The Lion's Lady

"You didn't?"

  "No."

  "Oh, but you'd never… you don't even like the Countess. You wouldn't bother to tell her…"

  "I'm seeing you home, love."

  "I'm not your love."

  "Yes, you are."

  "I really prefer to walk."

  "Rhone, what do you think the Countess will say when I inform her that her niece is strolling around town, paying calls on—"

  "You don't fight with an ounce of dignity, Lyon. It's a sorry trait."

  "I've never fought fair."

  Her sigh of defeat echoed throughout the library. "I shall wait for you in the hall, you despicable man." Christina slammed the door shut to emphasize her irritation.

  "She isn't at all what she appears to be," Rhone remarked. "She called us English, Lyon, as if we were foreigners. Doesn't make sense, does it?"

  "Nothing Christina says makes sense, unless you remember she wasn't raised here." He stood up, stretched to his full height, and started for the door. "Enjoy the brandy, Rhone, while I go back into battle."

  "Battle? What are you talking about?"

  "Not what, Rhone. Who. Christina, to be exact."

  Rhone's laughter followed Lyon out the door. Christina was standing next to the front door. Her arms were folded across her chest. She wasn't trying to hide her irritation.

  "Ready, Christina?"

  "No. I hate carriages, Lyon. Please let me walk home. It's only a few short streets away from here."

  "Of course you hate carriages," Lyon said. His voice was filled with amusement. "Now, why didn't I realize that sooner, I wonder?" he asked as he took hold of her elbow. He half led, half dragged Christina to his vehicle. Once they were seated across from each other, Lyon asked, "Are carriages as much a distraction as saddles, perchance?"

  "Oh, no," Christina answered. "I don't like being confined like this. It's suffocating. You weren't going to tell the Countess I left without permission, were you, Lyon?"

  "No," he admitted. "Are you afraid of the Countess, Christina?"

  "I'm not afraid of her," Christina said. "It's just that she is my only family now, and I don't like to upset her."

  "Were you born in France, Christina?" Lyon asked. He leaned forward to take hold of her hands.

  His voice coached, his smile soothed. Christina wasn't fooled for a moment. She knew he thought to catch her off guard. "When your mind is set on finding something out, you really don't give up, do you, Lyon?"

  "That's about right, my dear."

  "You're shameful," Christina confessed. "Quit smiling. I've insulted you, haven't I?"

  "Were you born in France?"

  "Yes," she lied. "Now, are you satisfied? Will you quit your endless questions, please?"

  "Why does it bother you to be questioned about your past?" Lyon asked.

  "I merely try to protect my privacy," she answered.

  "Did you live with your mother?"

  He was like a dog after a meaty bone, Christina decided. And he wasn't going to let up. It was time to soothe his curiosity. "A very kind couple by the name of Summerton raised me. They were English but enjoyed traveling. I've been all over the world, Lyon. Mr. Summerton preferred to speak French, and I'm more comfortable with that language."

  The tension slowly ebbed away from her shoulders. She could tell by Lyon's sympathetic expression that he believed her. "The Countess can be difficult, as you well know. She had a falling out with the Summertons and refuses to let me speak of them. She wants everyone to think I was raised by her, I suppose. Lying is very difficult for me," she added with a straight face. "Since Aunt Patricia won't let me tell the truth, and I'm not any good telling lies, I decided it would be best to say nothing at all about my past. There, are you satisfied?"

  Lyon leaned back against the upholstery. He nodded, obviously satisfied with her confession. "How did you meet up with these Summertons?"

  "They were dear friends of my mother," Christina said. She gave him another smile. "When I turned two years of age, my mother took ill. She gave me to the Summertons because she trusted them, you see. My mother didn't want her sister, the Countess, to become my guardian. And the Summertons weren't able to have children."

  "Your mother was a shrewd woman," Lyon remarked. "The old bat would have ruined you, Christina."

  "Oh, my, did Elbert call my aunt an old bat in front of you? I really must have another firm talk with him. He seems to have taken an extreme dislike to her."

