The way she responded to him made him half-crazed. His mouth slanted over hers, powerfully, possessively. Christina wasn't able to hold back. That fact aroused Lyon almost as much as her whispered moans, her soft lips, her wild tongue.
Yes, he was thoroughly satisfied with her response. He was fast coming to the conclusion that it was the only time she was honest with him.
Lyon reluctantly pulled away from her. "You've made my hands tremble," Christina said. "I won't be much help to you if they knock on my door now."
"Too bad you aren't talented with a knife," Lyon remarked.
He waited for the lie, knowing full well she couldn't admit to such training.
"Yes, it is too bad," Christina answered. "But knives are for men. Women would harm themselves. I don't have a pistol, either. Perhaps you're disappointed I'm so poorly educated?"
He could tell by the way she'd asked the question she was hoping for agreement.
"Not at all, sweet," Lyon answered, his voice smooth. He draped his arm around her shoulder and started up the steps. "It's a man's duty to protect his little woman."
"Yes, that's the way in most cultures," Christina returned. Her voice turned hesitant, almost shy, when she added, "Still, you wouldn't take great exception if this same little woman did know how to defend herself. Would you? I mean to say, you wouldn't think it was unladylike… or would you?"
"Is this your room?" Lyon asked, deliberately evading her question. He pushed the door of the first bedroom open, took in the dark colors and the rank odor of old perfume, and knew before Christina answered him that he'd breached the Countess's quarters.
The room was dark enough to please a spider. Or an old bat, Lyon thought with a frown.
"This is my aunt's room," Christina said. She peeked inside. "It's awfully gloomy, isn't it?"
"You seem surprised. Haven't you ever been inside?"
"No."
Lyon was pulling the door closed when he saw the number of bolts and chains attached to the inside. "Your aunt must be an uneasy sleeper," he remarked. "Against whom does she lock her door, Christina?"
He knew the answer and was already getting angry. Lyon remembered the seaman's remark about the Countess being frightened of the pretty little miss.
The locks were on the wrong side of the door, as far as Lyon was concerned. Christina should be protecting herself against the Countess, and not the other way around.
What kind of life had Christina been forced to live since returning to her family and her homeland? She must surely be lonely. And what kind of woman would shun her only relative?
"My aunt doesn't like to be disturbed when she sleeps," Christina explained.
Lyon reacted to the sadness in her voice by hugging her close to him. "You haven't had an easy time of it since coming home, have you, love?"
He could feel her shrug against him. "My room is at the end of the hall. Is that what you're looking for?"
"Yes," he answered. "But I want to check all the windows, too."
"I have two windows in my room," Christina said. She pulled away from him, took hold of his hand, and hurried into her room.
Lyon took in everything in one quick glance. The bedroom was sparse by most women's standards, immensely appealing by his own. Trinkets didn't litter the two chest tops. No, there wasn't any clutter. A single chair, angled in the corner, a privacy screen behind it, a canopy bed with a bright white coverlet, and two small chests were the only pieces of furniture in the large square room.
Christina obviously liked order. The room was spotless, save for the single blanket someone had dropped on the floor by the window.
"The garden's right below my windows," Christina said. "The wall would be easy to scale. The greenery reaches the ledge. I think the vines are sturdy enough to hold a man."
"I'd rather they didn't come in through the windows," Lyon remarked, almost absentmindedly. He tested the frames, then looked down at the garden. He wished the moon wasn't so accommodating this evening. There was too much light.
Lyon glanced over at Christina. His expression and his attitude had changed. Drastically.
Christina felt like smiling. He really was a warrior. His face was just as impassive as a brave's. She couldn't tell what he was thinking now, and the rigidity of his bearing indicated to her he was preparing for battle.
"The drawing room only has two front windows, as I recall. Is there another entrance besides the one from the foyer?"
"No," Christina answered.
"Good. Get dressed, Christina. You can wait in there until this is over. I'll make it safe enough."
