'Well, why are you frowning again?' Diana called after him.
Lyon didn't bother to answer his sister. He mounted his black steed and went riding in the countryside. The brisk exercise was just what he needed to clear his mind. He was usually able to dispatch all unnecessary information and target in on the pertinent facts. Once he'd thrown out the insignificant, he was certain he'd be able to figure out his attraction to the most unusual woman in all of England. He was going to use cold reason to come to terms with his unreasonable affliction.
And it was an affliction, Lyon decided. To let Christina affect his every thought, his every action, was simply unacceptable. Confusing, too.
As confusing as being told he made her as nervous as a buffalo.
And where in God's name had she seen buffaloes?
The Earl of Rhone paced the carpet in front of his desk. His library was in shambles, but Rhone wouldn't let any of the servants inside to clean. Since being wounded, he'd been in too much discomfort to think about such mundane matters as household chores.
The injury was healing. Rhone had poured hot water over the opening, then wrapped his wrist in clean white gauze. Even though he wore an oversized jacket from his father's closet so that he could conceal the bandage, he was determined to stay hidden inside his townhouse until the wound was completely healed. He wasn't about to take any chances of being found out. There was too much work still to be done.
Rhone 's primary concern was Princess Christina. He thought she might have recognized him. The way she'd stared at him and the funny, surprised look on her face did suggest she had known who was behind the mask.
Did Lyon know? Rhone mulled over that worry a long while, then concluded his friend had been too occupied with protecting the little Princess to take a good look at him.
And just who in God's name had thrown the knife at him? Why, he'd been so surprised, he'd dropped his pistol. Whoever it was had a lousy aim, Rhone decided, and he'd thank God for that small blessing. Damn, he could have been killed.
He was going to have to be more careful. Rhone had no intention of quitting his activity. There were four names on his list, and every one of them was going to be tormented. It was the least he could do to ease his father's humiliation.
A servant's hesitant knock on the door broke Rhone 's pacing. 'Yes?' he bellowed, letting his irritation carry through the door. He had specifically ordered his staff not to interrupt him.
'The Marquess of Lyonwood is here to see you, my lord.'
Rhone rushed over to take his seat behind the desk. He rested his good arm on a stack of papers, hid his injured hand in his lap, then called out in a surly voice, 'Send him in.'
Lyon strolled into the room with a bottle of brandy tucked under his arm. He placed the gift on the desk, then sat down in a leather chair in front of Rhone. After casually propping his feet on the desktop, he said, 'You look like hell.'
Rhone shrugged. 'You never were a diplomat,' he remarked. 'What's the brandy for?'
'Our wager,' Lyon reminded him.
'Oh, yes. Princess Christina,' Rhone grinned. 'She never did answer any of your questions, did she?'
'It doesn't matter. I've already found out quite enough about her. She was raised somewhere in France, or thereabouts,' he stated. 'There are a few little nagging inconsistences, but I'll have them worked out in short time.'
'Why the interest, Lyon?'
'I'm not sure anymore. In the beginning I thought it was just curiosity, but now-'
'In the beginning. Lyon, you sound as though you'd known the woman for months.'
Lyon shrugged. He reached over to the sideboard, extracted two glasses, and poured each of them a drink. Lyon waited until Rhone was in the process of swallowing a hefty portion before asking his question. 'How's the hand, Jack?'
Needless to say, Lyon was immensely satisfied with his friend's reaction. Rhone started choking and coughing and trying to effect a denial all at the same time. It was laughable. Damning, too, Lyon thought with a sigh.
He waited until his friend had regained some control before speaking again. 'Why didn't you tell me you were in such financial trouble? Why didn't you come to me?'
'Financial trouble? I don't know what you're talking about,' Rhone protested. It was a weak lie. 'Hell,' he muttered. 'It's always been impossible to lie to you.'
'Have you lost your mind? Do you have a passion to live in Newgate prison, Rhone? You know it's only a matter of time before you're found out.'
' Lyon, let me explain,' Rhone stammered. 'My father has lost everything. I've used my own estates, put them up as promise against the rest of the notes, but…'
'You and your father are free of debt as of yesterday eve,' Lyon said. 'Get angry and then get over it, Rhone,' Lyon demanded, his voice edged with steel. 'I paid off the moneylenders. In your name, by the way.'
'How dare you involve-' Rhone bellowed. His face was flushed a bright red.
'Someone sure as hell had to intervene,' Lyon announced. 'Your father means as much to me as he does to you, Rhone. God only knows the number of times he put himself in front of my father to protect me when I was young.'
Rhone nodded. Some of the fight went out of him. 'I'll pay you back, Lyon, just as soon-'
'You will not pay me back,' Lyon roared. He was suddenly furious with his friend. He took a deep, settling breath before continuing. 'Do you remember what I was like when Lettie died?' he asked.
Rhone was surprised by the change in topic. He slowly nodded. 'I remember.'
'You stood by me then, Rhone. You're the only one who knows about James. Have I ever asked to pay you back for your friendship?'
'Of course not. I would have been insulted.'
A long moment stretched between the two men. Then Rhone actually grinned. 'May I at least tell my father that you-'
'No,' Lyon interrupted, his voice soft. 'I don't want him to realize I know what happened to him. Let him think his son is the only one who knows, that you came to his assistance.'
'But Lyon, surely-'
'Let it rest, Rhone. Your father is a proud man. Don't take that away from him.'
Rhone nodded again. 'Tell me what you know about my father's problems.'
'I recognized you at Baker's, of course,' Lyon began, smiling over the start that statement gave his friend. 'It was foolish of you to-'
'You weren't supposed to be there,' Rhone muttered. 'Why did you attend his party? You can't stand Baker any more than I can.'
Lyon chuckled. 'The most carefully laid plans,' he drawled. 'For all his good points, your father is still a little naive, isn't he, Rhone? Baker and his cohorts took advantage, of course. Baker would have been the one to set up the games. Let's see if I have this straight. He would have included Buckley, Stanton, and Wellingham in the farce, too. They're all bastards. Did I get all the names, Rhone?'
His friend was astonished. 'How did you learn all this?'
'Do you honestly think I wouldn't know about their little club? Your father isn't the only one to fall victim to their scheme.'
'Does everyone know?'
'No,' Lyon answered. 'There isn't a hint of a scandal about your father. I would have heard of it.'
'You've been out of circulation, Lyon. How can you be so sure?'
Lyon gave Rhone a look of exasperation. 'With my line of work, you can seriously ask me that question?'
Rhone grinned. 'I thought you might have gotten a little rusty,' he said. 'Father is still hiding in his country home. He's so ashamed of his own gullibility he won't show his face. He'll be relieved to learn no one is the wiser.'
'Yes, he can come out of hiding now. And you can give up this foolish plan of yours. You'll eventually get caught.'
'You'd never turn me in.' Rhone 's voice was filled with conviction.
