Chapter Two

January 28, 1818

Stonewycke House

St. James Place, Mayfair

London, England

L ady Hattie Anne Russell—youngest child of the Earl of Stonewycke—was bored. Snow flurries lazily drifted down through the air, and she didn't particularly relish riding in such weather, and it was too late in the morning besides, so she trailed through her father's townhouse in the hopes something would catch her eyes or spark interest.

Especially since she'd read nearly every book in her father's library, which was a direct result of troubling, recurring dreams interrupting her sleep for weeks on end.

That was a dangerous proposition, for with nothing to occupy her mind, she usually turned to visiting the kitchens and sneaking pastries and sweets. It was probably the reason she was pleasantly plump by all accounts instead of thin, which was the womanly form society currently favored… or rather, some men favored. There were plenty of softly rounded ladies who made advantageous matches.

Surely.

Yet her mother's voice in her head about not becoming "too fat" continued to echo in her ears.

Another reason she was experiencing a bout of ennui was she was on a probation of sorts, as a direct order from her parents, for two weeks ago, she'd been caught in a compromising situation in the mews where she was enthusiastically kissing one of the grooms. That had led to the poor man being sacked, her with a peal ringing over her head from her father, and disappointment in her mother's eyes.

Frustration was everyone's lot just now.

Finally, she drifted into the morning room, where her mother was at her secretary desk, writing a letter. "Mama, I am bored. I would like to take a carriage to Bond Street and visit the shops."

Her mother replaced the pen into its holder and then regarded her with exasperation. "You know why that is not possible."

She blew out a breath that ruffled the few curls on her forehead. "Oh, la. That was one time." But that groom had been quite a delicious way to pass the hours. And what her mother didn't know about the few other men she'd kissed over the years wouldn't hurt her.

"You have been in and out of scandal since you turned sixteen. Now, at nine and twenty, nothing has changed, but this behavior cannot be allowed to continue." Her mother shook her head. Silver strands of hair gleamed amidst the blonde. "While I understand you aren't keen on meeting a man to marry after the disaster of your engagement, you are on the shelf, Harriett. You have a future to attend, and that will not happen if you continue to chase scandal."

Hattie frowned, for she detested it when her parents insisted on calling her by her full given name. She hated it even more that her mother had brought up the failed engagement, even if it had happened four years ago. "That failed engagement wasn't my fault."

Society had called her fiancé fickle, and for all they knew, he was, but he'd broken the engagement for legitimate reasons known only to her and him. Frankly, she admired him for following his truth, and she could do nothing else but to follow hers.

Except hers had led to scandal and gossip. His had no doubt done the same, unless he'd been skilled in keeping that secret. She hadn't really heard nor kept in touch with him over the years.

"It matters not. Once the engagement broke, the ton assumed there was something wrong with you." Her mother tsked her tongue. "And now look at you. Far too many curves and well on your way to being plump." She huffed. "You simply must stay away from desserts. I rather doubt the maids can let out your seams again in your gowns."

As if that was the worst thing a woman could face in this world. "I am not yet matronly and still have good enough looks." Not that it mattered. "Besides, men don't seem to mind I have a bit more flesh on my bones than the current beauties in society."

Her mother shook her head. "Your poor father is ready to wash his hands of you. It's so embarrassing to have an unmarried daughter as old as you are." She stood up from the desk. "Your sister married well and has a successful union as well as two children."

"Elizabeth is also quite dull. She's more content to be a rule follower, and the marquess she married matches her in spirit." Her sister was several inches taller with a Greek goddess-like appearance, who could wear anything and look beautiful, while Hattie had to be careful lest she seem frumpy and overblown. Additionally, Elizabeth would faint away in horror if she didn't follow society's rules and dictates for ladies.

Before her mother could answer, the butler came into the room. "Pardon the interruption, my lady, but His Lordship is preparing to leave for the afternoon and wishes to speak with you urgently before he goes."

"That means he is anxious about something he's facing in the Lords tonight." She glanced at Hattie. "We are not done with this conversation." Then she followed the butler out of the room.

