The Lion's Lady

Chapter Eight

Lyon spent most of Friday afternoon sitting in the Bleak Bryan tavern, located in a particularly seedy section of the city. Lyon wasn't there to drink, of course, but to glean information from the captains and shipmates who favored the tavern.

He moved easily in and out of such a setting. Though dressed in quality buckskins and riding jacket, he didn't need to worry about being set upon. Lyon was always given a wide berth. Everyone in this area knew his reputation well. They feared him, yet respected him, and entered into conversation only when he motioned to them for an audience.

Lyon sat with his back against the wall. Bryan, a retired shipmate from the moment he lost his hand in a knife fight, sat beside him. Lyon had purchased the tavern and set Bryan up in business as a reward for past loyalty.

He questioned one man after another, refusing to become impatient when the hours stretched or the shipmates lied in order to get another free glass of ale. A newcomer strutted over to the table and demanded his share of the bounty. The big man lifted the seaman Lyon was questioning by his neck and carelessly threw him to the side.

Bryan smiled. He still enjoyed a good fight. "Have you never met the Marquess of Lyonwood, then?" he asked the stranger.

The seaman shook his head, took his seat, and then reached for the pitcher of ale. "Don't give a belch who he be," the man muttered menacingly. "I'm wanting my due."

Bryan 's eyes sparkled with amusement. He turned to Lyon and said, "He's wanting his due."

Lyon shrugged. He knew what was expected of him. Every face in the tavern was looking at him. There were appearances to keep up, and if he wanted a peaceful afternoon, he'd have to take care of this little matter.

He waited until the seaman had put the pitcher back on the table, then slammed the heel of his boot into the man's groin.

It happened too quickly for the seaman to protect himself. Before he could scream in pain, Lyon had him by the throat. He squeezed hard, then flung the big man backwards.

The crowd roared their approval. Lyon ignored them. He tilted his chair back against the wall, never taking his gaze off the man writhing in agony on the floor.

"You got your due, you horse's arse. Now crawl on out of here. I run a respectable tavern," Bryan bellowed between bouts of laughter.

A thin, jittery man drew Lyon 's attention then. "Sir, I hear you're wanting information about ships from the colonies," he stammered out.

"Take a seat, Mick," Bryan instructed. "He's a good, honest man, Lyon," Bryan continued, nodding at his friend.

Lyon waited while the seaman exchanged news with

Bryan. He continued to watch the man he'd just injured until the door slammed shut behind him.

Then his thoughts returned to Christina and his mission.

Lyon had decided to start over. He was finished forming his own conclusions based on logical assumptions. Logic didn't work where Christina was concerned. He threw out all her explanations about her past. The only fact he knew to be truthful was that the Countess had returned to England approximately three months ago.

Someone had to remember the old bat. The woman was foul enough to have drawn attention to herself by complaining about something to someone. She wouldn't have been an appreciative passenger.

Mick, as it turned out, remembered the woman. Rather well. "Captain Curtiss weren't a fair man with me, sir. I would have chosen to slop the decks or empty the pots rather than fetch and carry for the Cummings woman. Gawd, she kept me legs running day and night."

"Was she traveling alone?" Lyon asked. He didn't let Mick know how excited he was to finally have real information, thinking the man might lace his answers in order to please him into giving him more ale. "Of a sort," Mick announced.

"Of a sort? That don't make sense, Mick. Tell the man straight," Bryan advised.

"I mean to say, sir, she came on board with a gentleman and a pretty little lady. I only got a quick glance at the lovey, though. She wore a cape with the hood over her head, but before the Countess pushed her below deck she looked right at me and smiled. Yes, sir, she did."

"Did you happen to notice the color of her eyes?" Lyon asked.

"Blue they were, as blue as my ocean."

"Tell me what you remember about the man traveling with the Countess," Lyon instructed. He motioned for Bryan to refill Mick's glass.

"He weren't family," Mick explained after taking a swig of ale. "A missionary, he told some of the men. Sounded Frenchy to me, but he told us he lived in a wilderness past the colonies. He was going back to France to see his relatives. Even though he was French, I liked him. Because of the way he protected the little lass. He was old enough to be her father-treated her like he was, too. Since the Cummings woman stayed below most of the voyage, the missionary man would take the pretty for a stroll on the decks."

Mick paused to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. "The old woman was a strange bird. She didn't have nothing to do with the other two. Even demanded to have an extra chain put on the inside of her door. Captain Curtiss tried to calm her fears by telling her none of us would touch her. Gawd almighty, we couldn't stomach to look at her, and why she'd be thinking we'd want to bother her didn't make a spit of sense. It took a while, sir, but some of us did finally figure out her scheme. She was bolting her door against the little miss. Yes, sir, she was. The missionary man was overheard telling the little lady not to feel sad 'cause her aunt was afraid of her. Don't that beat all?"

Lyon smiled at Mick. It was all the encouragement the seaman needed to continue. "She was such a sweet little thing. 'Course, she did throw Louie overboard. Flipped him right over her shoulder, she did. Couldn't believe it-no, sir, couldn't believe it. Louie had it coming, though. Why, he snuck up behind her and grabbed her. That's when I seen the color of her hair. Real light yellow. She'd always been wearing that hood, even in the heat of the afternoons. Must have been mighty uncomfortable."

"She threw a man overboard?" Bryan asked the question. He knew he shouldn't interfere in Lyon 's questions, but he was too astonished by Mick's casually given remark to keep silent. "Enough about the hood, man, tell me more about this girl."

"Well, it were a good thing for Louie the wind weren't up. We fished him out of the water without too much backache. He left the miss alone after that surprise. Come to think on it, most o' the men did."

"When will Captain Curtiss be returning to London?" Lyon asked.

"Not for another month or two," Mick said. "Would you be wanting to speak to the missionary man, too?"

"I would," Lyon answered, keeping his expression impassive. He sounded almost bored.

"He's coming back to London real soon. He told us he was only going to stay in France a short while, then planned on giving the little miss a nice visit before going back to the colonies. He was real protective toward the girl. Worried about her, too. Don't blame him none. That old…"

"Bat?" Lyon supplied.

"Yes, she was an old bat," Mick said with a snicker.

"Do you remember the missionary's name, Mick? There's an extra pound for you if you can give me his name."

"It's right on the tip of me tongue," Mick said, frowning intently. "When it comes to me, I'll tell you, Bryan. You'll keep the coins safe for me, won't you?"

"Question some of your shipmates," Bryan suggested. "Surely one of them will recall the man's name."

Mick was in such a hurry to gain his reward, he immediately left the tavern to go search for his companions.

"Is this government business?" Bryan asked when they were once again alone.

"No," Lyon answered. "A personal concern."

"It's the lady, isn't it? Don't need to pretend with me, Lyon. I'd be interested in her, too, if I were young enough."

Lyon smiled. "You've never even seen her," he reminded his friend.

"Makes no matter. Mick said she was a slip of a girl with blue eyes and yellow hair. Sounds pretty enough for my tastes, but that isn't the true reason I'd chase after her skirts. Have you ever met Louie?"

"No."

"He's as big as I am, though he weighs a few stones more. Any lady who could toss him overboard has to be mighty interesting. Lord, I wish I'd been there to see it. Never could like Louie. There's a rank smell coming from him. His mind's as sour as his body. Damn, I wish I'd seen him hit the water."

Lyon spent a few more minutes exchanging bits of news with Bryan, then stood to take his leave. "You know where to find me, Bryan."

The tavern owner walked Lyon to the curb. "How's Rhone getting on?" he asked. "Up to his usual antics?"

"Afraid so," Lyon drawled. "That reminds me, Bryan. Would you have the back room ready for Friday after next? Rhone and I are setting up a card game. I'll give you the details later."

Bryan gave Lyon a speculative look. "Always trying to outguess me, aren't you, Bryan?" Lyon asked.

"My thoughts are always on my face," Bryan answered, with a grin. "It's why I'd never make it in your line of work," he added.

Bryan held the door of the carriage open for Lyon. He waited until the Marquess was about to close the door behind him before calling out his ritual farewell. "Guard your back, my friend." On the spur of the moment, he included another caution. "And your heart, Lyon. Don't let any pretties throw you overboard."

