, assuming he knew your uncle’s whereabouts at the time.”

  “And Roger’s use of William’s name? Why?”

  “If he’s constantly running afoul of money lenders, there’s every possibility that he’d gotten in deep with a few on the Continent, as well. Perhaps he’d borrowed Sir William’s name temporarily in order to avoid them.” Or it could have been something infinitely worse. While they’d been on the cusp of war with France, the fighting had not yet begun. But no war truly began with the first volley. Reconnaissance work had taken place on both sides for years before hand. It was very possible that Roger Snead had been engaging in just that sort of endeavor, though which side he might have worked for was anyone’s guess.

  Meg frowned. “It makes sense… especially given that he wouldn’t have been able to easily ask his mother for money at the time.” She pointed to another notation in the book. “During this period, Sir William was focused almost entirely on his Roman collection. But right here, in the middle of it, he’s noted a statue of Adonis. Do you think he could have been trying to tell us something?”

  “We won’t know until we find that statue,” Leo replied.

  “Well it’s not in here. All the smaller items had already been packed away… he started on that before he became too ill to finish, but the larger ones were left for last.”

  Leo glanced around the room. There were a few statues of Venus, some columns and a frieze from a temple, but no Adonis. “Is there anywhere where he might have placed a statue?”

  “Not one of any real value,” Meg replied. “There are several placed throughout the gardens and maze, but they’re all reproductions.”

  “Then tomorrow morning, we explore the gardens. For now, let’s get all this cleared away. Hide that ledger… we don’t want to tip our hand just yet.”

  Leo started to turn away but Meg placed her hand on his chest. He looked down at it, noting the graceful and delicate lines of her fingers. In an unconsciously protective gesture, he covered her hand with his. “What?”

  “Whatever Sir William’s reasons were,” she murmured softly, “I’m glad he chose you. And whatever else may happen, I want you to know that.”

  Unable to respond to that, and feeling as if those words had a significance that he couldn’t quite grasp yet, Leo simply held her against him for a moment, closing an arm about her and pulling her close. It felt right. With her in the circle of his arms, feeling the warmth of her breath fanning over his skin, it simply felt as if he were finally, after years of wandering, exactly where he ought to be.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he suggested. “I have a mountain of documents to read and sign and we have the entire gardens to explore tomorrow.”

  “And if I’m not tired?” she asked.

  He grinned. “I suggested going to bed. I never suggested going to sleep.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Joseph Linley rose early to break his fast. Knowing that he would spend hours cramped in the mail coach to go back to London that afternoon, he took advantage of the time to take a long walk, stretching his legs and enjoying the countryside. It was a rare reprieve from the thick, cloying air of the city.

  Leaving the inn yard, he headed along the rutted lane toward the church and the businesses just beyond it that made up the small village. He kept a brisk pace, reaching the church in only a moment or two. But as he passed the cemetery, he stopped. He heard something, the faintest cry coming from the opposite side of the road. It sounded suspiciously like a small kitten. Both curious and concerned, he stepped off the lane and into the line of trees.

  Only a few feet into the dense woods, he saw it. There was a sack tied to a tree limb. From the way it wriggled and writhed, it was obvious the small creature was trapped inside it. “Well no good can come of this,” he murmured. Reaching up, he untied the rope and lowered the sack to the ground. Kneeling next to it, he opened it gingerly and peered in at the smoke-colored, piquant little face. Then the kitten hissed at him, swiped at his fingers with its claws and bolted off into the trees.

  A sound escaped him, partial hiss of pain and part laugh at his own idiocy. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket. He’d just managed to wrap it around the wound with his non-dominant hand when he heard another sound. The snap of a twig. It was alarmingly near. Behind him and out of sight, he turned and caught a glancing blow from a heavy limb. Dropping to the ground on his side, he brought both arms up to cover his head. The limb crashed down again. He heard the bone snap a second before the excruciating pain blazed through his forearm. Kicking out, he heard his attacker curse. But then the limb fell again and, this time, he couldn’t deflect the blow. The sky above him, already dimly filtered through the treetops, faded to black.

