Page 1 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
Prologue
The Lyon’s Den, London
“The victor, hecomes!”
“Unicorn! Unicorn!” Chanting rose up from the gaming room and Clara leaned over the balcony to witness the moment of victory.
Four ropes had been suspended from the balustrade. Her heart fluttered as a masked man swarmed up one rope toward her.
This is it.
Through her veil she discerned a unicorn’s head, as if he were a mythical creature with the body of a man.
And what a body! With thick, powerful arms he hauled himself upward, swallowing up the rope on his quest to secure the prize.
And that prize was her.
A second competitor reached the foot of the rope, wearing a mask in the shape of a bull.
“Minotaur! Minotaur!” drunken voices cried, and Clara heard the chink of coins exchanging hands.
Surely, they weren’t placing wagers? Unless the unicorn lost his grip and fell, victory was inevitable. The minotaur had taken too much of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s brandy, and could barely walk, let alone climb a rope. The remaining finalists—one with the head of an eagle and the other a serpent—had already given up. The eagle limped toward the ropes with a distinct lack of enthusiasm and the serpent had prostrated himself on the floor, to the protestations of his backers.
The unicorn lost his grip, and a ripple of gasps threaded through the crowd, followed by a further exchange of coins. He gave a low growl then regained his purchase, grunting as the rope swung sideways. Then he glanced up and a pair of eyes focused on Clara, glittering behind his mask. Their expression spoke of determination—a beast ready to claim his female, then take her to his lair.
Clara retreated from the balustrade and joined her mother beside the black-clad, veiled hostess.
“Are you well, daughter?”
Clara nodded, her cheeks warming with shame at the thrill coursing through her at the prospect of beingclaimed. “I-I was concerned he might fall.”
“Then he’ll have proven himself undeserving, Miss Martingale,” the veiled figure said.
“A little harsh, Bessie,” Clara’s mother said. “Making men risk their necks?”
“But necessary, to find a champion worthy of your daughter’s hand,” came the reply. “The finalists have shown their prowess in intelligence, writing verse, and arithmetic. Tonight, we test their physical ability and endurance.Strength and Honor—that was the challenge.”
A growl filled the air, and Clara’s heart rate increased as a large hand appeared, followed by an arm, then a body. The victor swung his legs over the balustrade to stand on the gallery. Facingthe crowd, he raised his arms and roared in victory, his voice reverberating through Clara’s chest.
Their hostess approached him, and the cheering subsided as she raised her hand.
“A worthy champion,” she said. “Unicorn, I declare you the winner of the Strength and Honor challenge. Come claim your prize—the hand of this fair maiden.”
She turned toward Clara. “Your champion awaits, my dear. Let the company witness your betrothal.”
Clara approached the balustrade.
“Reveal yourselves before the world!” Mrs. Dove-Lyon cried.
The moment had come. But Clara conquered her fear. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had assured her that all competitors were of good character—strong in body and in heart.
And handsome—their hostess had said that were she twenty years younger, she’d have been tempted herself.
But Clara cared little for a handsome face. She only required a husband who was kind—who did not judge her for the disgrace of her birth.
Unlikehim.
Clara swallowed the pain that stabbed at her soul at the merest thought of the man who’d shattered her heart. But her heart was reforged—strong and impenetrable. She’d never permit the victor before her—whomever he might be—to claim her heart only to crush it into dust.