That suggestion had come a little too late, to Lyon 's way of thinking. Christina had already caught him off guard. He'd vowed long ago not to get emotionally involved with another woman for as long as he lived. He was going to keep his relationships short and sweet.

So much for that vow, Lyon thought with a sigh. He couldn't guard his heart now. It already belonged to her.

His mind returned to the puzzle of Christina's bizarre remarks. He remembered she'd told him that his curiosity could get him killed. Was she lying or was she serious? Lyon couldn't decide.

Christina had been truthful when she announced she wasn't going to stay in London long, that she meant to return home. At least she looked like she was telling the truth.

He wasn't about to let her go anywhere. Christina was going to belong to him. But he wasn't taking any chances. If she did manage to get away from him, his job of hunting her down would be much easier if he knew exactly where her home was.

"She isn't going anywhere," Lyon muttered to himself. No, he wasn't going to let her out of his sight.

With a growl of new frustration, Lyon accepted the truth. There was only one way he could keep Christina by his side.

Hell, he was going to have to marry her.

"Where in God's name have you been? I've been sitting in your library for hours."

Rhone bellowed the question as soon as Lyon strode into the foyer of his townhouse. "I have messengers searching the town for you, Lyon."

"I wasn't aware I had to account to you, Rhone," Lyon answered. He threw off his jacket and walked into the study. "Shut the door, Rhone. What do you think you're doing? You shouldn't be out in public. Someone might notice the bandage. You took a needless chance. Your man would have found me soon enough."

"Well, where have you been? It's almost dark outside," Rhone muttered. He collapsed in the first available chair.

"You're beginning to sound like a nagging wife," Lyon said with a chuckle. "What's the problem? Is your father having more difficulties?"

"No, and you sure as hell won't be laughing when I tell you why I've been looking all over London for you. Better put your jacket back on, my friend. You've work to do."

The seriousness in Rhone 's tone gained Lyon 's complete attention. He leaned against the desk top, folded his arms across his chest, and said, "Explain yourself."

"It's Christina, Lyon. She's in trouble."

Lyon reacted as though he'd just been hit by lightning. He bounded away from the desk and had Rhone by his shoulders before his friend could take a new breath. "There's still plenty of time, Lyon. I was just worried you might have taken off for your country home. We've got until midnight before they come after her… for God's sake, man, unhand me."

Lyon immediately let Rhone fall back into his chair. "Who are they?" he demanded.

His expression had turned deadly. Rhone was immensely thankful Lyon was his friend and not his enemy. "Splickler and some men he hired."

Lyon gave Rhone a brisk nod, then walked back out into the foyer. He shouted for his carriage to be brought around front again.

Rhone followed Lyon out the front door. "Wouldn't your steed get you there quicker?"

"I'll need the carriage later."

"What for?"

"Splickler."

The way he'd said the bastard's name told Rhone all he needed or wanted to know. He waited until they were both settled inside the conveyance to give his full explanation. "One of my men-or rather one of Jack's men-was offered a sizable amount to help take Christina to Gretna Green. Splickler thinks to force a marriage, you see. I went to meet with my men to tell them there wasn't going to be another raid. One of them is a decent enough fellow-for a bandit-by the name of Ben. He told me he'd been asked by Splickler and agreed to go along. Ben thought it was a rather amusing way to make some easy money."

The look on Lyon 's face was chilling.

"Splickler hired Ben and three others. I paid Ben so he'd pretend to be in on the scheme. He won't help Splickler, if we can count on his word."

"You're certain it's set for midnight?" Lyon asked.

"Yes," Rhone answered with a nod. "There's still plenty of time, Lyon." He let out a long sigh. "I do feel relieved you're going to take care of the matter," he admitted.

"Oh, yes, I'll take care of the matter."

Lyon 's voice was whisper-soft. It sent a chill down Rhone 's spine. "You know, Lyon, I always thought Splickler was a snake, but I didn't think he had enough rattle in him to do something this obscene. If anyone finds out about this plot of his, Christina's reputation might very well suffer."

"No one's going to find out. I'll see to it."

Rhone nodded again. "Could someone have put Splickler up to this, Lyon? The man isn't smart enough to make change."

"Oh, yes, someone put him up to it, all right. The Countess. I'd stake my life on it."

"Good God, Lyon, she's Christina's aunt. You can't believe-"

"I do believe it," Lyon muttered. "She left Christina all alone. A little too convenient, wouldn't you agree?"

"Do you have an extra pistol for me?" Rhone asked.

"Never use them."

"Why not?" Rhone asked, appalled.

"Too much noise," Lyon answered. "Besides, there are only four of them, if we can believe your friend's count."

"But there are five."

"Splickler doesn't count. He'll run at the first sign of trouble. I'll find him later."

"I don't doubt that," Rhone answered.

" Rhone, when we reach Christina's townhouse, I'll have my man take you home. I don't want my carriage sitting out front. Splickler would see it. We don't want him to change his plans. I'll have my driver return for me an hour after midnight."

"I insist on lending a hand," Rhone muttered.

"You've only got one good hand to lend," Lyon answered, smiling.

"How can you be so glib?"

"The word is controlled, Rhone. Controlled."

Lyon was out of the carriage giving fresh instructions to his driver before the vehicle had rocked to a full stop. "Damn it, Lyon. I could be of help," Rhone shouted.

"You'd be more of a hindrance than a help. Go home. I'll send word to you when it's over."

Lord, he acted so unaffected by what was taking place. Rhone knew better, though. He almost felt a little sorry for the stupid, greedy men who'd joined with Splickler. The poor fools were about to find out just how the Marquess of Lyonwood had earned his reputation.

Damn, he really hated to miss the action. "I'm sure as certain not going to," Rhone muttered to himself. He waited for his opportunity. When the carriage slowed to round the corner, Rhone jumped to the street. He landed on his knees, cursed himself for his clumsiness, then brushed himself off and started walking towards Christina's house.

Lyon was going to get his good hand whether he wanted it or not.

The Marquess was shaking mad. He knew he'd calm down as soon as he saw Christina and knew she was all right. She was taking her sweet time opening the door for him. His nerves were at the snapping point. Lyon was about to break the lock with one of the special tools he always carried with him for just such an eventuality when he heard the sound of chain being slipped from the bar.

Though he'd held his temper in front of Rhone, the minute Christina opened the door he exploded with anger. "What in God's name do you think you're doing opening the door with just a robe on? Hell, you didn't even find out who it was, Christina!"

Christina clutched the lapels of her robe together and backed out of Lyon 's way. The man literally charged into the foyer like a crazed stallion.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Why didn't Elbert answer the door?" Lyon demanded. He stared at the top of her head, knowing full well that the sight of her dressed in such scanty attire, with her hair unbound in lovely disarray, would make him lose his train of thought.

"Elbert's visiting his mother," Christina explained. " Lyon, isn't it terribly late to be paying a call?"

"His what?" Lyon 's anger suddenly evaporated.

"His mama. And just why is that so amusing, I wonder?" she asked. "You're the lizard, Lyon. You shout at me, then turn to laughing in the blink of an eye."

"Chameleon, Christina, not lizard," Lyon instructed. "Elbert has to be at least eighty if he's a day. How can his mother still be alive?"

"Oh, I've met her, Lyon. She's a dear woman. Looks just like Elbert, too. Well, are you going to tell me why you're here?"

"Go upstairs and get dressed. I can't think with you strutting around like that."

"I'm not strutting," Christina protested. "I'm standing perfectly still."

"We're going to have company in a little while."

"We are?" Christina shook her head. "I didn't invite anyone. I'm really not in the mood to entertain, Lyon. I had only just begun to mourn you, and now here you are-"

"Mourn me?" Lyon repeated, matching her frown. "What the hell are you mourning me for?"

"Never mind," Christina said. "And quit losing your. temper. Who is coming to pay a call?"

Lyon had to take a deep breath to regain his control. He then explained all about Splickler and his men. He deliberately left out mention of the Countess's involvement, for he didn't want Christina too upset. He decided to wait, thinking to take care of one problem at a time.

"What is it you want me to do?" Christina asked. She bolted the front door and walked over to stand directly in front of him.

Lyon inhaled the scent of flowers. He reached out to take her into his arms. "You smell good," he told her.

His hands cupped the sides of her angelic face. Lord, she was staring up at him with such trust in her eyes.

