Page 3 of Always the Lyon Tamer

“He did write back but see…” Pulling the letter once more from her reticule, she handed it over to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “Since the brothers gained their titles, John has gained the name the Lennox Lion. All those ladies around him, all the time…he is like some sort of king with a pride of adoring ladies. Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I have sought to tame him over and over again, but I am always starting afresh, somehow.”

“A lion who does not want to be caught,” said Mrs. Dove-Lyon dryly.

Rebecca nodded. “I love him, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

She needed John, and she knew he needed her, too, even if he did not yet understand it.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s smile was that of a mother. “I know, dear, I can see it in your eyes. Do not concern yourself. We can help you.”

“How?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon spread her arms wide. “Welcome to the Lyon’s Den, the place where gentlemen do what they are told, and ladies rule the roost.”

Rebecca grinned despite her nerves. There was something very reassuring about Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Her establishment was famous, of course, but still…she did not really understand what occurred here.How was it possible for Mrs. Dove-Lyon to make John realize he was in love with her?

“And what happens now?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon snapped her fingers, and the woman in breeches appeared from a door, holding a notebook and pencil.

“Now? We plan a little game.”

John was initiallytoo focused on his breakfast to notice the post had come in.

In fairness, he thought,it was a damned good breakfast. His new cook—Mrs. Flutter, or Fitter, or whatever her name was—was a miracle worker. Even with the small budget he had allotted her, she made breakfasts for kings. He would have to up her budget. He would have to increase her salary, too.

It was only after finishing his poached eggs on toast that John started spreading butter onto two more pieces of toast and noticed the silver platter with a letter placed right by the butter dish.

Old Burnham must have come in with the post without him even noticing. John accidentally smeared jam over the envelope as he picked it up.

“Damn and blast!”

Trying to brush it clean had not been a wise idea. Now raspberry jam, all its little pips making dark pin marks on the paper, almost entirely covered the envelope.

Sighing heavily, John picked up his napkin and tried to get as much of the stickiness off his fingers, but to no avail. He was forced to disappear to his toilette, wash his hands, and then approach the letter as delicately as he could, cracking open the letter without touching the jam and paying no attention to the seal.

He had expected a letter. Instead, John pulled out a card that was entirely blank on one side. On the other side was printed writing.

John Lennox, Marquess of Gloucester

You have been chosen to attend the Lyon’s Den on 15 February 18—at 6pm

Bring no one.

Leave all expectations at the door.

Cleveland Row, Whitehall

And that was it. Despite knowing the opposite side was blank, John turned it over in expectation of more details. A name, a reason he had been sent such a missive.

Nothing.

Stomach twisting, John leaned back in his chair.The Lyon’s Den.He had heard of the exclusive club, of course. Every gentleman worth his salt had.

The rumors had swirled, details conflicting, and no one willing to declare they knew the absolute truth. If pressed, he was not sure he knew precisely what the place was, other than somewhere everyone wanted to go, and few received invitations for.

Why would he want to go? What happened there?He did not know a soul who had actually been there, after all, and it was not as though the card was signed.

Picking up the envelope, he examined the seal. L and D.Well that made sense.Lyon’s Den. No other clues could be found.