Chapter Four

Q uinton entered the Lyon's Den and walked through the gentlemen's lounge and smoking room into the main gambling room. He'd arrived early hoping Mrs. Dove-Lyon would have a moment to speak to him. After asking two of the wolves stationed between the lounge and the gambling floor, he learned the proprietress was in meetings and not to be disturbed.

The knot in his gut had him worried about the challenges she had lined up for him. The whole point of arriving ahead of time was to discover what she had planned and meeting the men he would be pitted against. Not that he intended to lose, but it would help if he got a glimpse of his competition to take their measure.

He turned around at the sound of his name, and nearly stumbled. Though how he could forget even for a moment about his prosthetic leg was beyond him. He nodded to the wolf.

"You're back." Titan stared at him as if trying to discern what was on Quinton's mind, before finally adding, "I'm glad."

"Are you?" Quinton could not say why he doubted the man.

"Aye. Since Mrs. Dove-Lyon hired me, there have been very few men I can honestly say deserved to win the challenges presented to them. You are the third."

"Who are the others?"

"Brothers." The tone of his reply had a finality to it. Obviously the wolf was not about to say more.

Quinton asked him anyway, "Anyone I may know?"

The wolf nodded.

It was clear the nod was Titan's answer. Quinton asked a different question. "What have I done to stand out in your estimation?"

"Aside from the fear of heights you concealed to those not accustomed to seeing it? The hesitation in your steps when you walk, denoting a false limb."

Quinton felt his face flush and ignored it. "I was injured."

"I know. Had I been in the Royal Navy, I would have been proud to serve under you." Titan held up his mangled hand. "You are in good company here in the Lyon's Den. Not one of us would ever disparage you or your service because of your injuries."

"At least you still have your hand," Quinton murmured.

"I always wondered why the surgeon was so proud that he'd saved my hand, when it is absolutely useless. I've heard of the advancements in prostheses since I was injured. But it is too late for me."

The connection of battling to recover from their injuries added to the bond forming between them. "I was on crutches for the first few years and spent them in seclusion." Quinton cleared his throat and continued, "When I finally bowed to my physician's advice, the first two prostheses he recommended caused more harm than good."

"Ah, not enough padding. Mayhap the fit was too loose," Titan said. "I have had a few friends who have suffered infections from ill-fitting prostheses. You seem hale enough."

"I have made a marked improvement once I changed physicians. Lieutenant Sampson's expertise and experience with the dragoons has made a world of difference."

Titan's eyes widened. "The lieutenant is an excellent surgeon. You are fortunate to be able to afford the latest advancement in false legs. If I had not been accustomed to the vagaries and injuries those of us who served have had to deal with, I would not have noticed."

"I'd rather not have the public not know about my leg. I am about to retake my seat in the House of Lords and need to appear strong, able-bodied, if you will, while I fight for those in the military who are struggling, families who have lost their husbands, fathers, brothers, sons."

Titan locked gazes with him. "I won't speak of it. If I am able to do anything to further your cause, you have but to ask."

"Thank you. I am grateful for your offer. Given the fact that I will need information from all forces serving His Majesty, I will no doubt call on you. As for right now, I'm a bit pressed for time and was hoping to find out what my challenges would be…and whom I need to best. I fully intend to win the hand of a woman I have seen but once, a beguiling beauty with warm brown eyes, and strands of fire in her dark hair."

Titan nodded, then fell silent. The wolf remembered her.

Quinton huffed out a breath and shook his head. "I have no idea who she is, or her name. I have never felt this pull toward any other woman." He paused and stared at the trio of windows above the gambling floor. "There will never be anyone like her. Losing her is not an option."

Titan studied him for a few moments and slowly smiled. "Welcome back to the Lyon's Den."

Quinton frowned. "Is it always like this, where men will attempt whatever trials or wagers Mrs. Dove-Lyon tosses their way without regard to life or limb?"

"Aye. Reminiscent of our service to His Majesty."