"You must tell me what to do," Christina whispered again.

"Kiss me," Lyon commanded. He lowered his head to steal a quick kiss.

"I was talking about the mischief makers," Christina said when he'd pulled away. "You really can't hold a thought for more than a minute, can you, Lyon? Does the flaw run in your family?"

Lyon shook his head. "Of course I can hold a thought. I've been thinking about getting you into my arms since the moment you opened the door. You don't have anything on underneath this flimsy little robe, do you?"

She would have shaken her head if he hadn't been holding her so securely. "I just finished my bath," she explained, smiling over the fact that he'd just admitted wanting to touch her.

He was such an honest man. Christina leaned up on her tiptoes to give him what he wanted. She thought only to imitate the same quick kiss he'd given her. Lyon had other notions. His thumb nudged her chin down just enough for his tongue to thrust inside her mouth in search of hers.

Christina held onto the lapels of his jacket, fearing her knees were about to buckle. When she was certain she wouldn't disgrace herself by falling down, she returned his kiss with equal fervor.

The way she responded to him made him half-crazed. His mouth slanted over hers, powerfully, possessively. Christina wasn't able to hold back. That fact aroused Lyon almost as much as her whispered moans, her soft lips, her wild tongue.

Yes, he was thoroughly satisfied with her response. He was fast coming to the conclusion that it was the only time she was honest with him.

Lyon reluctantly pulled away from her. "You've made my hands tremble," Christina said. "I won't be much help to you if they knock on my door now."

"Too bad you aren't talented with a knife," Lyon remarked.

He waited for the lie, knowing full well she couldn't admit to such training.

"Yes, it is too bad," Christina answered. "But knives are for men. Women would harm themselves. I don't have a pistol, either. Perhaps you're disappointed I'm so poorly educated?"

He could tell by the way she'd asked the question she was hoping for agreement.

"Not at all, sweet," Lyon answered, his voice smooth. He draped his arm around her shoulder and started up the steps. "It's a man's duty to protect his little woman."

"Yes, that's the way in most cultures," Christina returned. Her voice turned hesitant, almost shy, when she added, "Still, you wouldn't take great exception if this same little woman did know how to defend herself. Would you? I mean to say, you wouldn't think it was unladylike… or would you?"

"Is this your room?" Lyon asked, deliberately evading her question. He pushed the door of the first bedroom open, took in the dark colors and the rank odor of old perfume, and knew before Christina answered him that he'd breached the Countess's quarters.

The room was dark enough to please a spider. Or an old bat, Lyon thought with a frown.

"This is my aunt's room," Christina said. She peeked inside. "It's awfully gloomy, isn't it?"

"You seem surprised. Haven't you ever been inside?"

"No."

Lyon was pulling the door closed when he saw the number of bolts and chains attached to the inside. "Your aunt must be an uneasy sleeper," he remarked. "Against whom does she lock her door, Christina?"

He knew the answer and was already getting angry. Lyon remembered the seaman's remark about the Countess being frightened of the pretty little miss.

The locks were on the wrong side of the door, as far as Lyon was concerned. Christina should be protecting herself against the Countess, and not the other way around.

What kind of life had Christina been forced to live since returning to her family and her homeland? She must surely be lonely. And what kind of woman would shun her only relative?

"My aunt doesn't like to be disturbed when she sleeps," Christina explained.

Lyon reacted to the sadness in her voice by hugging her close to him. "You haven't had an easy time of it since coming home, have you, love?"

He could feel her shrug against him. "My room is at the end of the hall. Is that what you're looking for?"

"Yes," he answered. "But I want to check all the windows, too."

"I have two windows in my room," Christina said. She pulled away from him, took hold of his hand, and hurried into her room.

Lyon took in everything in one quick glance. The bedroom was sparse by most women's standards, immensely appealing by his own. Trinkets didn't litter the two chest tops. No, there wasn't any clutter. A single chair, angled in the corner, a privacy screen behind it, a canopy bed with a bright white coverlet, and two small chests were the only pieces of furniture in the large square room.

Christina obviously liked order. The room was spotless, save for the single blanket someone had dropped on the floor by the window.

"The garden's right below my windows," Christina said. "The wall would be easy to scale. The greenery reaches the ledge. I think the vines are sturdy enough to hold a man."

"I'd rather they didn't come in through the windows," Lyon remarked, almost absentmindedly. He tested the frames, then looked down at the garden. He wished the moon wasn't so accommodating this evening. There was too much light.

Lyon glanced over at Christina. His expression and his attitude had changed. Drastically.

Christina felt like smiling. He really was a warrior. His face was just as impassive as a brave's. She couldn't tell what he was thinking now, and the rigidity of his bearing indicated to her he was preparing for battle.

"The drawing room only has two front windows, as I recall. Is there another entrance besides the one from the foyer?"

"No," Christina answered.

"Good. Get dressed, Christina. You can wait in there until this is over. I'll make it safe enough."

"How?"

"By blocking the windows and the doors," Lyon explained.

"No. I mean, I don't wish to be locked inside anywhere, Lyon."

The vehemence in her tone surprised him. Then he remembered how uncomfortable she'd been inside the closed carriage. His heart went out to her. "If I fashion a lock on the inside of the door so you'll know you could get out if you-"

"Oh, yes, that would do nicely," Christina interrupted with a brisk nod. She looked very relieved. "Thank you for understanding."

"Now why are you frowning?" Lyon asked, clearly exasperated.

"I've just realized you have another weapon to use against me if you become angry with me," she admitted. "I've just shown you a weakness," she added with a shrug.

"No, you've just insulted me," Lyon returned. "I don't know too many men, or women either, who would like to be locked in a room, Christina. Now quit trying to distract me. Get dressed."

She hurried to do his bidding. "I don't think I want to wait in the drawing room at all," she muttered to herself as she grabbed the first gown she could lay her hands on and moved behind the screen to change. She realized what a poor selection she'd made after she'd shed her robe and put the royal blue dress on.

" Lyon? The fastenings are in the back," she called out, "I can't do them up properly."

Lyon turned from the window to find Christina holding the front of her dress against her chest.

When she turned to give him her back, the first thing he noticed was her flawless skin. In the candlelight she looked too enticing for his peace of mind.

The second thing he took notice of was that she wasn't wearing a damn thing underneath. He wasn't unaffected either. His hands shook when he bent to the task of securing her gown, his fingers awkward because he wanted to caress her smooth skin.

"Where's your maid, Christina?" he asked, hoping conversation would pull him away from the ungentlemanly thought of carrying her over to the bed and seducing her.

"I'm alone for the week. I let Beatrice have the time away."

Her casually spoken comment irritated him. "For God's sake, no gentle lady stays all by herself," he muttered.

"I do well enough for myself. I'm most self-serving."

"Self-sufficient," Lyon said with a sigh. He was having difficulty catching the last button. Her silky hair kept getting in his way.

"I beg your pardon?"

Lyon lifted her hair and draped it over her shoulder. He smiled when he saw the goosebumps on her skin. "Self-sufficient, my sweet, not self-serving."

"There is a difference?" she asked, trying to turn around to look at him.

"Stand still," Lyon ordered. "Yes, there is a difference. Your aunt is self-serving. You're self-sufficient."

"Do you know I never make mistakes except when I'm with you, Lyon? It is therefore all your fault I get confused."

He didn't want to waste time arguing with her. "Come along," he ordered after he'd finished fastening her gown. He took hold of her hand and pulled her behind him.

Christina had to run to keep up with him. "I haven't braided my hair," she said quickly. "I really must, Lyon. It could be used against me. Surely you realize that."

He didn't realize, knew he shouldn't ask, but did anyway. "Why is your hair a weapon?"

"The men could catch hold of me if they grabbed my hair, unless of course I'm as quick as a panther, as fearless as a wolf, as cunning as a bear."

The woman was getting carried away. Lyon let her see his exasperation when they'd reached the drawing room.

"Will you be all right sitting in the dark?" Lyon asked. He walked over to the front windows, pulled the braided cord from one side of the drape, and handed it to Christina.

"I'm not afraid of the dark," she answered, looking disgruntled. "What a silly question to put to me."

"Tie this rope around the door handles, Christina. Make it good and tight. If anyone tries to break in, I'll hear the noise. All right?"