  Standing over the solicitor, the limb still clutched in his hand, Neville considered bashing the fellow one more time simply to be certain he was dead. But the sound of children’s voices calling coaxingly to a kitten, likely the same one he’d swiped from a nearby farm to use as bait, halted him. Dropping the heavy branch to the ground, he quickly made his way toward the road. Crossing it to cut behind the church and through a field, he’d come out closer to Sheridan Hall and far from any prying eyes. He was no one’s fool. If it came to it, he’d gladly see his father swing for all of their crimes. He’d hang the bastard out to dry and live happily on the inheritance by himself… but not with Margaret. He’d marry her long enough to get hold of the funds and as soon as it was convenient, she’d have some terrible accident. Women were always falling down flights of stairs or getting thrown from horses. She’d be an easy enough burden to shed once he’d had his fill of her.

  Grinning at the thought of it, he began humming a jaunty tune as he walked.

  Meg bit back a yawn as they strolled through the gardens. They had left the house under the guise of simply exploring the grounds, of showing her new husband all the beauty of the place where she’d grown up. He had his cane draped over his arm, using it only when the ground was uneven. Concealed inside Leo’s coat was a set of tools that had belonged to Sir William. He’d had them on the off chance he’d ever actually get to undertake any archaeological exploration himself. Sadly, they’d never been used. He’d never had the opportunity.

  That thought prompted the sting of tears and she quickly pushed it away. It was ingrained in all people not to grieve the loss of a loved one, that separation was temporary at best and they had moved on to a far better place to share in God’s glory.

  “Are you well?”

  Meg glanced up and noted the look of concern on her husband’s face. Husband. He was her husband now, in the eyes of the church and the eyes of the law. And in her own… it wasn’t just that they’d consummated their marriage. Their agreement afterward had changed everything between them. They weren’t simply marking days until his one-year sentence was fulfilled. They had, she hoped, a chance to build something strong and lasting between them. “I was thinking how sad it was that Sir William never got to go on a real archaeological excursion. It fascinated him and he’d always longed to travel and have adventures. Perhaps that is what his heaven will be. Adventures.”

  He smiled then. “That’s a nice thought… that we might have some say in what Heaven might hold for us.”

  “What would yours hold?” she asked.

  His expression changed, shifted, then he looked away. “I’ll have to give that some serious consideration. Now, if you were a statue of Adonis, where would you be hiding?”

  Meg wondered about his sudden shift in topic. It seemed not as if he hadn’t had an answer to her question but that he didn’t wish to answer it. “There are several statues at the center of the maze that were acquired in the last year or so, though I can’t honestly recall what they all are at the moment. I rarely went into the maze because… well, having
only one way out left me feeling rather vulnerable.”

  “To Neville,” he surmised.

  “Yes,” Meg replied bluntly. “I’m not certain what Roger threatened him with in the beginning, but after they first arrived he was… not pleasant, really, but not overtly threatening. The sicker Sir William became the more that changed. Ultimately, I knew that if I were to find myself alone with him—well, I learned to defend myself. Not well, perhaps, and certainly not for an extended attack, but I’ve managed to get away from him when I had to.”

  “You’ll never have to do that again,” he vowed. “I will keep you safe. At all costs, I will keep you safe.”

  It wasn’t a confession of love or even an indication of any deeper feeling than the obligation of a husband to his wife, but it was a spot of hope. Hope that perhaps, whatever their beginning, their marriage could be a good one. “I know that you will. The entrance to the maze is just down at the end of this row of boxwood.”

  They continued on in silence, entering the maze and making the series of turns required to reach the center. And once there, they saw the Adonis.

  “It’s terrible,” Meg said.

  “It’s fake,” Leo corrected her. “That’s not even a good reproduction. It’s horrendous. But what better disguise? He could hide it in plain sight.”

  Meg cocked her head to one side, sizing up the hideous statue. It was smaller than the other three that faced out from the center, sitting on a higher base. That kind of asymmetry was off, not something either her stepfather or the architect of the gardens would have tolerated. “Unless they had a reason?”

  “What?”

  Meg grinned, excited at the prospect. “Look at the statue’s base. It’s all wrong. What we’re looking for isn’t in the statue! It’s in the pedestal it’s on!”

  Leo grinned back at her. “Then what are we waiting for?”