  "Love, everyone dislikes your aunt."

  "Are you finished with your questions now?" Christina asked.

  "Where did you hear the sound of lions, Christina, and where did you see buffaloes?"

  The man had the memory of a child given the promise of candy. He didn't forget anything. "I did spend a good deal of time in France, because of Mr. Summerton's work, but he was very devoted to his wife—and to me, for he did think of me as his daughter. And so he took both of us with him when he went on his trips. Lyon, I really don't want to answer any more of your questions."

  "Just one more, Christina. Will you let me escort you to Creston's ball on Saturday? It will be very proper. Diana will be with us."

  "You know my aunt won't allow it," Christina protested.

  The carriage came to a halt in front of Christina's home. Lyon opened the door, dismounted, and turned to lift Christina to the ground. He held her a bit longer than necessary, but Christina didn't take exception. "Simply tell your aunt that arrangements have already been made. I'll call for you at nine."

  "I do suppose it will be all right. Aunt Patricia need never know. She's going to the country to visit a sick friend. If I don't mention the ball, I really won't have to lie. It isn't quite the same if the Countess believes I mean to stay home, is it? Or is it still a lie by deliberate silence, I wonder."

  Lyon smiled. "You really do have trouble telling a lie, don't you, sweet? It is a noble trait," he added.

  Heaven help her, she really mustn't laugh. Lyon would certainly grow suspicious then. "Yes, it is difficult for me," she confessed.

  "You don't know how it pleases me to find a woman with such high standards, Christina."

  "Thank you, Lyon. May I put a question to you now?"

  Elbert opened the door just then. Christina became distracted. She smiled at the butler, then waved him inside. "I shall see the door closed, Elbert. Thank you."

  Lyon patiently waited until Christina turned back to him. "Your question?" he gently prodded.

  "Oh, yes," Christina said. "First of all, I would like to ask you if you will be attending Sir Hunt's party Thursday evening."

  "Are you going?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I shall be there."

  "There is one more question, please."

  "Yes?" Lyon asked, smiling. Christina was acting terribly shy all of a sudden. A faint blush covered her cheeks, and she couldn't quite meet his gaze.

  "Will you marry me, Lyon? For just a little while?"

  "What?"

  He really hadn't meant to shout, but the woman did say the damnedest things. He couldn't have heard her correctly. Marriage? For just a while? No, he had misunderstood. "What did you say?" he asked again, calming his voice.

  "Will you marry me? Think about it, Lyon, and do let me know. Good day, sir."

  The door closed before the Marquess of Lyonwood could summon a reaction.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

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  It took over three weeks before Mylala was able to find a captain willing to take the risk of helping us escape. I don't know what I would have done without my loyal maid. She put her family and her friends in jeopardy to aid me. I listened to her advice, for she had been in my husband's household for several years and knew his ways.

  I had to act as though nothing had changed. Yes, I played the loving wife, but every night I prayed for Edward's death. Mylala suggested that I not take any possessions with me. When the call came for me to go, I would simply walk away wi
th only the clothes on my back.

  Two nights before word came from the captain, I went to see Edward in his quarters. I entered by the side door again, very quietly, as a precaution against finding Nicolle with him again. Edward was alone. He was sitting at his desk, holding a large, sparkling sapphire in his hands. On the desk top were over twenty other gems. Edward was fondling them in much the same way he fondled Nicolle. I stood there, in the shadows, watching him. The madman actually spoke to the jewels. After another few minutes, he wrapped the gems in a cloth and put them back in a small black lacquered box.

  There was a false panel built into the wall. Edward slid the box into the dark crevice.

  I went back to my rooms and related what I'd seen to my maid. She told me she'd heard a rumor that the treasury was barren. We came to the conclusion that the revolution was closer to reality than we'd believed. My husband had converted the coins into jewels, for they would be much easier to carry with him when he left his country.

