Page 49 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“We’re almost home,” he said. “I wanted to wake you before we stop, to give you a minute to ready yourself.”

She glanced about, then her gaze turned to the window and her eyes widened.

“Oh!”

“There’s nothing to fear, Cordelia,” he said. “It’s my home—our home. And you are now its mistress.”

“I am not afraid.”

The tremor in her voice belied her words.

“You have no need to be,” he said.

“Do I not?”

By the time the carriage rolled to a halt, the servants had formed a row leading toward the main doors. Standing at the front were James’s sisters.

Margaret’s form shimmered with the vitality of an adolescent vibrating with life and enthusiasm. Georgiana was more still, showing the poise of a debutante—the debutante she would become, courtesy of Cordelia’s fortune.

I’ll just have to refrain from telling my sister how that fortune was made.

James clambered out of the carriage, then helped his wife out. Her fingers were cold against his own, and he squeezed them in encouragement.

Georgiana stepped forward first.

“Welcome home, brother.”

“James!” Margaret moved to run forward, but Georgiana caught her sleeve.

“Decorum, please,” she snapped. “You forget your manners. We must not do anything to stain the family name, must we?”

She turned her gaze to Cordelia and arched an eyebrow.

Why such hostility? Georgiana had wanted him to marry almost as much as Margaret—if only for the sake of his wife’s fortune.

Perhaps she was nervous. Did she expect hostility from Cordelia? Foolish girl! Cordelia had a warmth about her that made people want to trust her, to talk to her beside an open fire and share their troubles…

Then he checked himself.

No—the woman he was thinking of was Dahlia. A façade, an act. A woman who did not exist.

He steered his wife forward.

“My dear, may I present my sister, the Honorable Georgiana Bedford?”

Cordelia dipped into a curtsy, and a warm smile curved her lips as she extended her hand.

“I’m so pleased to meet you, Georgiana—if I may be permitted to call you Georgiana? Your brother has spoken much of you.”

“In the Lyon’s Den, I presume?” Georgiana said, ignoring the proffered hand. “Are the rumors about the Lyon’s Den true? That men go there to marry whores for their fortunes?”

Cordelia winced and withdrew her hand.

“Explain yourself, Georgiana,” James said, anger rising in his gut.

His sister tilted her head up and wrinkled her nose. “I have nothing to explain. You, on the other hand, have much to explain if you’ve brought a slut into my home.”

“That’s enough!” James cried.