Not surprised that Titan had returned to his normal reticent self, Quinton tried once more to get a response regarding what lay ahead of him that evening. "When will I meet my opponents?"

"Soon." The wolf turned toward the sound of angry voices. "There's your first challenger now." When Quinton started to walk away, Titan held him back. "Not yet. I have strict orders that you and the others are to remain on this side of the gambling floor so the prospective bride can have a good look at all of you."

He lifted his gaze to the level above them a second time. A vision in midnight blue stood in the middle window and locked gazes with him. It was her—the woman from the ball!

Drawn to her beauty, as he had been that night, he looked his fill until he was jostled from behind. As he turned to speak to the ill-mannered man, he was elbowed in the ribs on the right. Blast it all, he was more than ready to meet his competition.

"Gentlemen," Titan said, "may I call your attention to the center window of the ladies' observation gallery above us?"

The other two men glanced up, and Quinton felt bereft, having broken eye contact with the lovely woman. A moment later, he sought, met, and held her gaze once more. The candlelight formed a halo around her dark head, making the strands of fire threaded through her hair glow. From the distance, he could tell her eyes were dark. His memory of staring into their depths reminded him of his mum's morning cup of chocolate. He'd thought her beautiful with her mask—without it, she was exquisite. If—no, he told himself, when —he won both challenges, he would be able to gaze into her eyes whenever he wished. For the rest of his life.

"Take a good look to see whose hand you will be competing for tonight. Lady Catherine Huntington will be wed in two-days' time."

Two days? The hair on the back of Quinton's neck stood up, and he wondered if that would be soon enough. He'd rather wed this evening after he walked away the victor.

Titan addressed the light-haired man on Quinton's left. "Hudson, you will face off against Quinton first."

"In a game of cards?" Hudson asked.

Titan stared at him long enough that Quinton suspected they would not be playing cards. Finally the wolf asked, "Excel at cards, do you, Hudson?"

"I have never lost a hand."

Titan informed them, "You will not be playing cards. Follow me."

"If I am not in the first challenge, what will you have me do?" a black-haired bull of a man asked.

"Ah, Barry. You will face the winner of round one," Titan replied. "Until then, you will remain here. Someone will show you to the fourth floor when the time comes."

Barry agreed and stepped to the side.

"And does round one entail?" Hudson demanded.

Quinton drew in a calming breath. He was just as interested in the answer, but needed to concentrate on quieting his thoughts, quelling the uneasy feeling roiling in his stomach. Going in, he knew the odds would be stacked against him.

"This way." The wolf looked over his shoulder. "Quinton?"

He fell into step behind the others, not surprised that Titan did not use the term gentlemen when addressing them. Quinton did not mind—he was still becoming accustomed to the title. Though it appeared that Hudson did not appreciate being treated as if he were a commoner. Judging from the way he strutted like the prize cock Quinton pegged him to be, the man was obviously used to demanding attention.

When they exited the main room, entering the hallway that led to the rear entrance, Hudson asked, "Where are we going?"

Titan ignored the question and spoke to the wolf sitting on a stool by the back door. "If you wait a moment, Snug, I've asked one of the others to relieve you." With a nod to the combatants, Titan remarked, "Snug served in His Majesty's Royal Navy."

The wolf's eyes glowed with anticipation, as if he would relish watching whatever the challenge would be. Quinton wondered which captain the man served under, and if it was when he too was in the navy.

"Do I get to watch them use the grappling hook?" Snug asked.

A sound behind them had the group turning to watch another of Mrs. Dove-Lyon's wolves striding toward them. "Off you go, Snug. And don't forget to tell me the gritty details. I'm sorry to be missing this one!"

"Gritty?" Hudson scoffed. "How hard could the challenge be? You only do two things with a grappling hook. Use it to climb—"

"Or toss it at someone," Snug interrupted. "Pinning the bugger to the side of the vessel, while you pull the prize ship along your ship's broadside."

Quinton ignored the tight clenching in his gut, the prelude to the fear he could not allow to take hold of him. Heights… Why did it always have to be heights?