  I vowed to steal the jewels. I wanted to hurt Edward in any way that I could. Mylala cautioned me against such a plan, but I was past caring. The jewels belonged to the people. I promised myself that one day I'd find a way to give the jewels back.

  God, I was so noble, but so very, very naive. I really thought I would get away with it.

  Journal entry September 1, 1795

  ~

  The early morning hours belonged to Christina. It was a peaceful, quiet time of day, for the Countess rarely made an appearance or a demand before noon. Christina's aunt preferred to take her morning meal of biscuits and tea in bed, and only broke that ritual when an important visitation couldn't be rescheduled.

  Christina was usually dressed and finished with her duties before the full light of dawn warmed the city. She and her aunt shared a lady's maid between them, but Beatrice had quite enough to do filling the Countess's orders. For that reason, Christina took care of her clothes and her bedroom. In truth, she was happy with the arrangement. She didn't have to keep up a pretense when she was alone in her room. Since Beatrice rarely interrupted her, Christina didn't have to wrinkle the covers on her bed every morning to give the appearance she'd actually slept there.

  Once she bolted the door against intruders, she could let her defenses slide. Every night she carried her blanket across the room to sleep on the floor in front of the double windows.

  She didn't have to be strong when she was alone. She could cry, just as long as she was quiet about it. It was a weakness to shed tears, yet since no one was there to witness her distress, Christina felt little shame.

  The tiny garden hidden behind the kitchens was Christina's other private domain. She usually spent most of the morning hours there. She blocked out the noise of the city and the stench of discarded garbage, slipped off her shoes, and wiggled her toes in the rich brown dirt. When the droplets of dew had been snatched away by the sun, Christina would return to the erupting chaos inside the house.

  The precious reunion with the sun helped her endure the rest of the day. She could usually worry through any perplexing problem in such a tranquil setting too. However, since meeting the Marquess of Lyonwood, Christina hadn't been able to concentrate on much of anything. Her every thought belonged to him.

  She'd been attracted to him from the moment of their meeting. When Sir Reynolds had called him Lyon, she'd been nudged into awareness. Then she'd looked up into his eyes, and her heart had been captured. The vulnerability she'd seen there, in his dark gaze, had made her want to reach out to him.

  He was a man in need of attention. Christina thought he might be just as lonely as she was. She didn't understand why she'd come away with that impression, however. Lyon was surrounded by his family, embraced by the ton, envied, and somewhat feared. Yes, the ton bowed to him because of his title and his wealth. They were superficial reasons, to Christina's way of viewing matters, but Lyon had been raised in such a fashion.

  He was different, though. She'd noticed he didn't bend to any of their laws. No, Lyon seemed determined to make his own.

  Christina knew it hadn't been proper to ask him to marry her. According to the laws, it was the man's place to offer for his woman, not the other way around. She'd given the matter considerable thought, then reached the decision that she'd simply have to break this one law in order to be wed before her father returned to England.

  Still, her timing might not have been perfect. She knew she'd stunned him with her hastily blurted question. The astonished look on his face worried her. She couldn't make up her mind if he was getting ready to shout with laughter or explode with anger.

  Once he'd gotten over his initial reaction, however, Christina was certain he'd say yes. Why, he'd already admitted how much he liked being with her, how much he liked touching her. Life in this strange country would be so much more bearable with Lyon by her side.

  And it would only be for a little while… he wouldn't have to be saddled with her forever, as the Countess liked to say.

  Besides, she told herself, he really wouldn't be given a choice, would he?

  She was the lioness of the Dakota. Lyon simply had to marry her.

  It was his destiny.

  Thursday evening didn't arrive soon enough to suit the Marquess of Lyonwood. By the time he entered Sir Hunt's townhouse, he was fighting mad.

  Lyon had alternated between absolute fury and total disappointment whenever he thought about Christina's outrageous proposal. Well, he sure as hell had her game now, didn't he? She was after marriage, all right—marriage and money, just like every other woman in the kingdom.