Not wishing to return to her room or hang about the drawing room—or heaven forbid, practice her flute—Hattie went around to her mother's desk to peer at the letter she'd been in the process of writing. When needed, she acted as a secretary for both her parents, and was quite familiar with their correspondence, so it wasn't beyond imagination that she would be asked to finish this letter.

Except when she sat on the delicate chair, her own name popped out of the handwriting.

With a frown, she went back a page on the letter to read it from the start. Her mother was writing a Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Apparently, they had been contemporaries of a sort back when her mother was being courted by her father. Clearly of an age, they had maintained a friendship over the years, and now Mrs. Dove-Lyon owned a gaming hell called Lyon's Den.

Why is it always lions?

Dratted dreams that kept bedeviling her.

In any event, her mother was in the process of imploring her friend to help her in matching Hattie. She went on in the letter to tell the friend that her daughter had been naught but a trial for years, had never grown out of the hoyden stage of her youth. Then she'd added that Hattie had been caught in a compromising position with a groom, for Lord's sake, and that was absolutely the last straw. Something must be done to quell the scandal; the girl needed to be settled, and that she, as well as Stonewycke, could no longer bear the open gossip or the looks directed at them while in public. It was bad enough to have a spinster daughter, but beyond horrid to know she was nearly unweddable due to scandals.

Please, Bess, her mother had written, find a match for my daughter. Any Lyon will do at this point. My husband and I just want her to have some sort of a future and to be looked after… and out of our hair.

Cold disappointment swirled through Hattie's chest to know her mother was so desperate to shuttle her off to a stranger merely out of embarrassment.

After her fiancé broke her heart by destroying their engagement as well as her reputation, she'd coped by chasing scandal. If she couldn't make a decent match, why should she play by society's rules? Not that she enjoyed portraying herself as a proper ton lady anyway. However, after the engagement went down in flames her belief in love had faded. Now she was convinced it was a make-believe concept better left to story books and plays. Why should she marry if there was no chance she would have at least that?

And she would absolutely never wed a degenerate gambler, for isn't that what sort of men must frequent a gaming hell?

Disheartened, Hattie stood and then moved out of the morning room. She didn't feel like discussing possible matrimony with her mother, for her temper might rear its head, and she'd hidden some degree of simmering anger for years without a proper outlet.

But she could feel the breaking point was nearing.

By the time she drifted into the drawing room, her thoughts were more jumbled than before. Seeing the words "Lyon's Den" brought the recurring dreams back to the forefront of her mind. All of them were very odd and she couldn't explain any of them. Her grandmother had always told her she had a touch of the "sixth sense" in life and that her dreams would serve as warnings or guideposts. However, lately, those dreams included lions.

All manner of them, in fact, and just a few days ago, those lions suddenly changed into men, as if they were a fantasy breed of monsters. Last night, she dreamed the lions had surrounded her in an unrecognized London location. They stalked her, circled her, made her both confused and frightened as they prowled.

Why is any of this happening?

Certainly, it couldn't be a coincidence that the lion dreams occurred the same time her mother asked for help from someone connected with a place called the Lyon's Den. She dropped onto a low sofa, stretched out, and with her head against a bolstered end, Hattie closed her eyes.

Again, her mind went to the weird dreams. One lion in particular was large and strong, his coloring vibrant with a dark mane and some sort of discoloration or mark on his back. She had the sense he wanted her above all things. Even at the risk of his own life.

Lost in thought, she was fully immersed in reliving that dream, and the fear swept over her skin, chilling it with gooseflesh as she watched the lion. Another odd thing was the fact that instead of the golden gaze the big cats usually had, this one had intense blue eyes. The lesser lions stood back, apparently content to watch and see what the leader would do.

As she stared him down, the magnificent beast pounced, and she screamed. He tackled her to the ground with his full weight on top of her. The warmth of his breath steamed the side of her neck, her chest as she fought against him. Unfortunately, she wasn't strong enough to dislodge the large cat. Seconds later, he pinned her down, his muzzle coming closer and closer. Terror petrified her, stilling her movements as his lion's head loomed above her. He would devour her, of that there was no doubt.

