be the most dangerous man in England. Some claimed the world.
No matter where the traitor hid, Lyon could ferret him out and dispatch him with quiet, deadly efficiency.
He'd never failed in his duty. Never.
The results of his loyalty were twofold. Lyon was given knighthood for his courage, nightmares for his sins. It was an easy enough retirement to accept. Since he lived alone, no one ever knew his torment. When the nightmares visited, and he once again saw the faces of those he'd eliminated, no one was there to witness his agony.
Lyon rarely thought about James or Lettie anymore, though he continued to shake his head over the irony of it all. While he was abroad defending his homeland against betrayers, his brother was home in England betraying him.
No, he didn't think about James much, and since meeting Princess Christina his mind had been in such a turmoil he could barely think with much reason at all.
He was a man given to intrigue. A good puzzle held his attention until he'd resolved it. Christina, however, still proved too elusive to understand. He didn't know what her game was… yet. When she didn't openly flirt with him-or Rhone either, for that matter-his interest had picked up. Lyon kept mulling over the strange conversation he'd had with the lady, but after a while he gave up. He'd have to see her again, he told himself. She still hadn't given him enough clues to satisfy him.
And where in God's name would she have heard the roar of lions?
Lyon knew he was becoming obsessed with finding out about her past. His determination didn't make much sense to him. Christina was affecting him in ways he'd thought impossible. He'd never felt so overwhelmed by a woman before. The admission bothered him far more than the nagging pain in his knee.
He would learn all her secrets. She was sure to have them-every woman did-and then his curiosity would be satisfied. Yes, then he'd dismiss her.
The obsession would end.
With that decision reached, Lyon dispatched notes to the gossip leaders of the ton. He was, of course, discreet in his requests for information about the Princess, using his sister Diana and her introduction into society as his main reason for wanting to know the ins and outs of 'business.'
He wasn't the least concerned about his deceitful endeavor. And in the end, when all the letters had been answered, Lyon was more frustrated than ever. According to all those in the know, Princess Christina didn't have a past.
The woman hadn't even existed until two months ago.
Lyon wasn't about to accept such a conclusion. His patience was running thin. He wanted real answers… and he wanted to see Christina again. He had thought to corner her at Creston's ball the following Saturday, then decided against waiting.
Ignoring good manners altogether, he called upon No. 6 Baker Street at the unholy hour of nine o'clock in the morning. Lyon hadn't bothered to send a note begging an audience, certain the ill-tempered Countess would have denied him entrance if she'd been given advance warning.
Luck was on Lyon 's side. An extremely feeble old man with a mop of stark yellow hair opened the door for him. His clothing indicated that he was the butler, and his manner resembled that of an uncivil pontiff.
'The Countess has just left for an appointment, sir, and won't return home for a good hour or more.'
Lyon held his grin. 'I don't want to see the Countess,' he told the butler.
'Then who exactly did you want to see?' the servant asked in a haughty tone of voice.
Lyon let his exasperation show. The old man guarded the entrance like a gargoyle. Lyon brushed past him before he could issue a protest, calling over his shoulder, 'I wish to speak to Princess Christina.' He deliberately used his most intimidating voice to gain compliance. 'Now.'
A sudden grin transformed the servant's dour expression into wrinkles of delight. 'The Countess ain't going to like it,' he announced as he shuffled ahead of Lyon to the double doors on the left of the entry way. 'She'll be displeased, she will.'
'You don't seem too disturbed by that eventuality,' Lyon remarked dryly when the butler let out a loud cackle.
'I won't be telling her about your visit, sir,' the butler said. He drew himself up and turned toward the staircase. 'You can wait in there,' he said with a wave of his hand. 'I'll go and inform the Princess of your wish to speak to her.'
'Perhaps it would be better if you don't tell your mistress who her caller is,' Lyon instructed, thinking Christina just might decide against seeing him. 'I'd like to surprise her,' he added.
'Since you ain't given me your name, it'll be easy enough to comply with your wishes.'
It seemed to Lyon that it took an eternity for the butler to make it across the hallway. He leaned against the door frame and watched the old man. A sudden question made him call out, 'If you don't know who I am, how can you be so sure the Countess will be displeased?'
The butler let out another crackle of laughter that sounded very like a long nail being dragged across a chalkboard. The effort nearly toppled him to the floor. He grabbed hold of the bannister before giving Lyon an answer. 'It doesn't matter who you be, sir. The Countess don't like anyone. Nothing ever makes the old bat happy.' The butler continued up the stairs in his slow, sluggish stride.
Lyon would have sworn it took the old man ten minutes to gain three steps.
'I take it the Countess wasn't the one who employed you,' Lyon remarked.
'No, sir,' the servant answered between wheezes. 'It was Princess Christina who found me in the gutter, so to speak. She picked me up, dusted me off, and fixed me up real nice in new clothes. I was a butler many years ago, afore hard times caught me.' The old man took a deep breath, then added, 'The Princess don't like me calling her aunt an old bat, though. Says it ain't dignified.'
'It might not be dignified, my good man, but old bat really does describe the Countess rather well.'
The butler nodded, then grabbed hold of the bannister again. He stayed in that position a long moment. Lyon thought the man was trying to catch his breath. He was wrong in that conclusion, however. The butler finally let go of the railing, then cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth and literally bellowed his announcement up the stairwell. 'You got yourself a visitor, Princess. I put him in the drawing room.'
Lyon couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed. When the servant repeated the scream, he started laughing.
The butler turned back to explain to Lyon. 'She don't want me overdoing,' he said. 'Got to save me strength for the old bat's orders.'
Lyon nodded. The butler shouted to his mistress again.
Christina suddenly appeared at the top of the steps, drawing Lyon 's full attention. He wasn't ever going to get used to looking at her, he decided. She kept getting prettier. Her hair wasn't pinned atop her head today. Glorious. It was the only word that came to mind, for the thick, silvery mass of curls framing the angelic face defied any other description.
When she started down the steps, Lyon saw that the length of hair ended against the swell of her slender hips.
She was dressed in a pale pink gown. The scoop neckline showed only a hint of the swell of her bosom. There was something a little unusual about the modest ensemble, but Lyon was too distracted watching her smile at her butler to decide what seemed out of place to him.
She hadn't seen him yet. 'Thank you, Elbert. Now go and sit down. The Countess will be home soon, and you'll have to be on your feet again.'
'You're too good to me,' Elbert whispered.
'It is good of you to think so,' she said before continuing on down the steps. She spotted Lyon leaning against the entrance to the salon.
He knew she was surprised. Her eyes widened. 'Oh, dear, the Countess is going to be-'
'Displeased,' Lyon finished her comment with an exasperated sigh.
Elbert had obviously heard the remark. His scratchy laughter followed Christina into the drawing room. Lyon followed her, pausing long enough to shut the door behind him. 'Believe it or not, Christina, I'm considered pleasing enough by the rest of the town. Why your aunt takes exception to me is beyond my comprehension.'