Lyon checked the windows. Age had sealed them tight. "Yes, Lyon, I'll not let you down," Christina said from behind him.

"Now listen well, my little warrior," Lyon said in a hard voice. He took hold of her shoulders to give her a squeeze. "You're going to wait inside this room until the danger is over. Do you understand me?"

His voice had been harsh, angry. It didn't seem to worry Christina, though. She was still smiling up at him. "I really would like to help you, Lyon. After all, I would remind you that they are my attackers. Surely you will allow me to do my part."

"Surely I will not," Lyon roared. "You'd just get in my way, Christina," he added in a softer voice.

"Very well," Christina said. She turned to the small oval mirror hanging on the wall adjacent to the windows and began the task of braiding her hair. She looked so graceful, so feminine. When she lifted her arms, her gown edged up above her ankles.

"You've forgotten to put your shoes on," Lyon said, a smile in his voice. "Again."

"Again? Whatever do you mean?" Christina asked, turning back to him.

He shook his head. "Never mind. You might as well leave your hair alone. You aren't going to get involved."

Her smile reeked of sincerity. Lyon was immediately suspicious. "Give me your word, Christina. Now."

"What word?" she asked, feigning innocence. She turned away from his glare and started braiding her hair again.

Lyon held his patience. The little innocent didn't realize he could see her reflection in the mirror. She wasn't looking sincere now, only very, very determined.

He would gain her promise, even if he had to shake it out of her. Her safety was his primary concern, of course. Lyon wasn't about to let anything happen to her. But there was another reason as well. Though it was insignificant in comparison with the first, it still worried him. In truth, he didn't want her to watch him. There was a real possibility Christina would become more frightened of him than of Splickler and his men by the time the night was over.

Lyon didn't fight fair, or honorably either. Christina couldn't have heard about his past. Now that he realized how much he cared about her, he wanted to protect her from the world in general, bastards like Splickler in particular… but protect her from knowing about his dark side, too. He didn't want to disillusion her. She believed he was simply the Marquess of Lyonwood, nothing more, nothing less. God help him, he meant to keep her innocent.

He thought he'd lose her if she knew the truth.

"I promise I won't interfere until you ask me to," Christina said, interrupting his dour thoughts. "Mrs. Smitherson did show me how to defend myself," she hastened to add when he gave her a dark look. "I would know what to do."

"Summerton," Lyon answered on a long, drawn-out sigh. "The people who raised you were called Summerton."

His mood was just like the wind, Christina decided. Completely unpredictable. He wasn't smiling now but looking as though he was contemplating murder.

"You act as though we have all the time in the world before our visitors arrive," Christina remarked. "Won't they be here soon?" she asked, hoping to turn his attention away from whatever sinister thought had him glaring so.

"Not for a while yet," Lyon answered. "Stay here while I have a look around."

Christina nodded. The minute he was out of sight she ran upstairs to fetch a ribbon for her hair. And her knife, of course. Lyon was going to get her help whether he wanted it or not.

She was back inside the drawing room, sitting demurely on the worn settee, her knife hidden under the cushion, when Lyon returned.

"I've decided to make it easy for Splickler."

"How?"

"Left the back door unlatched."

"That was most accommodating of you."

Lyon smiled over the praise in her voice. He walked over to stand directly in front of her. His big hands rested on his hips, his legs were braced apart, and Christina was given the disadvantage of having to tilt her head back as far as she could just to see his face. Since he was smiling again, she assumed his mood had lightened. "If you're sure they'll come through the garden, why let them inside the house at all? Why not greet them outside?"

"Greet them?" Lyon shook his head. "Christina, they aren't coming here to speak to you. There might very well be a fight."

He hated to worry her but knew she needed to understand. "Well, of course there will be a fight," Christina answered. "That's the reason I prefer you to meet them outside, Lyon. I'm the one who'll have to clean up the mess, after all."

He hadn't thought of that. And when he realized she thoroughly understood what was going to happen, he was immensely relieved. "You're very brave," he told her. "The moon, however, gives too much light. I memorized every detail of the room they'll enter before I put out the candles. They'll have the disadvantage."

"They'll also have to come through one at a time," Christina interjected. "A very cunning idea, Lyon. But what if they climb the vines instead of trying the door?"

"They won't, sweetheart."

He seemed so certain, Christina decided not to worry about it. She watched him walk over to the doors. "Time to put out the candles, love. Tie the rope around the doorknobs first, all right? You aren't frightened, are you? I'll take care of you. I promise."

"I trust you, Lyon."

Her answer warmed him. "And I trust you to stay here."

" Lyon?"

"Yes, Christina?"

"Be careful."

"I will."

"Oh, and Lyon?"

"Yes?"

"You'll try not to make too much of a messr won't you?"

"I'll try."

He winked at her before closing the door behind him. Christina tied the rope around the two door handles, forming a tight double knot. She blew out the candles and settled down to wait.

The minutes dragged by at a turtle's pace. Christina kept straining to hear sounds from the back of the house. For that reason, she was quite unprepared to hear a scraping sound coming from the front windows.

They weren't suppose to come through the front of the house. Lyon was going to be disappointed. Christina felt like instructing the villains to go around back, then realized how foolish that suggestion would have been. She decided she'd just have to wait it out in hopes they'd give up trying to breach the windows and eventually try the back door.

"Christina?"

Her name was called out in a soft whisper, but she recognized the voice all the same. The Earl of Rhone was trying to get her attention.

She pulled the drape back and found Rhone hanging on the ledge, grinning up at her. The smile didn't stay long-nor did Rhone, for that matter. He suddenly lost his grip on the ledge and disappeared. A soft thud came next, followed by several indecent curses telling Christina the poor man hadn't landed on his feet.

She was going to have to fetch him out of the hedges, she decided. He was making such a commotion he was sure to alert the mischief makers.

Rhone met her at the front door. He looked a sight, for his jacket was ripped away from his sleeve, his cravat was soiled and undone, and he was favoring one leg.

He was such a clumsy man, she thought, yet her heart wanned to him all the same. Lyon must have confided in him. Christina believed he'd ventured out to give his friend assistance. It was the only answer for such an unexpected visit. "You look as though you've already lost one fight. Rhone, behind you!"

A crash echoing from the back of the house nearly drowned out her voice. Rhone caught her warning, however. He reacted with good speed, wasted little time by turning around to face the threat, and used his right shoulder to shove the door into the face of a wiry-looking man trying to barrel through the opening. His legs were buckled to the task, his face red with exertion.

When it became evident he wasn't going to get the door closed without her help, Christina added her own strength.

" Lyon!"

Rhone 's shout made her ears ring. "Go and hide someplace," Rhone gasped out to Christina, his voice strained.

"Christina. Go back inside the salon."

Lyon 's voice came from behind her. Christina thought only to glance over her shoulder to explain that her weight was needed to get the door closed, but the sight that met her pushed her explanation out of her mind.

She slowly turned around and took a tentative step forward. She was too dazed to move more quickly.

The transformation in the Marquess held her spellbound. He didn't even resemble an Englishman now. His jacket was gone, his shirt torn to the waist. Blood trickled down his chin from a cut on the side of his mouth. It wasn't a significant wound, and it didn't frighten her. Neither did the splatter of blood on his sleeve, for she instinctively knew the blood wasn't his… no, she wasn't frightened of his appearance.

The look in his eyes was another matter. He looked ready to kill. Lyon appeared to be quite calm. His arms were folded across his chest, and his expression was almost bored. It was all a lie, of course. The truth was there, in his eyes.

"Now!"

His bellow shook her from her daze. Christina didn't even spare a backward glance for Rhone as she ran toward the drawing room.

"Get out of the way, Rhone."

Rhone didn't hesitate to follow Lyon 's order. As soon as he jumped back, three men the size of giants lunged inside. They fell, one atop another. Rhone stood in the corner, hoping Lyon would ask for his help.

Lyon stood in the center of the foyer patiently waiting for the three cutthroats to get back on their feet. Rhone thought that was just a bit too accommodating of his friend.

He was outnumbered, outweighed, outweaponed. The men now crouched in front of him all held knives in their hands. One of the bastards clutched a dagger in each hand.

Someone started to snicker. Rhone smiled. The poor fool obviously didn't realize Lyon still had the advantage.