And closer still he came. With nothing else to do, she peered into his eyes, stared into those impossibly blue depths, searching for answers…

…then the lion changed into a man, and dear God, he was as gorgeous in that form as he had been as a large cat, with an impressive breadth of shoulders, chest, and muscled enough that she itched to run her fingers over those sculpted arms. Stunned, she lay beneath him, lifted a hand to touch his endearingly wavy black hair that tended to curl, but instead of going for the kill as she expected, the unknown man lowered his head, fit his lips to hers, and kissed her…

What does any of it mean? And why do I keep dreaming about him?

January 31, 1818

Anxiety skittered through Hattie's veins as she entered the drawing room where her mother sat with Mrs. Dove-Lyon for the express purpose of settling her future.

"Ah, there you are, Harriett." Her mother gestured at the other woman in a deep purple satin gown trimmed with black lace. A shallow bonnet sat atop her hair with enough heavy half-veils to shield the upper portion of her face, but the slight, indulgent smile that curved her lips spelled trouble. "This is my friend Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She is the owner of the Lyon's Den, and is quite the matchmaker."

A woman who owned a business, and a gaming hell at that. Quite an undertaking and an accolade. But why the mystery? What had occurred in the woman's life to necessitate that sort of thing?

Hattie nodded. She crossed the room and then perched on a chair between the two sofas where the other women sat, respectively. "Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon." All she could remember were the words from her mother's letter, and worry circled through her belly, cold and snake-like.

"Well, she is rather more… substantial than others, isn't she?" Speculation rang in the visitor's voice, and that unflattering tone immediately sent stabs of annoyance through Hattie's chest.

"I remind my daughter daily not to continually eat sweets, but she doesn't listen," her mother said with a shake of her head. "In this and many other things."

"No matter." The other woman nodded, and her black veils softly swayed. "She has not yet gone to fat. Pleasantly plump, I can work with, and she's still got her looks. Not beautiful, but lovely enough to catch a man's eye, and if we lower the décolletage on her gowns, all the better."

The annoyance turned to hot anger inside Hattie's chest. "I thought I wasn't supposed to attract more scandal. Wouldn't putting myself on display bring more?"

"We are well beyond that, Harriett," her mother said in a sharp voice. "Please, go ahead, Bessie. Explain to her what will happen next."

Mrs. Dove-Lyon focused on Hattie, but the veils made it difficult to ascertain. "Your mother has asked for my services in matchmaking, and all the men who frequent the Lyon's Den already know this is a distinct possibility from the moment they step foot into my gaming hell or make use of the tables, yet only a small handful of them are actually happy when they find themselves at the altar."

"Then why do they continue to come?" Hattie frowned.

"The games I offer are unique, and the liquors are the finest money can buy." A self-indulgent chuckle came from the matchmaker. "Besides, it is quite exciting for their simple minds to see if they will escape the snare each night."

"If you don't hold any of them in high esteem, why should I want to find myself matched with one of them?"

"Because men might be maddening, but there is nothing like being partnered with the right one." Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat forward slightly. "And I am seldom wrong with my matches."

"What happens if you are?"

Silence met the inquiry, and for several seconds afterward, it was a battle of wills between her and the veiled woman. Finally, Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, "I am not responsible for what befalls a couple after the vows are said. It is up to them to find their own way."

"That isn't quite fair, is it?"

The other woman shrugged. "Marriage, as in everything else, is a gamble. You hope for the best and you work for what you want." To her mother, she said, "There are a few possibilities, of course. There is no shortage of eligible bachelors at the Lyon's Den. But the more I have been talking to your daughter, the more my mind is being made up. I have just the candidate in mind."

"That's wonderful!" Never had her mother grinned as wide as she did now. "I didn't think a match would occur so quickly. Who have you selected? Is he part of the beau monde ?"

"He is not titled, but he is a gentleman. Actually, he is retired from the Royal Navy as a captain, and he possesses a fortune of his own in addition to being awarded coin from the Crown for his services in the War of 1812." She waved a bejeweled hand as if such an accolade didn't make a man worse or better than another.

Hattie huffed. "I do not want, nor do I need, marriage."

Her mother frowned. "Your penchant for chasing scandal is out of hand, and you are far too old to be continually hurting your chances."

