Page 4 of Enchanted By the Lyon
He appeared to be looking for someone and raised his hand when he spotted who that person was. A younger man rushed forward, and the two men clasped hands. There could be no mistake that these two gentlemen were related as their featuresand coloring were similar. They began to move forward into the room when Lucius took a glance upward and a roguish grin crept upward at the corner of his mouth when he saw Cassandra. Her heart flipped end over end when he once again nodded in her direction before continuing onward with the man at his side. She once again raised her gloved hand as Lucius’s scent almost caused her to swoon.
“You’re certain you wish me to continue arranging a match between you, Mrs. Vaughn?” a woman’s voice said behind her.
Cassandra turned to see the Black Widow of Whitehall watching her. Donned in mourning attire, her thick veil covered her face and all but concealed any distinct features that would allow a person to recognize her in broad daylight. Cassandra supposed that was all part of the mystery surrounding this woman. She should have been used to seeing her thusly attired given the number of times she had made an arrangement with the widow for her friends.
And now it was her turn to make an arrangement. She hoped and prayed it was as successful for her as it had been for them. Cassandra squared back her shoulders. “I am,” she declared in a firm tone.
Bessie Dove-Lyon came to stand next to her at the railing to peer down into the men’s gambling room. “He will be… difficult.”
“I suspect he will.”
“And you’re willing to do anything in order to make this match?” the woman asked, as though in a warning.
“Yes… anything,” Cassandra quickly answered. She didn’t want to think too much about how difficult it would be—and that she might fail.
“Marvelous… then let us begin the games I’m about to be put into motion.” She took Cassandra’s arm and began leading her from the gallery. “First, your association with Mrs. Yates willonly harm any plans we have to see you rightfully placed into Society. She may be considered your friend—”
“More like an acquaintance,” Cassandra interrupted. “A neighbor.”
“All the same, she will only set you back from your goals, Mrs. Vaughn.”
Just as she had thought. But still, she decided she had to defend the woman, who had only done what she needed to survive, by choosing one of the ton’s gentlemen for a lover and benefactor. “I didn’t think coming here with her would harm anything. Who would care if I—”
“I care, Mrs. Vaughn, and for our plans to work, you need to start thinking about your future. Mrs. Yates is the ex-mistress of the man you wish to marry. I hardly think any association with her will be to your benefit.”
“She is someone I can talk to who understands my situation,” Cassandra replied.
“As I just said… Remaining friends with Mrs. Yates will only set you back. It’s time you moved on and sold your townhouse. Get away from Widow’s Row. You have enough friends now in high places that I’m certain you could askanyone of them to allow you to temporarily live with them.”
“I don’t want to intrude on their marriages,” Cassandra said. They were all new into their relationships. The last thing any of them needed—or wanted—was a houseguest.
“I would think, given what you did to make those marriages come about, that they would be eternally grateful for any favor you might ask of them. I suggest you ask either the Marchioness of Saxton or Marchioness of Wickes if they might allow you to temporarily reside with them. They will be duchesses one day and they can see you well settled into Society if you play your cards right,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said sagely.
“But I would only be intruding on their lives,” Cassandra replied, putting her hand to her forehead, hating the thought of intruding on Moriah or Josephine’s privacy.
“You are not looking at this as an end result, Mrs. Vaughn. Those women are your friends and will do anything in their power to help you. Take advantage of the roles they now hold within Society.”
“It seems like a lot to ask.”
“Friends will always help friends and yours will be no exception. It’s now your turn to look toward your future.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon finally let go of Cassandra’s arm. “As I instructed you on our last meeting when you hired my matchmaking skills, you must sell your townhouse, and start work with local charities. I understand you haven’t made those changes as of yet.”
Cassandra sighed. This woman kneweverything! “Yes… of course.”
“And see which one of your lady friends will take you in temporarily while you look for your own residence. It shouldn’t be too difficult to decide among them.”
The widow left her to mull over all she had said or ordered her to do. Cassandra took one last glimpse over her shoulder toward the balcony where she knew Lucius would be playing cards. Her heart bumped and her breath caught, and once again her fingers itched to arrange his tousled hair. Then she turned away, decisive. She would do anything to try to make a match with him. How hard could it truly be to change a rake’s mind about his thoughts on never marrying?
Chapter Three
Lucius stared athis losing hand and made every attempt not to frown. He was on one hell of a losing streak and if he were to guess, his cards had once again been stacked against him. No matter. He could afford the loss or else he wouldn’t be placing a bet in the first place.
Still… he wasn’t one to lose this often and he could only wonder if there were other shenanigans being played in the house’s favor tonight. It wouldn’t be the first time that a player was manipulated into marriage by the elusive Black Widow of Whitehall. He had avoided her matchmaking clutches for months. In all honesty, he admitted that the widow’s game of catch or escape provided the thrill of risk that all gamblers sought to achieve with each wager, himself included. But the stakes were higher than what he was willing to pay. Perhaps it was time he stopped coming here for a while and return to instead placing his wagers at White’s. It would be safer to his state of bachelorhood.
Next time, he told himself. For tonight, he’d stay. Lucius tapped his cards closed before stealing a glance at the dealer who went by the unfortunate name of Mustardseed. It was common enough knowledge that all the dealers went by names from thewidow’s favorite play,A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and he’d apparently drawn the short straw when it came to the character for whom he’d been named.
Now the man’s face was a blank mask of cool irrelevance as though he himself hadn’t dealt the mess Lucius now held.
“Will you place your bet, Lord Blackthorn?” Mustardseed asked in an almost bored tone.