Titan led the way outside, followed by Hudson and Quinton, with Snug bringing up the rear. A bear of a man waited for them at the entrance to the alley with a grappling hook and rope coiled over each massive shoulder.

Titan nodded to the man. "Stewart will officiate. Why don't you tell Hudson and Quinton what they need to do?"

The big wolf nodded, and Quinton wondered what branch of the military he had served in. It was obvious from their bearing, and their constant scanning of the rooms and those gathered in them, that every wolf who worked in the Lyon's Den had served in the king's forces.

Stewart's words interrupted Quinton's thoughts. "You'll toss the hook to the second floor, securing it to the balcony railing. Just a word of warning—one of the spindles is a bit loose."

His deep chuckle had Quinton glancing up to see if he could find the one to avoid. The spindle three from the one dead center was a hair crooked.

"Once the hook is secure, climb up, remove the hook, and aim for the fourth-floor railing and hook it onto the balcony." Stewart smiled again. "There are a half-dozen loose spindles."

Hudson grumbled, "So the second half of the challenge is to see if we can toss the grappling hook to the fourth floor. That's it?"

Stewart frowned. "Nay. The second part of the first challenge will be more difficult due to the loose spindles. You need to hook the railing and climb up to the fourth-floor balcony. Whoever reaches it with the least amount of tosses of their grappling hook is the winner."

Quinton ignored the queasy feeling in his gut and said, "I'm ready."

Hudson fell silent as he continued to stare at the upper balcony.

Titan and Snug shared a look before the former added, "Barry will be waiting on the fourth-floor balcony for the winner. The loser must accept the decision and leave immediately through the open door." He paused to look first at Hudson, who still had not spoken, and then at Quinton. "The winner must immediately begin the second challenge: toss the hook to the building across the alley, secure it, then tie off the rope to the railing." The wolf's eyes locked on Quinton's. "The winner will step over the railing, bend down, and grab hold of the rope. Using a hand-over-hand motion, he will proceed to work his way over to the other building."

"Across the alley? God knows how many feet about the ground?" Hudson asked. "Are you mad?"

Titan turned to Quinton and raised an eyebrow. Quinton didn't move—he was concentrating on keeping the contents of his stomach in his stomach. "Are you ready to attempt the challenge, Quinton?"

He met the wolf's gaze. "I'm ready."

Hudson snorted. "I'll watch you fail, and when you do, I shall win this challenge and the woman!"

Quinton stared at his rival for Lady Catherine's hand while gathering his considerable control. Once it snapped into place, he rolled his shoulders, walked over to Stewart, and held out his hand.

Stewart nodded to him and slipped the hook and rope off his shoulder. Handing it over, he announced, "Quinton has elected to go first."

Hudson opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed his mouth when Titan said, "You did not take the initiative; your competition did." The wolf asked Quinton, "Ever toss a grappling hook before?"

Quinton nodded, suspecting Titan already knew the answer but asked for form's sake. "A time or two."

"Whenever you are ready, proceed."

The rope bit into his hands, reminding him of the recent challenge he'd lost to Broadbank. He set that thought aside and swung the hook to test the weight of it. Bugger it, he should have thought to bring gloves. Who knew that the Black Widow of Whitehall would think to pit him against his fear a second time? No doubt everyone who'd ever met the woman.

He nodded to Titan and Snug, then Stewart. He swung the hook back and forth a few times, then heaved it up to the second-floor balcony. It caught and held on the first try.

"Nice toss," Snug said.

"Start climbing," Stewart reminded him.

Quinton grabbed hold of the rope and gave it a tug to ensure it was secure, pleased he had not hooked on the spindle he suspected was the loose one. Placing his right hand over his left, he made his way steadily up the rope. Relief swept through him. Sampson's daily exercise routine had paid off. He was stronger, and he needed to be.