That didn't make sense. "Then why not banish me to Papa's country estate?"

"As if a change in location will curb your will."

Well, that was true. "Yet somehow you believe marriage will be able to do the same? Nothing but silence met the inquiry. "If you force marriage upon me, I can all but guarantee scandal will follow, and in ways you have never considered before."

Remarkably, Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled, and it was a rather pleasant sound. "Ah, good, your daughter is spirited, Janice. That will make things a bit easier, for she'll require handling by someone who is used to taking command."

"As if I'm a dog to be brought to heel?" The more the other women discussed her life as if she wasn't there or had no recourse, the more annoyed she grew.

"Having a strong husband in all the ways that matters isn't a necessarily horrid thing, my dear, and this match will be entertaining, at least for me." The two older women nodded in unison. "Now, to the meat of the matter. In exchange for said matchmaking, there is a cost."

It was her mother's turn to seem ill-at-ease. "Stonewycke has put a large dowry on her head. Shouldn't that prove enough to attract someone?"

"Yes, of course, but I meant there is a cost I demand. My services don't come cheap, as you know."

"I do." Her mother nodded with an odd expression on her face that made Hattie wonder just how intimately she knew this Mrs. Dove-Lyon. "What is it?"

The gaming hell's owner's lips curved into the cat's own grin. "I require your daughter to wed Captain Huxley immediately."

Both her mother and Hattie gasped, even as she said his name over and over in her mind, for she had no idea who this captain was.

"You wish for my daughter to marry a man she hasn't met, let alone seen?"

Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled again as she clasped her hands in her lap. "That is an interesting choice of words, for he is missing an eye."

Hattie frowned. Not only was she being forced to marry a man she didn't know, but he was disfigured? Not that it mattered, she supposed, but she would have at least liked to look at the man.

Her mother sighed. "He is very harsh, then?"

"Not at all. From all accounts, he can be charming when he wants, and has no issues in attracting women for various needs." Mrs. Dove-Lyon shrugged. "Drinks like a fish, I'm told, but is not a drunkard. Quite handsome, if you wish to know the truth. Dark hair, his eye is blue, and he gets on well with everyone he meets."

Why did Mrs. Dove-Lyons seem so amused by how much the captain drank… or didn't? "If he is so well-adjusted, why is he hanging about a gaming hell?"

When Mrs. Dove-Lyon blew out a breath, her veils ruffled. "Men are men, Lady Hattie. They must have something to occupy their time, but if you are fortunate, he might just curb the urge to visit such places after marriage."

Buggar. "And if I'm not?"

"Then that is one challenge you will need to work around. No one has a perfect union, and only the best marriages have nuggets of pure joy. But you must be willing."

"Obviously, I'm not willing!" Would no one listen to her? "What if he and I do get on?"

"Then celebrate, and know that I have once again made a successful match."

She swallowed heavily. "And if we don't get on?" she asked in a softer voice.

"There are times when a lion chooses to let a gazelle pass without incident. Why should this be any different? You shall still count yourself as fortunate."

Why would she mention a lion? The urge to retch climbed into Hattie's throat in a hot tide. "So then, all I'm good for is being prey?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Not at all." The sound that came from the widow resembled a delighted purr… or a warning. "There is no reason the lion and the gazelle cannot co-exist together. They rely on each other in a myriad of different ways, and part of the excitement of life is the pursuit. Trust me on that."

Her mother looked at her. "You will be all right with an immediate wedding, darling. Best get things over with and done so you don't overthink it." A blush swept through her cheeks. "Same thing with the wedding night."

Hattie felt her eyes widen. Did her mother truly not enjoy coupling?

Mrs. Dove-Lyon snorted. "I rather don't believe that will be an issue with the captain. He is one of those men who women cannot wait to see sans clothing."

"There is more to a match than physical looks," Hattie said with heat in her own cheeks. Would anyone in her connection know this Captain Huxley? "What is his temperament? What is his family like? What are his political views, how does he view society at large?"

"All things you will have the freedom to discover for yourself, my lady." Then Mrs. Dove-Lyon slowly rose to her feet. "So, are we in agreement, Janice?"

