Page 12 of The Lyon and His Promise
“Good evening, Lord Wickes,” Snug said with a bow of his head.
“Snug… Is she waiting for me already?” Gyles asked impatient to get this over with.
Snug only stepped aside and allowed Gyles access to the footpath. He made his way to the center of the garden where the tinkling sounds of a fountain could be detected as the water rose from the base. The widow was nowhere to be seen.
Gyles stared up at the near-naked marble statue at the center of the fountain. The statue was in the figure of a woman whose gown was draped like that of a Roman goddess. The blank eyes stared at him as if wishing to tell him a secret that only she knew the answer to. One hand of cards, and his fate had been sealed. A debt must always be paid…
“Lord Wickes…” the widow purred behind him causing him to turn, “my apologies for you losing at my tables tonight. I’m so very sorry.” She held a single red rose in her hand as if she had just plucked the bloom.
“Are you?” he said as politely as possible. He knew the rules here and was well aware that if you played at this gambling establishment, you had to be prepared to pay the price of whatever losing would cost you.
She came up to him and began fastening the rose to the lapel of his jacket. She clearly had this planned all along. What a fool he had been!
“You lost,” she began stating the obvious, “and as you know, debts must be paid here at the Lyon’s Den.”
“And what exactly do you have in store for me, madam?” Marriage was generally the end goal that Mrs. Dove-Lyon had in mind, but she wouldn’t demand that upfront. As with his friend Saxton, Gyles hoped that he would only have to escort a woman to a ball or two. Mrs. Dove-Lyon might hope for things to develop on their own beyond that point, but he was not responsible for her wishes—only for the specific actions she demanded of him.
She stood there not saying a word but if he could see beneath this woman’s veil, he just knew she would be smiling.
“I do so love a good mystery.” She waited for him to reply and when he remained silent, she finally continued with her game. “Well, Lord Wickes? Do you also love a good mystery?”
“Not particularly.” He crossed his arms much like her bouncer did and waited for the ax to fall. He swore the hair on the back of his neck lifted while an uneasy quiver in his stomach made him wish he was anywhere but here.
“Well, you are about to be thrust into one despite your reservations.” A laugh escaped her, and she clapped her hands. “I shall be sending an invitation to your townhouse. It’s for next week’s masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens. It’s to be one of the events of the Season, or so I have been informed. There you will escort a lady I have chosen for you…”
“That’s it? I escort some woman to a masquerade, and my debt is paid?”
Another laugh left the woman. “Oh, Lord Wickes, you are truly a delight. To answer your question, no, that’s not all there is to our deal. I will leave the details to you on where you plan to take the lady next for you shall continue to meet with her regularly in order to restore her reputation.”
He narrowed his eyes. His own reputation hinged on ensuring there were no scandals associated with his name. He would not disgrace his family—not when his father’s health was so delicate. Nor would he put at risk his future to satisfy this woman’s twisted sense of humor.
She began to wave her hand as if she had read his thoughts. “You need not worry that you will come to ruin, Lord Wickes. I only pick the best for those who wager and lose at the Lyon’s Den. I think you will be pleasantly pleased with the lady once you get to know her.”
“I don’t wish toget to know her, madam.”
She took a step forward. “You don’t wish to fulfill your debt?”
Damn!“I didn’t say that.” Given the connections this woman had made over the years, Gyles could only imagine how miserable she could make his life. A word here or there, and she could easily get him blackmailed from his other clubs. He didn’t want to think about what she could do to his family’s reputation if she spread gossip about town.
Her veiled head bobbed up and down. “Very well. I will send the invitation to your home in the morning. I hope you enjoy the masquerade and your time with the lovely lady.”
“And just how am I supposed to know which lady I am going to escort?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon pulled the reticule at her wrist and opened the string. Her gloved fingers disappeared inside and she pulled something from the purse. She came to him and opened her hand. A golden stick pin laid against her palm like a beacon, the delicate butterfly with bluegems for eyes waiting for him to take.
“Wear this for her to recognize you,” she replied. “As for how to spot her… the lady you are to escort will have a mask specifically designed for you to recognize. Golden, in the shape of a butterfly, and her gown will be a deep royal blue with a gold overlay. I’m certain you won’t be able to miss her.”
His fate was sealed, and he finally took the pin from her hand.
“I expect to hear back from you, Lord Wickes, on your good fortune of finally finding yourself a wife,” the lady purred before turning away from him and leaving.
Wife?God help him… the widow eventually expected him to marry this woman!
Chapter Ten
Josephine alit fromthe carriage and waited for Cassandra to follow. Her nerves were on edge with worry. Who was to be her mystery man? She had asked herself this question what seemed like a thousand times in the past week but only Mrs. Dove-Lyon had the answer. Now she was waiting to enter the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. At most times, the gardens were open to all, but for tonight, they were closed for a private ball, with entrance only allowed to those with invitations.
A masquerade and at Vauxhall of all places. She was no innocent to the goings on at the place, especially at night, for it wasn’t called the Pleasure Gardens for nothing. True, it may have tamed down a bit over the past decade or so, but even she was well aware that illicit affairs still constantly occurred here. The Gardens had a reputation, much like Josephine, although she had kept herself hidden trying to let any gossip die relating to her. Who would remember her after all these years away from polite Society?
