Elizabeth Mayne Lion's Lady

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should try to affect a pleasant expression on his face, yet couldn't quite
manage that feat. Lyon was simply in too much pain to care if others noticed
his sour disposition or not. He settled on a scowl instead, his usual
expression these days, then folded his arms across his massive chest in a
gesture of true resignation.
The Earl of Rhone, Lyon's good friend since Oxford pranks, stood beside him.
Both were considered handsome men. Rhone was dark-haired, fair-skinned, and
stood six feet in height. He was built on the lean side, always impeccable in
dress and taste, and gifted with a lopsided smile that made the young ladies
forget all about his crooked nose. They were simply too mesmerized by his
enviable green eyes to notice.
Rhone was definitely a lady's man. Mothers fretted over his reputation,
fathers worried about his intentions, while unseasoned daughters ignored their
parents' cautions altogether, competing quite brazenly for his attention.
Rhone drew women to his side in much the same way honey drew a hungry bear. He
was a rascal, true, yet too irresistible to deny.
Lyon, on the other hand, had the dubious distinction of being able to send
these same sweetly determined ladies screaming for cover. It was an undisputed
fact that the Marquess of Lyonwood could clear a room with just one glacial
stare.
Lyon was taller than Rhone by a good three inches. Because he was so muscular
in chest, shoulders, and thighs, he gave the appearance of being even larger.
His size alone wasn't enough to thoroughly intimidate the stronger-hearted
ladies hoping to snatch a title, however. Neither were his features, if you
could take them just one at a time. Lyon's hair was a dark golden color, given
to curl. The length was left unfashionably longer than society liked. His
profile mimicked the statues of Roman soldiers lining
Carlton House. His cheekbones were just as patrician, his nose just as
classical, and his mouth just as perfectly sculptured.
The warm color of his hair was Lyon's only soft feature, however. His brown
eyes mirrored cold cynicism. Disillusionment had molded his expression into a
firm scowl. The scar didn't help matters much, either. A thin, jagged line
slashed across his forehead, ending abruptly in the arch of his right eyebrow.
The mark gave Lyon a piratical expression.
And so the gossip makers called Rhone a rake and Lyon a pirate, but never, of
course, to either gentleman's face. These foolish women didn't realize how
their insults would have pleased both men.
A servant approached the Marquess and said, "My lord? Here is the brandy you
requested." The elderly man made the announcement with a formal bow as he
balanced two large goblets on a silver tray.
Lyon grabbed both glasses, handed one to Rhone, and then surprised the servant
by offering his gratitude. The servant bowed again before turning and leaving
the gentlemen alone.
Lyon emptied his glass in one long swallow.
Rhone caught the action. "Is your leg bothering you?" he asked, frowning with
concern. "Or is it your intention to get sotted?"
"I never get sotted," Lyon remarked. "The leg is healing," he added with a
shrug, giving his friend a roundabout answer.
"You came away lucky this time, Lyon," Rhone said. "You're going to be out of
commission for a good six months, maybe more. Thank God for that," he added.
"Richards would have you back in jeopardy tomorrow if he could have his way. I
do believe it was a blessing your ship was destroyed. You can't very well go
anywhere until you build another."
"I knew the risks," Lyon answered. "You don't like Richards, do you, Rhone?"
"He never should have sent you on that last little errand, my friend."
"Richards places government business above personal concerns."
"Above ourpersonal concerns, you mean to say," Rhone corrected. "You really
should have gotten out when I did. If you weren't so vital to—"
"I've quit, Rhone."
His friend couldn't contain his astonishment. Lyon knew he should have waited
to give him the news, for there was a real concern Rhone would let out a
shout. "Don't look so stunned, Rhone. You've been after me to retire for a
good while now."
Rhone shook his head. "I've been after you because I'm your friend and very
likely the only one who cares what happens to you," he said. "Your special
talents have kept you doing your duty longer than a normal man could stand.
God's truth, I wouldn't have had the stomach for it. Do you really mean it?
You've actually retired? Have you told Richards?"
Rhone was speaking in a furious whisper. He watched Lyon intently.
"Yes, Richards knows. He isn't too pleased."
"He'll have to get used to it," Rhone muttered. He raised his glass in
salutation. "A toast, my friend, to a long life. May you find happiness and
peace. You deserve a bit of both, Lyon."
Since Lyon's glass was empty, he didn't share in the toast. He doubted Rhone's
fervent wish would come true anyway. Happiness—in sporadic doses, of
course—was a true possibility. But peace… no, the past would
never allow Lyon to find peace. Why, it was as impossible a goal as love. Lyon
accepted his lot in life. He had done what he believed was necessary, and part
of his mind harbored no guilt. It was only in the dark hours of the night, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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