Page 6 of The Lyon and His Promise
Laughter slipped through Josephine’s lips. The first bit of merriment she had felt since she entered Cassandra’s carriage. “You must be joking.”
“You’ll soon learn all there is to know about the Lyon’s Den, my dear. Hopefully, you won’t have to make an appearance for long before Mrs. Dove-Lyon finds you the perfect man to be your husband,” Cassandra said as she pulled back the curtain hanging from the window. “Here we are. Let’s go have some fun!”
As the carriage began to slow, Cassandra and Josephine placed their masks on their faces, tying the silk ribbon around the back of their heads. They waited for a carriage in front of theirs to have their passengers get out. When their own carriage rolled forward and the door was opened, Cassandra got out first and when it was Josephine’s turn, she stared up at the light blue building that appeared as though it was at least six stories tall. Several gentlemen looked in their direction, tipped their hats toward them, and then disappeared through the main door. When their carriage rolled away, Cassandra tugged on Josephine’s arm and they made their way to a separate entrance down the side of the building reserved for the ladies.
Two women bouncers stepped aside and one opened the door.
“Good evening, ladies,” one woman spoke.
“A good evening to you, Hermia… Helena,” Cassandra said sweeping through the portal.
After Josephine went inside, the door shut behind her and she felt as if her fate had been sealed. She took a heavy sigh and squared her shoulders before leaning forward to whisper in Cassandra’s ear.
“Does Mrs. Dove-Lyon employ more women than just the three you mentioned?” Josephine asked as she gazed around at her surroundings. Candles lit the foyer displaying the opulence of a beautiful home. She could only image what the rest of the place would look like.
“Well, there are more, I suppose, including the servants,” Cassandra replied. She leaned forward to whisper in Josephine’s ear. “One of the top floors of this place houses women who will be paid to spend time with a gentleman as long as they can afford it, if you get my meaning. Don’t worry… you’ll never see them.”
Josephine tried not to be too surprised at the thought of prostitutes being employed here, especially given her own past. It was certainly none of her business and she was more concerned with getting through the night. They were escorted down a hallway and then led into an office where Mrs. Dove-Lyon waited. She was certainly in widow’s attire including a heavy veil that hid her features. In fact, this woman was so concealed in black, it was difficult to tell anything about her including her age.
“Ladies… welcome to my Lyon’s Den,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon murmured while a servant entered and offered them champagne.
“We’re happy to be here, are we not, Josephine?” Cassandra said waiting for her reply. When she didn’t answer, she continued. “Tell Mrs. Dove-Lyon how happy we are to be here, Josephine.”
Josephine could only nod her head. “Yes… yes, of course. So pleased to be here. Thank you for inviting us.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon let out a soft chuckle. “I am sure you are terribly overwhelmed, Mrs. Bouchard, but think of this as a grand adventure. You’ll be enjoying yourself in no time.”
“If you say so,” Josephine managed to murmur and then proceededto take a sip of her drink. She tried not to cough when the bubbles tickled her throat.
“Josephine, don’t be rude,” Cassandra scolded. “Please forgive her Mrs.—”
“There is nothing to forgive, Mrs. Vaughn,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied. “I know this place can be a bit intimidating for someone who hasn’t been here before. But the rules are simple. The ladies often stay on this floor, but they are permitted to venture down below to where the men play their games of chance. You may observe from the balcony for your pleasure. Since you are new to my establishment, you should know that the bets the gentlemen place on the games they decide to play are sometimes not of the normal variety. Do not be surprised when or if you see a gentleman lose whatever they’ve eaten for the evening. There is one table in particular where something is put in the beverages, and the player with the losing hand is required to drink. Bets are laid as to who will vomit first!”
“My word!” Josephine placed her fingertips over her lips. Another laugh came from the depths of the woman’s veil.
“Rest assured, every gentleman is perfectly aware that the bets are odd, and the house generally always wins. It’s one of the ways I can ensure my matchmaking business is a success. But even knowing they are bound to lose, and that I may ask for quite a bit from them as their forfeit—including compelling them to court the woman I have selected for them—they still play, the silly fools, and some eventually find themselves wed to someone who is perfect for them. I promise I shall only look for the very best husband for you, Mrs. Bouchard, and soon you shall be returned to your rightful place in Society. I stake my reputation on it, and I always find the perfect match for those who pay my fees.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood, and Josephine took that as their cue that their audience with the woman was over. Before they left, the lady told them to continue to return each night and she would keep theminformed when the next steps would be required.
From that point on, Josephine followed Cassandra through the dining room where several women were seated. The buffet looked divine but Josephine knew if she tried to eat anything, it would most likely not settle in her stomach so she passed. They tried their hands at several games of cards but that only lightened Josephine’s purse. A roar of male laughter reached their ears and several women began to make their way to the balcony to see what the ruckus was all about. Cassandra took Josephine by the elbow and steered her to the railing where they could look down into the gambling room of men.
Josephine held onto the marble edge as if its support would be needed so she didn’t fall into a dead faint. There at one of the tables was her brother, Simon, who just raised his head from a bucket that had been placed near his feet, giving evidence to what the bet may have been at that particular table. It had been over four years since she last saw her brother’s face, which even from this distance appeared ashen. But Simon wasn’t the reason she felt as if she were going to pass out. No… it was because of the man who stood behind him. He surveyed the crowd with an angry scowl before scooping up what remained of her brother’s coins carelessly tossed upon the table.
Gyles… her heart flipped as if it were only yesterday that she stood before him pleading with him to confess he had feelings for her. She had hoped that day that the marquis would be her savior. In the end, he had become her downfall when his rejection had driven her into the arms of a fortune hunter.
Chapter Five
Gyles watched thecrowd erupt in laughter while Simon lost the contents of his stomach again. God only knew what had been put in his drink, but then he had chosen to sit at this table, knowing that the drinks were tainted with some mystery substance, so it could be said that he had brought this on himself. At least the bets for this particular round seemed to only involve money—and drinking to induce vomiting, of course. Simon hadn’t condemned himself to marry some unsuspecting woman after losing. At least not yet…
Gyles’s eyes came to rise to the women who had come out of their own salon to see what had amused the men on the gambling floor. They covered their faces with their fans as they made every attempt to hide their reaction to what they were witnessing. One in particular who wore a lovely dark green gown caught his attention, but any further thoughts returned to Simon when he heaved in a bucket once more.
“Bloody Hell!” Asher cried out. “How much can one person hold?”
Lucius came up to the table and looked at the cards that Simon had laid down upon the table. “He lost more in one hand than I’ve lost all night,” he commented dryly. “Good thing the earl has more thanenough to lose from this hand and more.”
Gyles turned his head to one of the bouncers who stood nearby. “Please call for Lord Rockliffe’s carriage, Flute. We’ll do our best to get him to the door.”
“Yes, my lord,” Flute said in a gruff tone. He made a motion with his hand to signal another employee and returned to his stance to watch over the area of the gaming tables.