  He was just as angry with himself. His instincts had certainly been sleeping. He should have known what she was up to from the very beginning. God's truth, he'd done exactly what he accused Rhone of doing—he'd fallen victim to a pretty face and a clever flirtation.

  Lyon was disgusted enough to want to bellow. And he was going to set Christina straight at the first opportunity. He wasn't about to get married again. Once had been enough. Oh, he meant to have Christina, but on his terms, and certainly without benefit of clergy to muck up the waters. All women changed once wedded. Experience had taught him that much.

  It was unfortunate that the first person he ran into when he entered Hunt's salon was his sister, Diana. She spotted him immediately, picked up her skirts, and charged over to curtsy in front of him.

  Hell, he was going to have to be civil.

  "Lyon, thank you for asking Sir Reynolds to escort me. He is such a kind man. Aunt Harriett will be arriving Monday next, and you won't have to be bothered with the duty any longer. Do you like my new gown?" she asked, straightening the folds of her yellow skirt.

  "You look very pretty," Lyon announced, barely giving her a glance.

  There was such a crowd, Lyon was having difficulty finding Christina. Though he was much taller than the other guests, he still hadn't been able to spot the golden crown of curls he was looking for.

  "Green is a nice color for me, isn't it, Lyon?"

  "Yes."

  Diana laughed, drawing Lyon's attention. "My gown is yellow, Lyon. I knew you weren't paying me the least notice."

  "I'm in no mood for games, Diana. Go and circulate through the crush like a good girl."

  "She isn't here, Lyon."

  "She isn't?" Lyon asked, sounding distracted.

  Diana's giggles increased. "Princess Christina hasn't arrived yet. I had the most wonderful visit with her yesterday."

  "Where did you see her?" Lyon asked. His voice was a bit sharper than he intended.

  Diana didn't take exception. "For tea. Mother didn't join us, of course. Neither did you, by the way. Did you actually forget you asked me to invite her, Lyon?"

  Lyon shook his head. "I decided against intruding," he lied. He really had forgotten the appointment, but he placed the blame for his ill discipline on Christina's shoulders. Since receiving her proposal of marriage, he hadn't been able to think about anything else.

  Diana gave her brother a puzz
led look. "It isn't like you to forget anything," she announced. When he didn't comment on that fact, she said, "Well, I was happy to have the time alone with her. Princess Christina is a fascinating woman. Do you believe in destiny, Lyon?"

  "Oh, God."

  "You needn't groan," Diana chided.

  "I do not believe in destiny."

  "Now you're shouting. Lyon, everyone is giving us worried looks. Do force a smile. I believe in destiny."

  "Of course you do."

  "Now why would that displease you?" Diana asked. She continued on before her brother could form an answer. "The princess makes such refreshing observations about people. She never says anything unkind, either. She's such a delicate, dainty woman. Why, I feel very protective around her. She's so gentle, so—"

  "Was the old bat with her?" Lyon interrupted impatiently. He wasn't in the mood to hear about Christina's qualities. No, he was still too angry with her.

  "I beg your pardon?" Diana asked.

  "The Countess," Lyon explained. "Did she join you?"

  Diana tried not to laugh. "No, she wasn't with Christina. I made an unkind remark about her aunt, though of course I didn't call her an old bat, and my comment was quite by accident. Christina was very gracious when she told me it was impolite to speak of the elderly in such a fashion. I was humbled by her gentle rebuke, Lyon, and then found myself telling her all about Mama and how she still grieves for our James."

  "Family matters shouldn't be discussed with outsiders," Lyon said. "I really would appreciate it if you'd—"

  "She says it's all your fault about Mama being—"

  "What?" Lyon asked.

  "Please let me finish before you sanction me," Diana advised. "Christina said the strangest thing. Yes, she did."

  "Of course she did," Lyon returned with a long sigh.

  Lord, it was contagious. One afternoon with Princess Christina had turned Diana completely senseless.

  "I didn't understand what she meant, but she did say—rather firmly, too—that it was all your fault, and that it was up to you to direct Mama into returning to her family. Those were her very words."