The fat man in the center suddenly lashed out at Lyon with his blade. Lyon 's boot caught him under his chin. The force of the blow lifted the man high enough in the air for Lyon to slam his fists into the man's groin. The attacker blacked out before he hit the floor.

The other two attacked in unison just as another man came charging up the front steps. Rhone heard him coming, reached out, and kicked the door shut. The howl of pain radiating through the door told Rhone his timing had been excellent.

Rhone never took his gaze off Lyon. Though he'd seen him in battles before, Lyon 's strength continued to impress him. Lyon used his elbow to crack one man's jaw while he anchored the other man's arm away from him. He dealt with him next, and when Rhone heard the snap of bone he knew Lyon had broken the man's wrist.

Bodies littered the entrance when Lyon was done. "Open the door, Rhone."

"Hell, you're not even out of breath," Rhone muttered. He got the door open, then moved out of the way as Lyon, showing not the least amount of effort, lifted each man and threw him out into the street. "We work well together," Rhone commented. "We?"

"I watch, you work," Rhone explained. "I see."

"What happened to Splickler? Did he come in through the back door, or did he run away?"

Lyon grinned at Rhone, then nodded toward the pyramid of bodies at the bottom of the steps. "Splickler's on the bottom. I think you probably broke his nose when you slammed the door in his face."

"Then I did do my part," Rhone announced, puffing up like a cloud.

Lyon began to laugh. He whacked Rhone on the shoulder, then turned to find Christina standing in the center of the doorway.

She looked like she'd just seen a ghost. The color was gone from her cheeks, and her eyes were wide with fright. Lyon 's heart lurched. God, she must have seen the fight. He took a step toward her but stopped when she took a step back.

He felt defeated. She was afraid of him. Lord, he'd meant to protect her, not terrify her.

Christina suddenly ran to him. She threw herself into his arms, very nearly knocking both of them to the floor. Lyon didn't understand what had caused the change in her attitude, yet he was thankful all the same. Relief washed the rigidity from his stance. He put his arms around her, rested his chin on the top of her head, and let out a long sigh. "I'm never going to understand you, am I?"

"I'm so happy you aren't angry with me."

Her voice was muffled against his chest, but he understood her. "Why would I be angry with you?"

"Because I broke my promise," Christina reminded him. "I left the salon to let Rhone in the front door."

Lyon looked over at his friend. "I specifically remember telling you to go home." He frowned at his friend, then suddenly noticed his appearance. "What happened to you? I don't recall you getting in the fight."

"A little mishap," Rhone said.

"He fell in the hedge," Christina explained, smiling over the embarrassment she could see in Rhone 's face. Why, the man was actually blushing.

"The hedge?" Lyon sounded incredulous.

"I think I'll walk home. Your carriage is probably waiting in front of my townhouse, Lyon. I'll have your driver bring it along for you. Good evening, Princess Christina."

"No, you really mustn't walk. Lyon, you should-"

"Let him walk. It's only a short distance away," Lyon interjected.

Christina didn't argue further. Someone was going to have to fetch the carriage, and she preferred that Rhone took care of the matter so that she could spend a few minutes alone with Lyon.

"Thank you for your assistance, Rhone. Lyon, what are you going to do about those men cluttering my walkway? And am I mistaken, or are there one or two in the back of the house as well?"

"There are two," Lyon said. "I threw them out back."

"They'll wake up and crawl home," Rhone advised. "Unless, of course, you-"

"I didn't," Lyon said.

"Didn't what?" Christina asked.

"Kill them," Rhone said.

" Rhone, don't frighten her," Lyon said.

"Goodness, I hope not. Think of the mess." Christina sounded appalled, but for all the wrong reasons. Both Lyon and Rhone started laughing.

"Shouldn't you be crying or something?" Rhone asked.

"Should I?"

"No, Christina, you shouldn't," Lyon said. "Now quit frowning."

"You aren't wearing any shoes, Christina," Rhone suddenly blurted out.

"Do be careful walking home," Christina answered, ignoring his comment about her bare feet. "Don't let anyone see your bandage. They might begin to wonder."

As soon as the door was bolted shut, Christina turned back to Lyon, only to find that he was already halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Where are you going?"

"To wash," Lyon called back. "Wasn't there a pitcher of water in your room, Christina?"

He was out of sight before she could give him a proper answer. Christina hurried up the steps after him.

When she caught up with him she wished she'd waited below the stairs. Lyon had already stripped out of his shirt. He was bent over the basin, splashing water on his face and arms.

Christina was suddenly overwhelmed by his size. She could see the sinewy strength in his upper arms, his shoulders; a pelt of golden hair covered his chest, narrowed to a line above the flat of his stomach, then disappeared below the waistband of his pants. She'd never seen the like. She was fascinated and wondered what it would be like to be held in his arms now.

He reached for the cloth. Christina took the strip of linen from his hands and began to pat his face dry. "Your skin is so dark, Lyon. Have you been working in the sun without your shirt on?" she asked.

"When I was on my ship I used to," Lyon answered.

"You have a ship?" Christina answered, sounding quite pleased.

"Had a ship," Lyon corrected. "Fire destroyed it, but I plan to build another."

"With your own hands, Lyon?"

Lyon smiled down at her. "No, love. I'll hire others to do the work."

"I liked the ship I was on when I came to England. I didn't like it much below the deck though. It was too confining," she admitted with a shrug.

Her voice trembled. So did her hands when she started to dry his shoulders. There were several glorious marks on him, and the sight of such handsome scars made her heartbeat quicken.

For the first time in his life, Lyon was actually feeling a little awkward. Christina was such a beautiful woman, while he was covered with marks. They were reminders of his black past, Lyon thought, but the ugly scars hadn't bothered him until this moment

"I promise to take you on my new ship," he heard himself say.

"I would like that, Lyon," Christina answered. The towel dropped to the floor when she gently traced the long, curved scar on Lyon 's chest. "You are so handsome," she whispered.

"I'm covered with flaws," Lyon whispered back. His voice sounded hoarse to him.

"Oh, no, they are marks of valor. They are beautiful."

She was looking up at him, staring into his eyes, and Lyon thought he'd never get used to her beauty.

"We should go back downstairs." Even as he said the words, he was pulling her into his arms. God help him, he couldn't stop himself. The realization that he was alone with her, that they were in fact in her bedroom, rocked all the gentlemanly thoughts out of his mind.

"Will you kiss me before we go downstairs?" she asked.

Lyon thought she looked as though she'd already been kissed. A faint blush covered her cheeks, and her eyes had turned a deep blue again.

The woman obviously didn't understand her own jeopardy. And if she only knew the wild thoughts rambling through his mind, her face would turn as white as the sheets.

She trusted him. She wouldn't have asked him to kiss her if she didn't trust him. Lyon was going to have to control his baser instincts. Yes, he was going to be a gentleman.

One kiss surely wouldn't hurt. He'd wanted to take her into his arms the moment the fight had ended. The anger had been flowing like lava through his veins. Oh, he'd wanted her then, with a primitive passion that had shaken him.

And then she'd backed away from him. The sudden remembrance gave him a start.

"Christina, are you afraid of me?"

She could tell he was serious. The worry in his gaze said he was. The question was puzzling. "Why would you think I'd be afraid of you?" she asked, trying not to laugh. He did look terribly concerned.

"After the fight, when you backed away from me…"

She did smile then, couldn't help herself. " Lyon, the little skirmish I witnessed couldn't possibly be called a fight… and you actually thought I was afraid?"

He was so surprised by her comment, he immediately defended himself. "Well, I'll admit that I didn't think it was much of a fight either, but when you stared at me with such a frightened look on your face I naturally assumed you were upset. Hell, Christina, most women would have been hysterical."

By the time he'd finished his statement, he'd gone from sounding very matter-of-fact to muttering with irritation.

"Was it my duty to weep, Lyon? I apologize if I've displeased you, but I've still to understand all your laws."

"You could make a duck daft," Lyon announced.

Because he was grinning down at her, Christina decided not to let her exasperation show. "You're the most confusing man," she remarked. "I have to keep reminding myself that you're English."

The temptation was too compelling. Before she could stop her inclination, she reached out to touch his chest. The heat in his skin felt good against her fingertips, the mat of hair crisp yet soft.

