Lyon’s Prey

up. “There, now. I will make all of the arrangements. My hope is your marriage will take place in two days, no more than three. I will be in touch.” She stood, signaling the meeting was at an end.
Charlotte felt dazed. Two days from now would see her married, and she had not the foggiest idea of the identity of her intended. She would be a Christmastide bride—a most special time to wed. However, this was not how she had ever imagined going to the altar.

Chapter Five
The next day.
Evan’s insides roiled. If he had been a deeply religious man, he might have run from his house and found his way to the nearest church to repent for the activities that had brought him to this place in his life. Could things get any worse? Yesterday, he had found out that his carriage driver had almost killed a child while he was in the vehicle—and a peer, at that. To make matters worse, for the first time in a year, he found himself attracted to someone—the sister of the child his carriage nearly killed, and the sister of a friend.
Now the Widow had requested to see him. They said trouble traveled in threes. He was not sure who they were, but they were right. He was in trouble—triple trouble. He needed to find a fast and ready solution.
A double rap sounded on his bedroom door. It was Charles’s custom to knock before he entered, and that was only a cursory one before he pushed open the door. The older man walked in with a small stack of newly pressed breeches over his right arm and a shiny pair of Hessian boots tucked under his left. “My lord, your boots are ready. Which breeches will you wear?”
“The buff ones will suit. I suppose haste is important as I have a quick meeting on Commonwealth.”
“Ah yes. The Widow.” Charles drew out the last word with obvious distaste.
“How do you . . . how did—? Never mind. What do you know about it?” Evan tried to quell his own nervousness about the meeting.
“I believe you spoke of it to Lord Banbury as he was leaving.” He sniffed loudly. “I have only heard she is normally expeditious in her dealings and that lives change because of her . . . er . . . interventions.” His valet drew in a deep breath. “I hope you are not in her crosshairs, my lord.”
“Since you are such an authority, what should I wear?” he asked, suddenly questioning his choice of breeches. Being called to meet with this woman had undermined his confidence without her uttering a word in his direction.
“My lord, she is but a woman. I credit you will hold your own with her. And I believe the buff breeches and the navy and gold waistcoat would add just the polish needed.” His man laid the breeches on the end of the bed and extracted the waistcoat from the wardrobe. “I think this shirt will do nicely,” he finished, pulling out a plain cotton shirt and frilly cravat.
Ten minutes later, Evan left his room and headed to his study. A quick drink might add just the right amount of courage. Not giving in to the voice in his head telling him to move past the liquor cabinet, he took out a clean glass and poured two fingers of his best brandy, enjoying the warm heat that traveled to his stomach. “I needed this,” he muttered to himself, turning up the glass. He grabbed for another, but thought better of it, knowing there would be no allowance for tardiness.
Stanton, his footman, stepped into the room. “My lord, your carriage is waiting.”
“Thank you.” Why was he more nervous about this meeting than betting his pocketbook at one of her tables? A voice in his head seemed to say because life may change, but he rejected the answer out of hand and turned his glass up, swallowing the rest of the brandy. Mollified that there were no excuses for not showing, he followed his footman to the door and picked up his heavy coat, cane, and top hat. He would need them for the chill sure to follow.
His carriage slowed and stopped before the faded blue building that had become almost his second home over this past year. Even with its seemingly nonapparent upkeep, the building stood out among the red brick buildings that flanked it on each side. “I may as well get this over with,” he muttered to himself as he stepped from the carriage. Glancing behind the footman, he noticed his new driver still in his seat. “Please inform the driver to pick me up in thirty minutes. If I am not ready, have him wait.”
“Yes, my lord,” the young dark-haired man replied as he closed the door behind Evan and climbed aboard the carriage.
He fired his regular driver the day before, after the man gave an appalling excuse for his almost hitting a child and not even stopping. The man told him he thought his lordship would not want to become involved and offered not even a modicum of remorse. The reserve driver had done a suitable job today. He would have Bernard promote him to lead driver and hire another reserve. Not involved? Blast! The damn driver made his own muddles that much worse.
A tall man Evan recognized as Titan stood scowling at the doorway and gave a quick nod to the door behind him, apparently waiting for him to enter. Burnished skin gave a rough-hewn appearance behind his unshaven face which, with the man’s very thick neck and stretched clothing, added to his formidable appearance.
Suddenly I feel like a lad in short pants, he mused, passing his hat and greatcoat to another man who reached for them as the door closed. Evan followed Titan into the building, down the hall covered with a red-printed carpet to a stairway leading to the familiar smoking room and gaming rooms that overlooked the gambling floor. His destination, however, was the