Page 47 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“Here, let me.”

He jerked back, then, with a sigh, nodded. She tied it around his neck, smoothed down the knot, and tucked it in his waistcoat.

“Thank you.”

“Have some toast,” Cordelia said, approaching the trunk. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon doesn’t let everyone taste her jam.”

He didn’t reply, and she drew out the gown and began to dress. When she was ready, she turned to see him standing before the table, his hands on the back of a chair.

“Will you join me for breakfast, Cordelia?”

She nodded and sat on the chair while he pushed it in for her.

“I took the liberty of preparing your breakfast,” he said, gesturing to the plate on front of her, on which was a piece of toast spread with butter and jam.

She stared at it as he took the seat opposite.

“Forgive me, I should have asked what you like on your toast.”

She picked up the toast and took a bite. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”

His lips twitched into a smile of pride and she suppressed a laugh. But doubtless he’d never had to perform such a task as buttering toast for others in his life, having everything done for him.

“Perhaps I’ll have some coffee after all,” he said, picking up the pot. His hands shook as he poured brown liquid into a cup, and he spilled coffee to accompany the stain already on the tablecloth.

He colored and she averted her gaze, unwilling to intrude on his discomfort, and concentrated on her toast, though her appetite had waned, her stomach tightening into knots.

At length, he spoke.

“Forgive me.”

“It’ll clean out,” she said, nodding toward the coffee stain.

“N-no, I meant…” He swallowed and set his cup aside. “I’m sorry. For last night.”

Her stomach tightened. Did he regret the consummation?

“L-last night?”

He picked up his cup then set it aside. “I was angry. I didn’t mean to say such things. I-I oughtn’t have called you a whore.”

“It’s what I am,” she said, taking another bite of toast, but the sweet taste turned to ash on her tongue. Then she startled as a hand covered hers.

“No,” he said. “You’re not. Not anymore.”

“What if…if anyone at Bedford Hall asks about my past? Your sisters?”

“You cannot tell them,” he said. “Margaret especially—she’s so young. She wouldn’t understand.”

“And you?” she said. “Do you understand?”

He withdrew his hand.

“The Lyon’s Den has a reputation in respect of the women who buy Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s services,” she said. “Of course, most of the men who frequent this establishment apply discretion, but if it becomes known…”

“I don’t want my sisters upset,” he said. “I married for them, to ensure that they had dowries and could make respectable marriages when the time came. I fear I’ve failed them.”

The sorrow in his eyes warred with her indignation at his reference to her tainting his family.