"I wasn't afraid of you, Lyon," Christina whispered, avoiding his eyes now. "I've never been afraid of you. How could I be? You're such a gentle, kind man."

He didn't know how to answer her. She sounded almost in awe of him. She was wrong, of course. He'd never been kind or gentle. A man could change, though. Lyon determined to be anything and everything Christina wanted him to be. By God, if she thought him gentle, then gentle he'd be.

"You really are a warrior, aren't you, Lyon?"

"Do you want me to be?" he asked, sounding confused.

"Oh, yes," Christina answered, daring a quick look up.

"Warriors aren't gentle," he reminded her.

She didn't want to press the issue because she knew he wouldn't understand. He was wrong, but it would be rude of her to set him straight. Her hands slipped around his neck, her fingers entwining in his soft, curly hair.

She felt him shudder; his muscles tightened.

Lyon would have spoken to her, but he was certain his voice would betray him. Her touch was driving him to distraction.

Gentle, he cautioned himself, I have to be gentle with her. He placed a kiss on her forehead. Christina closed her eyes and sighed, encouraging him. He kissed her on the bridge of her freckled nose next and finally reached her soft lips.

It was a very gentle kiss. Sweet. Undemanding.

Until her tongue touched his. The hunger inside him seemed to ignite. The feeling was so intoxicating, so overpowering, he forgot all about gentleness. His tongue penetrated her warmth, tasting, probing, taking.

When Christina pulled him closer, his demand increased until all he could think about was filling her… completely.

She wasn't resisting. No, her soft moans told him she didn't want him to stop. Her hips cuddled his arousal. He knew her action was instinctive, yet the way she slowly arched against him made him wild. She felt so good, so right.

Lyon dragged his mouth away from hers with a harsh groan. "I want to make love to you, Christina," he whispered against her ear. "If we're going to stop, it has to be now."

Christina's head fell back as Lyon rained wet kisses along the column of her throat. Her hands, still entwined in his hair, clenched, pulled, begged.

He knew he'd soon be past the caring point. Lyon tried to separate himself from the torment. "God, Christina, walk away from me. Now."

Walk away? Dear Lord, she could barely stand up. Every part of her body responded to his touch. She could hear the anger in his voice, could feel the tension in his powerful hold. Her mind tried to make sense out of the confusion of his reaction. "I don't want to stop, Lyon."

She knew he'd heard her. Lyon clasped her shoulders, squeezed until it was painful. Christina looked into his eyes, saw the desire there. The force of his passion overwhelmed her, robbed her of her own strength to think logically.

"Do you know what you're saying to me?"

She answered him the only way she knew how. Christina used her body to give him permission. She deliberately arched against him again, then pulled his head down toward her.

She kissed him with a passion that sent his senses reeling. Lyon was at first too stunned to do more than react to her boldness, but he soon became the aggressor again.

He wanted to pleasure her so completely that any memory of other men would be washed away. She would belong to him, now and forever.

Lyon fumbled with the fastenings at the back of her gown, his mouth fastened on hers. Christina heard the sound of material being ripped away. He suddenly pulled her hands away from him, then tore the gown completely free. The dress fell to the floor.

There were no undergarments to hinder his gaze. When he took a step back, Christina stood before him, her hands at her sides.

Her body belonged to him. He was her lion. Christina accepted the truth, repeated it again and again inside her mind, trying to overcome her shyness, her fear.

She couldn't shield her body from him… or her heart.

Both belonged to Lyon.

Lyon 's gaze was ravenous as it swept over her. She was so perfectly formed, so very, very beautiful. Her skin was smooth, creamy-looking in the soft candlelight. Her breasts were high, full, taut. The nipples were erect, waiting for his touch. Her waist was so narrow, her stomach flat, her hips slender.

She was irresistible.

And she belonged to him.

Lyon 's hands shook when he reached for her, drew her back into his arms.

Christina gasped from the initial contact of her bare breasts against his chest. His hair tickled her, his skin warmed her, and the way he controlled his strength as he held her close to him made her forget all her fears. She was innocent of men, yes, yet she knew with a certainty that made tears come to her eyes that Lyon would be gentle with her.

She kissed his throat where she could see the throbbing of his pulse, then rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his wonderful masculine scent, waiting for him to show her what to do.

Lyon slowly untied the ribbon from the bottom of Christina's braid, then unwound the silky curls until a blanket of sunlight covered her back. He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed, pausing only to pull the covers back before placing her in the center.

Christina tried to protest, to tell him it was her duty to undress him, but Lyon had already taken his shoes and socks off. Her voice became locked in her throat when he stripped out of the rest of his clothes, and all she could do was stare at him in wonder.

He was the most magnificent warrior she'd ever seen. The power was there, in his arms and legs. His thighs were muscular, strong, beautiful. His arousal was full, hard, and when he came to lie on top of her Christina instinctively opened herself to him. He settled himself between her thighs. Christina had barely accepted his weight before he captured her mouth for another searing kiss.

Christina wrapped her arms around his waist. His mouth had never felt so wonderful, his tongue never so exciting. His hands were never still, stroking, caressing, giving her shivers of pleasure. Their legs entwined, and when Lyon moved to take her breast into his mouth her toes brushed against his legs. Her moans of pleasure drove him wild. His hands fondled her breasts while his tongue swirled around one nipple and then the other. When he finally began to suckle, a white-hot knot of need started to burn inside her.

Christina's hips moved restlessly, rubbing against his arousal. She wanted to touch him, to worship his body the way he was worshipping hers, but the sensations coursing through her body were too new, too raw. She could only cling to him and beg him with her whimpers.

His hands settled between her thighs to tease her sensitive skin. His fingers soon made her wild with need, caressing the nub protected by her soft curls until she was moist with desire. His fingers penetrated her tight sheath just as his tongue thrust into her mouth.

Lyon could feel the incredible heat of her. He was nearly out of control now, for Christina was so unashamedly responsive to his touch. He couldn't wait much longer, knew he'd soon lose his control. He cautioned himself against hurrying her even as his thigh pushed her legs further apart.

"From this moment on you belong to me, Christina. Now and forever."

He entered her with a swift, determined thrust, lifting her hips with his hands to penetrate her completely.

She was a virgin. The realization came late. Lyon was fully embedded inside her now. He took a deep breath and tried not to move. The effort nearly killed him. Christina was so hot, so tight; she fit him perfectly.

His heart was slamming against his chest. His breath was harsh, choppy. "Why didn't you tell me?" he finally asked her. He propped himself up on his elbows to look down into her face. God, she hadn't made a sound. Had he hurt her? "Why didn't you tell me you haven't been with a man before?" he asked again, capturing her face with his hands.

"Please, Lyon, don't be angry," Christina whispered.

She knew she was going to start weeping. The fierce light in his eyes frightened her. Her body was throbbing with pain from his invasion, and every muscle was tense, tingling. "I'm sorry if I disappointed you," she apologized in a ragged voice. "But I didn't want you to stop. Could you be disappointed later, please?"

"I'm not disappointed," Lyon answered. "I'm very pleased." He was trying to keep his voice soft, gentle. It was an excruciating task, because his arousal was begging for release, and all he wanted to do was spill his seed into her.

He was going to make certain she found complete satisfaction first. "I'll try not to hurt you, Christina."

"You already did."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'll stop," he promised, knowing full well he wouldn't.

"No," Christina protested. Her nails dug into his shoulders, keeping him inside her. "It will be better now, won't it?"

Lyon moved, groaning over the pleasure he gained. "Do you like that?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Christina answered. She arched her hips up against him, pulling him higher inside her. "Do you like that?"

He might have nodded. She was too consumed by the waves of heat to notice. His mouth slanted over hers then, claiming her full attention.

Lyon tried to be tender, but she was making it an impossible quest. She kept moving against him restlessly, demandingly, urgently. Lyon 's discipline deserted him.

"Easy, love, don't let me hurt you."

" Lyon!"

"Christina, why did you let me think you'd been with other men?"

Lyon was stretched out on his back, his hands behind his head. Christina was cuddled up against his side, one shapely leg draped over his thigh. Her face rested on his chest. "Let you think?" she asked him.

"You know my meaning," Lyon said, ignoring the laughter he'd heard in her voice.

"It seemed unimportant to argue with you. Your mind was set on the matter. Besides, you probably wouldn't have believed the truth anyway."