When he reached the second floor, he hoisted himself up over the railing onto the balcony, more than pleased to be standing, no longer clinging to a bit of hemp dangling above the ground. Feeling confident, he removed the hook, coiled the rope, and stared two floors up at the fourth-floor railing. This was going to be the more difficult toss. The loose spindles may be rotted. Finally deciding which part to aim for, he missed the first toss by an inch, but hooked it on the next. After tugging three times to ensure the railing would hold, he prayed the entire way up to the balcony.

Reaching for the railing, he climbed over it. Loosening the hook, he coiled the rope and stepped back to lean against the side of the building.

He'd made it!

He heard Stewart give Hudson the command to toss the hook and waited for the sound of it catching the second-floor railing. The expletive that echoed up from below had Quinton grunting with satisfaction. Hudson's first toss had missed. His challenger tossed the hook twice more before it caught on the railing two floors below him.

Quinton took a few steps closer to the railing and looked over the side. His opponent had finally made it onto the lower balcony.

"Step inside the door, Quinton!" Titan shouted. "I don't want to have to explain to Mrs. Dove-Lyon why the fastest challenger so far took a grappling hook to the chest."

That image was all the impetus he needed to move. He had not noticed the door, but quickly followed orders. Leaving the door open a crack, he was able to hear the hook hitting the railing, but not finding purchase. He grinned. After three more attempts, Hudson shouted, "The bloody chit and her dowry aren't worth it!"

Quinton burst through the door and shouted, "Lady Catherine is worth whatever challenge Mrs. Dove-Lyon comes up with!"

"I could not agree more," Barry said, stepping through the balcony door behind him. "Are you ready?"

Quinton hadn't heard the man ascend the stairs. "Were you there the whole time?"

Barry nodded and walked over to the railing. Leaning over it, he shouted to the men below, "We're both ready."

"Quinton first," Stewart shouted.

Quinton controlled his erratic breathing and roiling stomach. He stared at the building across the alley and prayed the rope was long enough. He drew in a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and tossed the hook. He watched as it flew across the distance and snagged on the railing. He tugged hard, then looked over his shoulder. "I'd rather neither one of us lost this challenge due to a loose rope. What say we both put our backs into it and yank together to ensure the rope will hold. If you stand ready to grab hold of the rope if it loosens, I will do the same for you."

Barry's eyes widened. "Excellent notion. I would prefer if it held until we both reach the other side."

The men worked together. Satisfied it would hold, Quinton tied it. Barry checked the knot, then leaned over the railing a second time and shouted, "The line is secure."

Before Quinton's fear could build to a crescendo, he gritted his teeth, put one foot over the railing, and reached for the rope. God… Please don't let me lose my grip .

Instead of the debilitating fear that normally gripped him, the image of satin-smooth alabaster skin filled his mind. Warm chocolate-brown eyes begged him to place one hand over the other.

Inch by painful inch, one handhold at a time, he made his way toward the building. The roaring in his ears accompanied the pounding in his skull. Halfway across, he felt the rope begin to sag. His heart beat double time, but he didn't stop—Barry did not seem the sort to change his mind, and would ensure the rope would hold until Quinton reached the other side. When it tightened, he continued.

He stretched, reached for the railing, and felt something snap and tear as his left shoulder dislocated. Grunting as the pain seared through the joint and burned down his arm, Quinton tightened his grip on the rail. A hand clamped around his wrist, and he tried to shake it off.

"Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked me to grab hold of you when your hand was firmly holding the railing."

Quinton didn't have the strength to argue—he needed all of it to get up and over the rail while ignoring his dislocated shoulder.

Moreland guided him to safety. "Good to finally see you in London, Quinton," he boomed. The viscount tugged him toward the building until Quinton started to gag. Moreland immediately spun him around in time for Quinton to hurl the contents of his stomach over the rail.

The raucous laughter from below echoed in the alley, but Quinton did not give a bloody damn whom he vomited on. He had done it! He made it across!

Moreland reached into his waistcoat pocket and handed Quinton his handkerchief. Grateful, he wiped his mouth. "Thank you."

"This will be a tale to share with Coventry over a bottle of rum. Let's see how well Barry does."