Her mother stood as well, but there was doubt in her eyes. "How much will we need to pay for this service?"

"Oh, the bride's parents will pay a nominal finder's fee, as it were. Ten thousand pounds, and you will need to secure a clergyman and a venue. If you don't wish for that responsibility, someone on my staff will do it for you." From the depths of a bag Mrs. Dove-Lyon retrieved from a chair, she withdrew a sheaf of paperwork. "The groom-to-be will pay me for the match. That is how it always is, and I always require a payment that hurts, because some of these men are quite skilled in cards and end up costing me at the end of the night."

That was a rather ruthless way of looking at things.

But that price! Hattie gaped at the gaming hell owner. "Ten thousand pounds." It wasn't a question. Her father was an earl, but that was a steep price, all so she could marry a stranger. "Surely marriage is not worth that."

"You would be surprised what people will pay for, Lady Hattie," Mrs. Dove-Lyon said with a smirk. To her mother, she added. "However, if your daughter reneges on the marriage or if she runs out on it within the first ninety days, the earl must pay the Lyon's Den fifty thousand pounds in damages as well as for wasting my time and effort."

"That is quite steep, Bessie," her mother said in a low voice, with worry in her eyes.

"Oh, I agree, so perhaps you should press upon your daughter to behave for once in her life. Besides, I'm told the captain requires some properness and decorum, so she will have to learn in any event."

Once again, it was as if she didn't exist. Hattie bristled. "Since when is being different or having my own mind a detriment, or something to be swept under the rug as an embarrassment?" Yet if her parents signed that contract, there was no recourse. "I'm to be essentially a prisoner, then? Sent away for bad behavior?" Tears threatened in her voice and rose in her throat.

"Not at all." Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled, and it was like the cat who caught the proverbial canary. "You will no doubt be rewarded if you put in the work, but if you crush my help beneath your heel, then your father pays the consequences… and surely you don't want any more scandal or gossip to touch your family name, hmm?"

She huffed out her annoyance, but everyone in that room knew Hattie had no choice. Though she had no idea about her father's finances, she didn't wish to bankrupt him because she couldn't hold her tongue. Yet what about what she wanted for her own life? "This is essentially blackmail, a punishment, if you will, for my unwillingness to be like everyone else."

"I cannot help how you choose to view this, my lady." Mrs. Dove-Lyon shrugged as she handed the papers to Hattie's mother. "Life is what you make of it, and it always will be. There is always a choice in everything, but consider this. Don't you think you owe it to yourself to at least see where you might go with this new direction? Why do you immediately assume marriage will be the end of your freedom?"

"Because that is what happens to women in our world, and you of all people should know that!" Suddenly needing to do something in order to regain control of her life, Hattie launched herself off the chair. "I am going for a walk in the square. Oh, but don't worry. I won't do anything that might cause a scandal, for then the two of you might feel the need to ship me off to a convent." With that, she stormed from the room. Two seconds later, tears of anger filled her eyes.

How dare her mother essentially sell her off to a matchmaker who would then, in turn, use her as a bargaining chip to teach a man a lesson? Thankfully, she didn't break down completely until she'd gained the privacy of her father's library. Then she sagged against the closed door and let tears fall.

Obviously, her parents wouldn't be swayed. No doubt her father already had the contract and was perusing it even now in his study. Married to a man she'd never seen, let alone met. Wasn't that a scandal in and of itself? She sniffled. On the other hand, perhaps she owed it to her parents after all the years she'd spent in and out of scrapes and gossip. And with the broken engagement following her around with an unwanted wraith, a truly respectable man would never ask for her hand, regardless of how lovely his kisses.

This was her best chance for a husband and a family of her own, if that was what she wanted. Then she brightened a bit. At least in the marrying, there was the opportunity to finally lose her innocence and discover for herself if relations between a man and a woman were as lovely as some of her married friends made them out to be.

Or if they were as dreadful as her mother maintained.

It was something, and there was no scandal in that.

More's the pity, but it was the mention of the lion that kept the gooseflesh rippling over her skin, and had fear twisting down her spine.