"I might have believed you," he protested. He knew he was lying. No, he wouldn't have believed her.

"Why did you think I'd-"

"It's the way you kissed me," Lyon explained, grinning.

"What is the matter with the way I kiss you? I was only imitating you."

"Oh, nothing's the matter, love. I like your… enthusiasm."

"Thank you, Lyon," Christina said, after she'd given him a good look to see if he was jesting with her or not. "I like the way you kiss, too."

"What else do you imitate?" Lyon asked. Because he was teasing her, he was unprepared for her answer. "Oh, everything. I'm quite good at it, you know, especially if I like what I'm imitating."

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Christina," Lyon whispered. "If you'd told me you were a virgin before, I could have made it easier for you."

Lyon was feeling a bit guilty, but terribly arrogant, too. She belonged to him. He hadn't realized just how possessive he could be. Lyon wanted to believe Christina wouldn't have given herself to him unless she loved him.

He knew she'd reached fulfillment. Lord, she'd cried out his name loud enough for the streetwalkers to hear. A smile settled on his face. She hadn't been the delicate little flower he'd thought she was. When she let go, she let go. Wild. Totally uncontrolled. And loud, Lyon admitted. His ears were still ringing from her lusty shouts. Lyon didn't think he could ever be happier. No, Christina hadn't held back. He had the scratches to prove it.

Now all he wanted to hear from her was the truth inside her heart. He wanted her to tell him how much she loved him.

Lyon let out a long sigh. He was acting just like a virgin on his wedding night. Uncertain. Vulnerable.

" Lyon, do all Englishmen have such hair on their bodies?"

Her question nudged him away from his thoughts. "Some do, others don't," he answered with a shrug that nearly pushed her off his chest. "Haven't you ever seen Mr. Summerton without his shirt on, love?" he teased.

"Who?"

He wasn't going to remind her again. If the woman couldn't keep her lies straight, he certainly wasn't going to help. Lyon was immediately irritated. He knew it was his own fault for bringing up the lie, but that didn't seem to matter. "Christina, now that we've become so intimate, you don't have to fabricate stories any longer. I want to know everything about you," he added, his voice a little more intense than he wished. "No matter what your childhood was like, I'll still care for you."

Christina didn't want to answer his questions. She didn't want to have to lie to him again… not now. A warm glow still surrounded her heart. Lyon had been such a tender lover. "Did I please you, Lyon?" she asked, trailing her fingers down his chest to distract him.

"Very much," he answered. He captured her hand when she'd reached his navel. "Honey, tell me about-"

"Aren't you going to ask me if you pleased me?" she asked, pulling her hand free of his grasp.

"No."

"Why not?"

Lyon took a deep breath. He could feel himself getting hard again. "Because I know I pleased you," he ground out. "Christina, stop that. It's too soon for you. We can't make love again."

Her hand touched his arousal, stealing the breath out of his protest. Lyon let out a low groan. His hand dropped to his side when she began to place wet kisses on the flat of his indrawn stomach. She moved lower to taste more of him.

"No more," Lyon commanded.

He pulled her by her hair, twisting the curls to get her attention. "If you want to tease, you'd better wait until tomorrow," he warned. "A man can only take so much, Christina."

"How much?" she whispered. Her mouth was getting closer to his hard shaft.

Lyon jerked her back up to his chest. "We only have this one night," Christina protested.

"No, Christina," Lyon said. "We have a lifetime."

She didn't answer him, but she knew he was wrong. Her eyes filled with tears when she turned her face away from him. Christina was almost desperate to touch him again, to taste all of him. The memory of her Lyon would have to stay with her… forever.

She lowered her head to his stomach again. She kissed him there, moved to his thighs next, and finally between them.

His scent was just as intoxicating as the taste of him. She was only given a few minutes to learn his secrets, however, before Lyon dragged her up on top of him.

He kissed her hungrily as he rolled her to his side. Christina moved her leg over his thigh and begged him with her mouth and her hands to come to her.

She was more than ready for him. Lyon was shaken when he touched the sweet wetness between her thighs. He slowly penetrated her warmth, holding her hips in a fierce grip, determined not to let her hurt herself by pushing up against him too quickly.

She bit him on his shoulder in retaliation. Lyon was driving her mad. He slowly penetrated her, then withdrew just as slowly. It was agonizing. Maddening.

He had the patience and the endurance of a warrior. She thought she could withstand the sweet torment for the rest of her life. But Lyon was far more adept at the ways of loving than she was. When his hand slipped between them and he touched the heat of her in such a knowing way, her control completely vanished.

Her climax was unimaginable, consuming her. Christina clung to him, her face pillowed against the side of his neck, her eyes tightly closed against the hot sensations shooting through her body.

Lyon was no longer controlled. His thrusts became powerful. When she instinctively arched against him, tightened herself around him, he found his release. The force of his climax stunned him. Lyon felt it in the very depths of his soul.

He was at peace.

Several long minutes elapsed before he could slow his racing heart or his ragged breath. He was too content to move.

Christina was crying. Lyon suddenly felt the wetness of her tears on his shoulder. The realization jarred him out of his haze. "Christina?" he whispered, hugging her close to him. "Did I hurt you again?"

"No."

"You're all right?"

She nodded against his chin.

"Then why are you crying?"

If he hadn't sounded so caring, she might have been able to restrain herself. There wasn't any need to be quiet about it now, since he knew she was weeping, and she was soon wailing, loud and undignified as a crazed old squaw.

Lyon was horrified. He rolled Christina on her back, brushed her hair out of her face, and gently wiped her tears away. "Tell me, love. What is it?"

"Nothing."

It was a ludicrous answer, of course, but Lyon held his patience. "I really didn't hurt you?" he asked, unable to keep fear out of his voice. "Please, Christina. Quit crying and tell me what's the matter."

"No."

His sigh was strong enough to dry the tears from her cheeks. Lyon cupped the sides of her face, his thumbs rubbing the soft skin below her chin. "I'm not going to move until you tell me what's bothering you, Christina. Your aunt will find us in just this position when she comes home next week."

She knew he meant what he said. He had a stubborn look on his face. The muscle in the side of his jaw flexed. "I've never felt the way you make me feel, Lyon. It frightened me," she admitted.

She started crying again. Dear God, how could she ever leave him? The full truth was unbearable. Shameful. Lyon probably loved her. No, she admitted, shaking her head. He loved a princess.

"Christina, you were a virgin. Of course you were frightened," he said. "Next time it won't be so terrifying for you. I promise you, my sweet."

"But there can't be a next time," Christina wailed. She pushed against Lyon 's shoulders. He immediately shifted his weight, then rolled to his side.

"Of course there's going to be another time," he said. "We'll be married first, just as soon as possible. Now what have I said?"

He had to shout his question. Christina was making so much noise he knew she wouldn't have been able to hear him if he'd spoken in a normal tone of voice.

"You said you wouldn't marry me."

Ah, so that was the reason. "I've changed my mind," Lyon announced. He smiled, for he understood her real anxiety now. He was also very pleased with himself. Lord, he'd just said the word marriage without blanching. Even more amazing was the fact that he really wanted to marry her.

The turnabout stunned him.

Christina struggled to sit up. She threw her hair over her shoulder when she turned to look at Lyon. She stared at him a long while and tried to form an explanation that wouldn't sound confusing. Christina finally decided to say as little as possible. "I've changed my mind, too. I can't marry you."

She jumped off the bed before Lyon could stop her, then hurried over to her chest to get her robe. "At first I thought I could, because I knew you'd be able to make my stay in England so much more bearable, but that was when I thought I'd be able to leave you."

"Damn it, Christina, if this is some kind of game you're playing, I would advise you to stop."

"It isn't a game," Christina protested. She tied the belt around her waist, pausing to wipe the fresh tears away from her face, then walked back over to stand at the foot of the bed. Her head was bowed. "You want to marry Princess Christina," she said. "Not me."

"You're not making any sense," Lyon muttered. He got out of bed and walked over to stand behind her.

He hadn't the faintest idea what was going through her mind, and he told himself it didn't matter.

"You can tell me all the lies you want to, but the way you just gave yourself to me was honest enough. You want me as much as I want you."

He was about to pull her up against him when her next comment gave him pause. "It doesn't matter."