"How?"
"By blocking the windows and the doors," Lyon explained.
"No. I mean, I don't wish to be locked inside anywhere, Lyon."
The vehemence in her tone surprised him. Then he remembered how uncomfortable she'd been inside the closed carriage. His heart went out to her. "If I fashion a lock on the inside of the door so you'll know you could get out if you—"
"Oh, yes, that would do nicely," Christina interrupted with a brisk nod. She looked very relieved. "Thank you for understanding."
"Now why are you frowning?" Lyon asked, clearly exasperated.
"I've just realized you have another weapon to use against me if you become angry with me," she admitted. "I've just shown you a weakness," she added with a shrug.
"No, you've just insulted me," Lyon returned. "I don't know too many men, or women either, who would like to be locked in a room, Christina. Now quit trying to distract me. Get dressed."
She hurried to do his bidding. "I don't think I want to wait in the drawing room at all," she muttered to herself as she grabbed the first gown she could lay her hands on and moved behind the screen to change. She realized what a poor selection she'd made after she'd shed her robe and put the royal blue dress on.
"Lyon? The fastenings are in the back," she called out, "I can't do them up properly."
Lyon turned from the window to find Christina holding the front of her dress against her chest.
When she turned to give him her back, the first thing he noticed was her flawless skin. In the candlelight she looked too enticing for his peace of mind.
The second thing he took notice of was that she wasn't wearing a damn thing underneath. He wasn't unaffected either. His hands shook when he bent to the task of securing her gown, his fingers awkward because he wanted to caress her smooth skin.
"Where's your maid, Christina?" he asked, hoping conversation would pull him away from the ungentlemanly thought of carrying her over to the bed and seducing her.
"I'm alone for the week. I let Beatrice have the time away."
Her casually spoken comment irritated him. "For God's sake, no gentle lady stays all by herself," he muttered.
"I do well enough for myself. I'm most self-serving."
"Self-sufficient," Lyon said with a sigh. He was having difficulty catching the last button. Her silky hair kept getting in his way.
"I beg your pardon?"
Lyon lifted her hair and draped it over her shoulder. He smiled when he saw the goosebumps on her skin. "Self-sufficient, my sweet, not self-serving."
"There is a difference?" she asked, trying to turn around to look at him.
"Stand still," Lyon ordered. "Yes, there is a difference. Your aunt is self-serving. You're self-sufficient."
"Do you know I never make mistakes except when I'm with you, Lyon? It is therefore all your fault I get confused."
He didn't want to waste time arguing with her. "Come along," he ordered after he'd finished fastening her gown. He took hold of her hand and pulled her behind him.
Christina had to run to keep up with him. "I haven't braided my hair," she said quickly. "I really must, Lyon. It could be used against me. Surely you realize that."
He didn't realize, knew he shouldn't ask, but did anyway. "Why is your hair a weapon?"
"The men could catch hold of me if they grabbed my hair, unless of course I'm as quick as a panthe
r, as fearless as a wolf, as cunning as a bear."
The woman was getting carried away. Lyon let her see his exasperation when they'd reached the drawing room.
"Will you be all right sitting in the dark?" Lyon asked. He walked over to the front windows, pulled the braided cord from one side of the drape, and handed it to Christina.
"I'm not afraid of the dark," she answered, looking disgruntled. "What a silly question to put to me."
"Tie this rope around the door handles, Christina. Make it good and tight. If anyone tries to break in, I'll hear the noise. All right?"
Lyon checked the windows. Age had sealed them tight. "Yes, Lyon, I'll not let you down," Christina said from behind him.
"Now listen well, my little warrior," Lyon said in a hard voice. He took hold of her shoulders to give her a squeeze. "You're going to wait inside this room until the danger is over. Do you understand me?"
