Page 31 of The Lyon Returns
The thin skin at the base of her throat trembled with the rapidity of her heartbeat. “A shooting accident.”
“I see.”
He had not known her long. Long enough, however, to discern Gwen liked to talk. She had strong opinions and did not hesitate to share them. To say she did not wish to speak of her late husband, then, would be an understatement.
“Gwen,” he began gently. Without making a conscious decision to do so, he grasped one of her hands in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. Her skin was so incredibly soft. “As your husband, these are things I should know.”
“Of course.” She sent him a bright smile that did not reach her eyes. “And now you do.”
With reluctance, he released her. “I believe another late-night visit is in order, if you are willing.”
Twin splotches of color appeared high on her cheeks. “Of course,” she said again, sounding somewhat breathless.
“Excellent.” With an effort of will, he returned his attention to his plate.
Before coming down to breakfast, he had not made up his mind which of his remaining two consortium members to visit first. Thanks to Gwen’s obvious reticence to discuss her husband, his decision was made.
A somber-faced, shapelywoman sporting a form-hugging men’s suit collected Gideon from the foyer of the Lyon’s Den and led him through the familiar gambling arena which, even at not quite two in the afternoon, teemed with life.
Gideon glanced about at the myriad games in various stages of play.
Beleaguered looking men stood around a green baize table, studying their cards and weaving on their feet as if on the brink of exhaustion while on-lookers lounged about shouting words of encouragement.
In another area, a woman wearing, by all appearances, bejeweled scarfs in lieu of an actual gown, tossed a gleaming butcher knife at a board, before which stood a man, face frozen in terror. When the knife made purchase on the board inches from the man’s ear, a cheer went up amongst his companions.
Next Gideon glimpsed a seated, shirtless man, blindfolded, accepting items from a woman whose face was concealed behind a domino mask and whose clothing consisted of scraps of slinky lingerie. He nodded at the staff member standing watch over the pair and continued on.
He saw cards being dealt, dice shaken and tossed, and a snakecharmer playing his flute to summon a cobra from a tall wicker basket, the sort sold on the streets in Calcutta. Turning off the gaming floor onto a quiet corridor, he thought he saw the cobra strike. He definitely heard a man’s scream.
His guide led him halfway down the corridor, then gestured him into a small drawing room, leaving him with a promise that Mrs. Dove-Lyon would join him shortly.
He clasped his hands behind his back and moved to stand at the lone window, peering through the shutters to the neighboring manor, or rather the neighboring manor’s high, vine-covered privacy fence.
The door opened. He turned to see the proprietress of the Lyon’s Den enter, outfitted in her usual widow’s weeds, down to the netted cap which concealed her hair and all of her face, save her mouth. She closed the door and angled her face toward him. “Hello, Gideon. I see you got my message.”
“I received no message.”
“Didn’t you?”
He considered her words. “My marriage, you mean?”
She inclined her head.
“You expect me to believe you orchestrated this whole charade—my fake marriage, accompanying paperwork, andwifeto draw me home?”
Her mouth firmed. “It worked, did it not? You’re here.”
“So I am. But if this was your plan, why wait? Why now?”Why Mrs. Barnes, he wanted to ask, but a long habit of guarding his thoughts, especially those which might be misconstrued, held him back.
“The timing, the circumstances.” Her lips twitched with some private amusement. “The woman.”
“Enough of your vagaries, Bessie,” he said, not bothering to hide the menace in his voice. “I demand to know what game you’re playing.”
She gave only the slightest indication his tone had rattled her. But he knew her enough to catch the tell. The slight tensing of her lips.Good.Rattled, he stood a chance of getting straight answers from her, emphasis onchance. With Bessie, one never knew.
“Have a seat, Gideon,” she said. “I’ll ring for tea.”
“Coffee,” he said.