The sadness in her voice tore at him. "This isn't a game, is it? You really think you aren't going to marry me."

"I can't."

Her simple answer made him livid. "The hell you can't. We're getting married, Christina, just as soon as I can make the arrangements. God's truth, if you shake your head at me one more time I'm going to beat you."

"You needn't shout at me," Christina said. "It's almost dawn, Lyon. We are both too tired for this discussion."

"Why did you ask me to marry you," he asked, "and then change your mind?"

"I thought I'd be able to marry you for just a little while and then-"

"Marriage is forever, Christina."

"According to your laws, not mine," she answered. She took a step away from him. "I'm too upset to speak of this tonight, and I'm afraid you'll never understand anyway-"

Lyon reached out to pull her up against his chest. His hands circled her waist. "Did you know before we made love that you weren't going to marry me?"

Christina closed her eyes against the anger in his voice. "You had already declined my proposal," she said. "And yes, I knew I wouldn't marry you."

"Then why did you give yourself to me?" he asked, sounding incredulous.

"You fought for my honor. You protected me," she answered.

He was infuriated over her perplexed tone of voice. She acted as though he should have understood. "Then it's damned fortunate someone else didn't-"

"No, I wouldn't have slept with any other Englishman. Our destiny is-"

"Your destiny is to become my wife, understand, Christina?" he shouted.

Christina pulled away from him, somewhat surprised he'd let her go. "I hate England, do you understand me?" she shouted back at him. "I couldn't survive here. The people are so strange. They run from one tiny little box to another. And there are so many of them, a person has no room to breathe. I couldn't-"

"What little boxes?" Lyon asked.

"The houses, Lyon. No one ever stays outside. They scurry like mice from one place to another. I couldn't live like that. I couldn't breathe. And I don't like the English people, either. What say you to that full truth, Lyon? Do you think me daft? Perhaps I'm as crazy as everyone here believes my mother was."

"Why don't you like the people?" he asked. His voice had turned soft, soothing, Christina thought he really might be thinking she'd just lost her mind.

"I don't like the way they act," she announced. "The women take lovers after they've pledged themselves to a mate. They treat their old like discarded garbage. That is their most appalling flaw," Christina said. "The old should be honored, not ignored. And their children, Lyon. I hear about the little ones, but I've yet to see one. The mothers lock their children away in their schoolrooms. Don't they understand the children are the heartbeat of the family? No, Lyon, I could not survive here."

She paused to take a deep breath, then suddenly realized Lyon didn't look very upset about her comments. "Why aren't you angry?" she asked.

He grabbed her when she tried to step away from him again, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close to him. "First of all, I agree with most of what you've just said. Second, all during your irate protest you kept saying'they,' not 'you.' You didn't include me with the others, and as long as it's the other English you dislike, that's quite all right with me. You told me once you thought I was different. It's why you've been drawn to me, isn't it? It doesn't really matter." he added with a sigh. "You and I are both English. You can't change that fact, Christina, just as you can't change the fact that you belong to me now."

"I'm not English where it matters most, Lyon."

"And where might that be?" Lyon asked.

"In my heart."

He smiled. She sounded like a small child in need of comfort. She happened to pull away from him just at that moment, saw his smile, and was infuriated. "How dare you laugh at me when I tell you what is in my heart?" she shouted.

"I dare, all right," Lyon shouted back. "I dare because this is the first time you've ever been completely honest with me. I dare because I'm trying to understand you, Christina," he added, taking a menacing step toward her. "I dare because I happen to care about you. God only knows why, but I do care."

Christina turned her back on him. "I'll not continue this discussion," she announced. She picked up his pants and threw them at him. "Get dressed and go home. I'm afraid you'll just have to walk, because I don't have a servant available to fetch your carriage for you."

She glanced back at him, took in his startled expression. A sudden thought made her gasp. "Your carriage isn't waiting out front, is it?"

"Oh, hell," he muttered. He had his pants on in quick time, then strode out of the bedroom, barechested and barefooted, still muttering under his breath.

Christina ran after him. "If anyone sees your carriage… well, I can certainly count on someone telling my aunt, can't I?"

"You don't care what the English think, remember?" Lyon shouted back. He threw the front door open, then turned to give her a good glare. "You would have to live on the main street," he said, sounding as if her choice of townhouses had been a deliberate provocation somehow.

Lyon turned to yell instructions to his driver after making that accusation. "Go and wake up the servants, man. Bring half the number over here. They'll stay with Princess Christina until her aunt returns from the country."

He'd been forced by circumstances to bellow his orders. His driver wouldn't have heard him otherwise. No, the parade of carriages coming down the street was making too much of a clatter.

He knew he should have felt a shred of shame for what he was deliberately doing. When he spotted the first carriage rounding the corner, the very least he could have done was wave his driver away and shut the door.

"Thompson's party must have just let out," he remarked in a casual voice to the horrified woman hovering behind his back.

Lyon actually smiled when he heard her gasp, pleased she understood the ramifications well enough. Then he leaned against the door frame and waved at the startled occupants of the first carriage.

"Good eve, Hudson, Lady Margaret," he shouted, totally unconcerned that his pants were only partially buttoned.

Over his shoulder he told Christina, "Lady Margaret looks like she's about to fall out of the carriage, love. She's hanging halfway out the window."

" Lyon, how could you?" Christina asked, clearly appalled by his conduct.

"Destiny, my dear."

"What?"

He waved to three more carriages before he finally closed the door. "That ought to do it," he remarked, more to himself than to the outraged woman looking ready to kill him. "Now, what were you saying about not marrying me, my sweet?"

"You are a man without shame," she shouted when she could find her voice.

"No, Christina. I've just sealed your fate, so to speak. You still do believe in destiny, don't you?"

"I'm not going to marry you, no matter what scandal you weave."

If she hadn't been so infuriated, she might have tried to explain again. But Lyon was grinning at her with such a victorious, arrogant look on his face, she decided to keep the full truth to herself.

He drained the anger right out of her. Lyon suddenly pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. When he finally let go of her, she was too weak to protest.

"You will marry me."

He started back up the stairs in search of his shoes.

Christina held on to the bannister, watching him. "Do you think ruining my reputation will matter, Lyon?"

"It's a nice start," Lyon called back. "Remember, what will be is going to be. Your words, Christina, not mine."

"I'll tell you what's going to be," she shouted. "I won't be in England long enough to care about my reputation. Don't you understand, Lyon? I have to go home."

She knew he'd heard her. She'd shouted loud enough to rattle the walls. Lyon disappeared around the corner, but Christina patiently waited for him to come back downstairs. She wasn't about to go chasing after him again. No, she knew she'd end up back in bed with him if she went up the stairs. God help her, she'd probably be the one to suggest it. Lyon was simply too appealing, and she was too weak-hearted to fight him.

Besides, she told herself, she hated him. The man had the morals of a rattlesnake.

He was dressed when he came downstairs. He was ignoring her, too. Lyon didn't speak another word until his carriage had returned with two big men and one heavyset maid. Then he spoke to his staff, giving them his orders.

Christina was infuriated with his high-handed manner. When he instructed the men to see to her protection, to let no one enter her home without his permission, she decided to protest.

The look he gave her made her reconsider. She was seeing a different side of Lyon 's character now. He was very like Black Wolf when he was addressing his warriors. Lyon was just as cold, as rigid, as commanding. Christina instinctively knew it would be better not to argue with him now.

She decided to ignore him just as thoroughly as he was ignoring her. That decision was short-lived, however. Christina was staring into the fireplace, trying to pretend the man didn't even exist, when she heard a rather descriptive curse. She turned just in time to see Lyon jump up from the settee.

He'd sat on her knife.

"Serves you justice," she muttered when he held the blade up and glared at it.

She tried to snatch her weapon away from him, but Lyon wouldn't let her have it. "It belongs to me," she announced.

"And you belong to me, you little warrior," Lyon snapped out. "Admit it, Christina, now, or I swear to the Great Spirit I'll show you how a real warrior uses a knife."

Their gazes held a long, ponderous moment. "You really don't know what you're trying to catch, do you? Very well, Lyon. For now-until you change your mind, that is-I will belong to you. Does that satisfy you?"

Lyon dropped the knife and pulled Christina into his arms. He then proceeded to show her just how immensely satisfied he really was.