His voice had been harsh, angry. It didn't seem to worry Christina, though. She was still smiling up at him. "I really would like to help you, Lyon. After all, I would remind you that they are my attackers. Surely you will allow me to do my part."
"Surely I will not," Lyon roared. "You'd just get in my way, Christina," he added in a softer voice.
"Very well," Christina said. She turned to the small oval mirror hanging on the wall adjacent to the windows and began the task of braiding her hair. She looked so graceful, so feminine. When she lifted her arms, her gown edged up above her ankles.
"You've forgotten to put your shoes on," Lyon said, a smile in his voice. "Again."
"Again? Whatever do you mean?" Christina asked, turning back to him.
He shook his head. "Never mind. You might as well leave your hair alone. You aren't going to get involved."
Her smile reeked of sincerity. Lyon was immediately suspicious. "Give me your word, Christina. Now."
"What word?" she asked, feigning innocence. She turned away from his glare and started braiding her hair again.
Lyon held his patience. The little innocent didn't realize he could see her reflection in the mirror. She wasn't looking sincere now, only very, very determined.
He would gain her promise, even if he had to shake it out of her. Her safety was his primary concern, of course. Lyon wasn't about to let anything happen to her. But there was another reason as well. Though it was insignificant in comparison with the first, it still worried him. In truth, he didn't want her to watch him. There was a real possibility Christina would become more frightened of him than of Splickler and his men by the time the night was over.
Lyon didn't fight fair, or honorably either. Christina couldn't have heard about his past. Now that he realized how much he cared about her, he wanted to protect her from the world in general, bastards like Splickler in particular… but protect her from knowing about his dark side, too. He didn't want to disillusion her. She believed he was simply the Marquess of Lyonwood, nothing more, nothing less. God help him, he meant to keep her innocent.
He thought he'd lose her if she knew the truth.
"I promise I won't interfere until you ask me to," Christina said, interrupting his dour thoughts. "Mrs. Smitherson did show me how to defend myself," she hastened to add when he gave her a dark look. "I would know what to do."
"Summerton," Lyon answered on a long, drawn-out sigh. "The people who raised you were called Summerton."
His mood was just like the wind, Christina decided. Completely unpredictable. He wasn't smiling now but looking as though he was contemplating murder.
"You act as though we have all the time in the world before our visitors arrive," Christina remarked. "Won't they be here soon?" she asked, hoping to turn his attention away from whatever sinister thought had him glaring so.
"Not for a while yet," Lyon answered. "Stay here while I have a look around."
Christina nodded. The minute he was out of sight she ran upstairs to fetch a ribbon for her hair. And her knife, of course. Lyon was going to get her help whether he wanted it or not.
She was back inside the drawing room, sitting demurely on the worn settee, her knife hidden under the cushion, when Lyon returned.
"I've decided to make it easy for Splickler."
"How?"
"Left the back door unlatched."
"That was most accommodating of you."
Lyon smiled over the praise in her voice. He walked over to stand directly in front of her. His big hands rested on his hips, his legs were braced apart, and Christina was given the disadvantage of having to tilt her head back as far as she could just to see his face. Since he was smiling again, she assumed his mood had lightened. "If you're sure they'll come through the garden, why let them inside the house at all? Why not greet them outside?"
"Greet them?" Lyon shook his head. "Christina, they aren't coming here to speak to you. There might very well be a fight."
He hated to worry her but knew she needed to understand. "Well, of course there will be a fight," Christina answered. "That's the reason I prefer you to meet them outside, Lyon. I'm the one who'll have to clean up the mess, after all."
He hadn't thought of that. And when he realized she thoroughly understood what was going to happen, he was immensely relieved. "You're very brave," he told her. "The moon, however, gives too much light. I memorized every detail of the room they'll enter before I put out the candles. They'll have the disadvantage."
"They'll also have to come through one at a time," Christina interjected. "A very cunning idea, Lyon. But what if they climb the vines instead of trying the door?"
