Lyon’s Prey

your family. My sincerest condolences on the loss of your father.” His mother had made known to him her friendship with Lady Romney and had paid her a visit shortly before she left the country. “I know your older brother, Matthew—Lord Longueville. I will speak with him and offer . . .” The pained look on her face made him stop. “My lady? Did you say your younger brother was the Earl of Romney?” Matt had shared some of the details of his difficult relationship with his father. When they had finished school, he had enlisted in the military and left for what seemed like a friendly enough post in America. Was it the army or the navy? He could not recall. They had all been good friends in school, but no one had heard from Matt in several years. “Has something happened to Lord Matthew?” His voice rasped as he intoned his friend’s name.
She gripped the back of the chair that stood in front of his desk and looked at him with shimmering eyes. “My brother has not been heard from in over a year. He was lost in the Battle of New Orleans.” Her voice trembled. “With the death of Papa, my younger brother has been declared the heir.”
“I am sorry. I do not recall your brother or anyone darting in front of my carriage, but I intend to speak with my driver right away about the incident,” he said with concern. “However, that does not mean I do not believe it happened.” In softer tones, he continued. “Your younger brother, Jason—how is he? I mean, is he all right?” He had awoken to a day full of nightmares. Perhaps it was some weird day of reckoning. Three hours before, he had been lost to sleep and dreams. Just three hours.
“Surely you are not saying that you had no idea you were traveling at a higher rate of speed than was safe. Considering where you were heading, perhaps you were already foxed!” She regarded him with a look of total disgust.
“You forget yourself, my lady. I admit to no such thing, and you go too far to cast aspersions on my behavior. I said I would speak to my driver. I did not see your brother myself.” Evan’s jaw tightened. Truth be told, he had been more than slightly inebriated, but the woman went too far. Even so, a wave of guilt beset him.
“I do not understand how you missed him. Your driver never even slowed. If Matthew were here . . .” She paused. “A respectable person would not have driven at that speed on that road.”
“You overstep again, my lady,” Evan’s temper flared. “You continue to rebuke me for something I did not do. I informed you I will speak to my driver.”
“I do nothing of the sort, my lord. I am simply repeating for understanding. My brother was almost cut down by your carriage. Had I not seen the carriage’s path soon enough and grabbed him, he could have been killed. As it was, your carriage barely missed the two of us.” Her voice oozed disdain. “You, my lord, kept going and stopped down the road at a house known for its lascivious conduct. I thought to make you aware of the seriousness of your behavior. We both fell trying to get out of the way. A gentleman stopped for us and recognized your carriage. He helped us into our conveyance after ascertaining we had only a few scratches. Perhaps it was borne of foolishness, however we thought something was wrong, so my driver pursued you in our carriage until you arrived at your destination.” She spat the last word at him, her distaste evident. “I decided to confront you here, rather than there.”
Her words pierced him and fed his anger. What? Who stopped? They had followed him? He wanted to ask more but bit his tongue. Evan’s driver had almost cut down a peer and a lady—with him in the carriage. A display of temper would most likely cause even more trouble. “May I ask where exactly this happened?”
“As a matter of fact, it was just a few streets from here, near Grosvenor Square,” she replied.
That was the route he usually followed to the Lyon’s Den. Had his driver nearly run the boy over without his realizing it? Impossible, surely. He could not even recall the ride to the club. Not recalling anything was as upsetting to him as what he had been accused of doing, making it impossible for him to deny. What had he become in his grief?
“Your brother, he is unhurt? And you . . . ?” He clenched and unclenched his fists, remorseful and unnerved by his own behavior. “I am sorry for my lapse. You must let me make this up to you.”
Evan’s concentration wavered as he tried to think about the incident, taking in the beauty berating him at the same time. He quietly eyed the tantalizing woman in front of him, silhouetted by the sun beaming though the window behind her. The sight of her chipped away at his preference for more generously curved women. He suddenly wondered how she might feel next to him, and this generated an immediate response from his own body. Guilt assailed him.
“Making it up would start with an apology, my lord,” she replied in a milder tone.
“I have apologized,” he rejoined tersely, suddenly frustrated at both his traitorous body and her question. He walked behind his desk and pulled a cord. “Let me prove my sincerity. I would like to meet Jason to see that he is unharmed.” When Bernard arrived, he addressed him, “Have my carriage prepared at once. And ask for one of the reserve drivers.”
“Yes, my lord. Right away.” The tall, graying retainer nodded and backed from the room. The door clicked closed behind him.
“You want to come to my home?”
“That would be the general idea. Is there an objection? You have accused me of an unholy mistake on my part. I would like to ensure that no