Page 6 of Enchanted By the Lyon
“Why is our fun always ruined by drunken relatives or friends?” Val complained bitterly, reminding Lucius when he had been sent to find Asher on the third floor.
“I suppose that is the way of things when we are older and having to look after fools who should know better here at the Lyon’s Den,” Lucius replied as they lifted Leopold and asked a passing servant to have his carriage brought around. They began to usher—or rather, drag—Leopold from the room, when a woman’s voice halted their progress.
“Leaving so soon, Lord Blackthorn? Why the evening has barely begun,” the lady purred sweetly.
He turned back and noticed it was none other than Mrs. Dove-Lyon herself, standing there with a glass of champagne bubbling in the crystal glass she held.
“I thought it best to remove my brother from your club, madam, before he made a spectacle of himself. I’d hate to have him banned from returning to the Den,” Lucius answered,peering into the black veil to try and see if he could make out this woman’s features. She hid herself well. No one would ever know who she was in the outside world.
“Any friend or relative of yours is always welcome here, my lord,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Hopefully, the young man will recover in no time, and we’ll see his return soon.”
Leopold groaned as though something ailed him, causing Lucius to only manage a nod. He had no desire to become indebted to the Black Widow of Whitehall if only because his brother cast up his accounts and ruined an expensive rug.
They quickly maneuvered Leopold out the front door and barely made it outside before the contents of his stomach left him. His brother leaned over the bushes while Lucius and Val held onto him so he didn’t topple over.
When Lucius’s carriage rolled up, they managed to get Leopold inside before Lucius joined him. Val rested an elbow on the doorframe. “Same time tomorrow?” he said with a grin.
Lucius nodded. “Yes… same time tomorrow. I’ll ensure my brother stays home.”
“Good luck with that,” Val said, chuckling before he shut the door and called to the driver to move on.
The carriage began to head in the direction of home as Lucius stared out the window into the blackness of the night. The vision of a blond-haired temptress filled his head, and he could only wonder why Cassandra Vaughn was occupying space inside his mind. He would be pondering that mystery for the rest of the night.
Chapter Four
Cassandra sat uncomfortablyin a front salon waiting for her friend Moriah, Marchioness of Saxton, to join her. In the end, Cassandra had felt that Moriah might be her best option to ask for aid. She had been married the longest of her three remaining friends and, to her mind’s eye, was most likely more settled. Still… she was inside the home of a marquis and his marchioness, and Cassandra felt so out of place in these unfamiliar surroundings that she almost rose and fled. This whole idea would surely fail. She had just made up her mind that this was a completely foolish notion and even stood to make a hasty retreat when the rapid sound of footsteps drawing near halted any progress toward the door. Moriah filled the entryway to the room.
“Cassie, darling!” Moriah declared, rushing forward to sweep her friend into a fierce embrace before she kissed both her cheeks. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Cassandra hugged her friend. “In reality, I’ve not been waiting all that long. I barely got here, Moriah,” she exclaimed while both her hands were taken in her friend’s and given a gentle squeeze. Then Moriah led her to a small table with chairs by the window. It was set with china. Indeed, a servant quicklyarrived with a full tea trolley that she rolled next to Moriah who promptly went about serving. She passed a plate of cakes to Cassandra who put one on the flowered china dish. Though it smelled and looked lovely, she was hardly hungry and made no attempt to nibble at the confectionary sweet.
“I’d hate it if I’ve come at a bad time, Moriah,” Cassandra began, lifting the cup Moriah filled and taking a sip of her tea.
Moriah reached over to again gently squeeze one of Cassandra’s hands. “There’s never a bad time to welcome a dear friend into my home. I only wish you would have come sooner.”
“I’ve been a bit busy,” she said sheepishly.
Moriah laughed. “Indeed, you have, dearest Cassie. The only one of the original Wicked Widows left to be happily married is you.”
Cassandra took another sip of her tea before she rushed on with the reason for her call. “That’s why I’m here, Moriah. I need your help.”
Moriah sat back in her chair and smiled. “Name it, and it’s yours.” She lifted her teacup to her lips and stared at Cassandra over its rim.
“You make it seem so simple,” Cassandra said as a heavy sigh escaped her. The potential fruitlessness of her task—even with Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s help—pressed on her shoulders. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”
Moriah set down her cup. “Of course, it’s simple. Patience was the last of us that you, yourself, ensured was wed to a respectable member of Society. Now, it’s finally your turn. You must know that any one of us would give you anything you needed to see that you are also happily married with someone you could love.” It was just as Mrs. Dove-Lyon had said.
“Restoring my reputation as a respectable woman will be harder than you might think. I’ve made a few enemies in mylife,” Cassandra admitted honestly. There was no reason to hide her past, especially to the lady before her.
Moriah, who was tucking a strand of her sandy hair behind her ear paused with her hand to her ear with a sharp and assessing blue-eyed gaze. “Enemies? You? Why you’ve never hurt a soul in your life that would make anyone think hostile thoughts of you, as far as I know.”
“My husband’s brother, Barlow Vaughn, might disagree with you,” Cassandra admitted.
Moriah narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “You’ve never mentioned him before, but we can ask Vincent what he knows of that foul creature if he has been a problem in your past. Besides… that was a lifetime ago. Certainly, the man wouldn’t hold a grudge this long.”
Cassandra raised her hand to wipe at her eyes. She hadn’t expected tears to form, but she’d kept her concerns about this to herself for so long, talking about it even briefly had caused her emotions to bubble up. She swallowed. “After Rupert died, Barlow was most… unpleasant.” She pushed back the memories and focused on reaching for her teacup instead. She was here, now, and she was safe. She didn’t have to feel anxious.
Moriah’s brow furrowed as she most likely remembered what little Cassandra had told her before. “Wasn’t that how you ended up on the streets? He basically threw you out of your own house?” Moriah reached over to pat Cassandra’s hand.