"They won't, sweetheart."
He seemed so certain, Christina decided not to worry about it. She watched him walk over to the doors. "Time to put out the candles, love. Tie the rope around the doorknobs first, all right? You aren't frightened, are you? I'll take care of you. I promise."
"I trust you, Lyon."
Her answer warmed him. "And I trust you to stay here."
"Lyon?"
"Yes, Christina?"
"Be careful."
"I will."
"Oh, and Lyon?"
"Yes?"
"You'll try not to make too much of a messr won't you?"
"I'll try."
He winked at her before closing the door behind him. Christina tied the rope around the two door handles, forming a tight double knot. She blew out the candles and settled down to wait.
The minutes dragged by at a turtle's pace. Christina kept straining to hear sounds from the back of the house. For that reason, she was quite unprepared to hear a scraping sound coming from the front windows.
They weren't suppose to come through the front of the house. Lyon was going to be disappointed. Christina felt like instructing the villains to go around back, then realized how foolish that suggestion would have been. She decided she'd just have to wait it out in hopes they'd give up trying to breach the windows and eventually try the back door.
"Christina?"
Her name was called out in a soft whisper, but she recognized the voice all the same. The Earl of Rhone was trying to get her attention.
She pulled the drape back and found Rhone hanging on the ledge, grinning up at her. The smile didn't stay long—nor did Rhone, for that matter. He suddenly lost his grip on the ledge and disappeared. A soft thud came next, followed by several indecent curses telling Christina the poor man hadn't landed on his feet.
She was going to have to fetch him out of the hedges, she decided. He was making such a commotion he was sure to alert the mischief makers.
Rhone met her at the front door. He looked a sight, for his jacket was ripped away from his sleeve, his cravat was soiled and undone, and he was favoring one leg.
He was such a clumsy man, she thought, yet her heart wanned to him all the same. Lyon must have confided in him. Christina believed he'd ventured out to give his friend assistance. It was the only answer for such an unexpected visit. "You look as though you've already lost one fight. Rhone, behind you!"
A crash echoi
ng from the back of the house nearly drowned out her voice. Rhone caught her warning, however. He reacted with good speed, wasted little time by turning around to face the threat, and used his right shoulder to shove the door into the face of a wiry-looking man trying to barrel through the opening. His legs were buckled to the task, his face red with exertion.
When it became evident he wasn't going to get the door closed without her help, Christina added her own strength.
"Lyon!"
Rhone's shout made her ears ring. "Go and hide someplace," Rhone gasped out to Christina, his voice strained.
"Christina. Go back inside the salon."
Lyon's voice came from behind her. Christina thought only to glance over her shoulder to explain that her weight was needed to get the door closed, but the sight that met her pushed her explanation out of her mind.
She slowly turned around and took a tentative step forward. She was too dazed to move more quickly.
The transformation in the Marquess held her spellbound. He didn't even resemble an Englishman now. His jacket was gone, his shirt torn to the waist. Blood trickled down his chin from a cut on the side of his mouth. It wasn't a significant wound, and it didn't frighten her. Neither did the splatter of blood on his sleeve, for she instinctively knew the blood wasn't his… no, she wasn't frightened of his appearance.
The look in his eyes was another matter. He looked ready to kill. Lyon appeared to be quite calm. His arms were folded across his chest, and his expression was almost bored. It was all a lie, of course. The truth was there, in his eyes.
"Now!"
His bellow shook her from her daze. Christina didn't even spare a backward glance for Rhone as she ran toward the drawing room.
"Get out of the way, Rhone."
Rhone didn't hesitate to follow Lyon's order. As soon as he jumped back, three men the size of giants lunged inside. They fell, one atop another. Rhone stood in the corner, hoping Lyon would ask for his help.
Lyon stood in the center of the foyer patiently waiting for the three cutthroats to get back on their feet. Rhone thought that was just a bit too accommodating of his friend.