They turned and looked across to Lyon's Gate Manor in time to see Barry salute them, turn, and disappear inside. Moreland smiled. "Barry has voluntarily left the playing field." He slapped a hand on Quinton's shoulder. "Congratulations! You've won the challenge by default."

Pain shot through the injured shoulder. Quinton ignored it and corrected Moreland, "I met the first challenge and the second. I won, and I bloody well would have hauled myself up over the railing with or without your help!"

Moreland met his gaze and nodded. "True, but I wasn't sure how long the rope would hold, stretched to its limit, even with Barry keeping it taut. You were so focused on grabbing hold of the railing you failed to notice the rope slacken a second time."

Quinton stared at the man. "Remind me to thank him for saving my life. If he hadn't grabbed hold of the rope when I was halfway across, I would not have made it. I planned to do the same for him."

"I'll send word to Barry on your behalf. Oh, and by the by, I secured a special license for you."

"My thanks, Moreland. Never thought about obtaining one, though without it, we would have had to wait for the banns to be read three times."

"The very least I could do for a fellow friend and sailor. We'd best get that shoulder attended to. Have you ever pulled it out of joint before?"

"Aye. Have you?"

The viscount nodded. "My first year in the navy. Tore the muscles and tendons. Hurt like the very devil, but healed eventually. Best have Lieutenant Sampson—excellent surgeon—take a look at it. He is on hand in case you, or one of your opponents, needed to be sewn back together… That is, if whoever it was survived the fall."

Quinton snorted. "That statement is laughable, given the height from the ground. By the by, Sampson has been attending me for the last couple of years. I agree, he is excellent."

Moreland nodded. "Mind if I use your cravat?"

"For?"

"A temporary sling. It's best not to move unnecessarily until Sampson has a look at it. You won't want to injure it further, as you'll be needing your strength for your wedding night."

Quinton barely had time to agree before the viscount added, "Please accept my condolences. I am sorry for your loss and know how you feel. Things have been in an uproar as of late, given my wife's delicate condition. I only recently heard about your brother. I understand you have accepted the title and earldom."

Quinton thanked him. "My brother and I were not close, as I spent more time at sea than in his company. I was proud of him. He was a man who accepted responsibility for those under his care and did his best to honor the family name and title, though he floundered after his wife and stillborn babe died. His death in a carriage accident a fortnight ago came as a great shock." He met Moreland's direct look and said, "I intend to honor him by giving my utmost to the title and all those under my protection."

"From what I observed just now waiting for you to reach this side of the alley, I have no doubt that you are cut from the same cloth as your brother."

He nodded, accepting the compliment. "Lady Catherine would have been worth fighting for, even if I fell and broke every bone in my body."

The viscount chuckled. "Like as not, the impact would have cracked your skull like an egg."

Quinton took a misstep and stumbled.

Moreland steadied him. "Time to speak with Mrs. Dove-Lyon before you lose the starch left in your legs."

Quinton did not bother to tell him it was the blasted wooden leg and foot. Uneven surfaces were the bane of his existence. "I'd rather meet my bride."

"I'm sure you would—however, first things first. Once you speak to Bessie, then you'll suffer through whatever manipulations Sampson needs to do to satisfy himself that you have not done irreparable damage to the muscles and tendons."

Quinton clamped down on his temper. "I'm not leaving without meeting my bride."

"Don't worry. You'll have the chance to meet her and speak to her…after Sampson's finished with you."

Those words did not engender a cozy feeling inside of Quinton, but he'd suffer through the fires of hell to spend a few moments alone with Lady Catherine. Good God! He was half a man… Why would she agree to marry him?

"Whatever you are thinking, let it go. You've just won the hand of the fair maiden you met at the ball. I watched you and know why my brother was adamant about speaking on your behalf to Bessie. You are far braver than any man I served with in the navy. I am proud to see you healed and whole, ready to meet the next challenge in your life, Stansbury. No matter what injuries you suffered, never doubt the hero we both know you to be. The world is now yours to command."

With those encouraging words, Quinton knew his future was about to change for the better.