Page 1 of The Lyon and the Lass

Chapter One

London, England

1814

Lady Christine Spencersat in her dark bedroom, clutching the unlit candle in her sweating hands. Finally, after waiting hours for the London townhouse to settle down and become quiet, all she could hear was the frantic thumping of her heart.

The time had come. Either she did this, or she would spend the rest of her life in misery. She slowly rose and walked to the bundle of bed linens tied together to form a rope. Could she really drop from her window? Would the rope hold her weight? Would she break both her legs? Or worse, kill herself?

Those questions had troubled her for days.

Taking a deep breath, she lit the candle, placed it in the holder, and using that scant bit of light, tied the end of the makeshift rope to one of the sturdy bed legs. The other end, she tied around her slim waist. She reached down and tucked the small bundle she was taking with her under her arm and walked to the window.

The window made no noise as she opened it. She’d made sure to rub a bar of soap around the edges to avoid squeaks.The cooling night air swept into the room, chilling her. Slowly, she climbed onto the windowsill and dropped her bundle to the ground. The ground that seemed so very far from where she sat.

You can do this, Christine. It’s this or a lifetime of brutal unhappiness.She closed her eyes and the image of Lord Newton, the lewd look on his face as he ran his beady eyes over her body, was enough to encourage her to slide off into the night air.

She gulped as she dangled from the window, the right side of her body banging against the stone.Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.

She looked down. And almost lost her last meal.

Blowing out the breath she’d been holding, she inched her way down, praying as she’d never done so before. She made a number of promises to the Lord to do good deeds, donate money, read her much-neglected Bible, anything at all if she made it to the ground safely.

Hand over hand, she made her way to the bottom, her body continually slapping against the brick wall. Her fingers ached and tears rolled down her cheeks as her feet finally hit the ground with a thump. She promptly fell on her bottom, a smile of success bursting from her.

Rather than wait to see if she would be discovered, she quickly untied the rope, picked up her bundle and headed to the front of the house. Now for the second frightening part of her plan.

She found a hackney and quickly entered after telling the driver where to take her.

“Are you sure, my lady?” he asked.

“Yes. I am quite sure. If you hurry, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Shaking his head, he scratched his short beard and jumped up to the driver’s seat.

Now new worries flooded her. This was only the first part of her escape. Next, she had to convince Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon to help her. She’d sent a letter to the well-known club owner, but not having received any sort of response, she hoped that didn’t mean she had dismissed her request.

The only information she had managed to gather about the woman was scandalous. The owner of the notorious Lyon’s Den, Mrs. Dove-Lyon was also known to help wealthy women find husbands in dire need of funds. Since Christine had the funds—at least presently—she would certainly qualify.

Rumor had it that most of the women who came to her were or had been involved in scandalous matters. She hoped that she would not be disqualified because she was still a virtuous woman.

She patted her sweating upper lip and forehead with a handkerchief, constantly looking behind her for her uncle chasing her down. Hopefully, he’d been in his cups enough that shortly after she’d heard him enter his bedchamber, he would be sound asleep, snoring to raise the rafters.

The hackney pulled up to a very nondescript blue building. Certainly not something she would have expected. The driver jumped down and opened the door. “Are you sure this is where you want to go, my lady?”

She picked up her bundle and moved to leave the coach. “Yes. I am certain.” She held out the coins to cover the cost of the ride.

He shrugged. “If you say so. I will wait out here until you are inside.”

“That is very kind of you.” She took a deep breath and walked to the front door. The Whitehall neighborhood was new to her. She’d never stepped foot anywhere near this section of London. The smells were different, and even late at night people like she’d never seen before shuffled by.

She knocked lightly on the door. Nothing happened. She knocked once more, a bit forcefully. The door immediately opened. By a monster. The man was the tallest she’d ever seen. He had a scar from his forehead down his face to his neck. His nose had been broken more than once. He was dressed as a gentleman, but there was nothing that would make this man so.

“Yes?” His voice was gravely and curt.

“I would like to speak with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

He jerked his chin up. “You have an appointment?”