For the first time in his life Lyon was aroused in mind as well as body.
Every man in the room had remained silent and in awe of the audacious, hot-blooded lady who’d just stood before them, verbally dressing them down to their toes. Not a one of them moved. All continued to stare at the doorway Lady Wake had disappeared through. Only the crackle of the fire was heard.
Lyon was as mesmerized as the rest. Where the devil did she get the courage to be so bold as to take on a roomful of gentlemen?
The countess was mightily impressive. Her eyes had blazed with the right amount of justifiable anger and indignation. Her softly rounded shoulders had been thrown back defiantly. Her breasts heaved as if she’d been running for miles, and the skirt of her drenched silky dress had clung to her shapely legs with indecent splendor. Without question, Lyon knew every man in the room would be dreaming about her all night. The image of her admonishing not only him, but a duke, a viscount, and several other well-respected gentlemen in London Society would be burned into Lyon’s memory forever.
And theirs, too, he had no doubt.
He was also reminded this wasn’t the first time he’d been so stunned by her provoking boldness that he wanted to make her his. From their first encounter he’d known she was a lady with strength and spirit who wouldn’t fold up at the first sign of adversity. He’d sensed her deep feelings, innate passion, and honorable intentions. Opening the boarding school had proved she had a kind, generous heart. A woman most men would want.
Now, his gaming club knew it, too.
Everyone heard the front door shut. Still no one moved until, at last, the Duke of Middlecastle said, “My God, what a lady! A fiery one to be sure,” before plunking back down at the table with a flabbergasted expression still on his face.
“That she is,” Broward agreed, pulling on the layers of lace at his cuffs. “The Dowager Countess Wake. Hmm. I never knew she was so comely or so vigorous. I’d always heard she was of the delicate sort and never left her house.”
“Me too,” Charleston added. “But, she’s no bird with a broken wing, that’s for sure.”
Mumblings of agreement sounded around the room as heads began to nod in agreement.
“If I weren’t already married,” Pritchard said, grunting as he lowered into his chair, “I’d have to have her myself.”
“When did you ever let being married stop you?” Charleston grumbled. “Don’t act as if we don’t know of your numerous dalliances.”
“Now, see here,” Pritchard argued defensively. “You’d be after her yourself if you weren’t too old to catch her attention.”
“Who are you to call one old, my dear man?”
Broward chuckled. “Neither one of you would have a chance if I decide I want her.”
Lyon’s breath was heavy with anger. Each man was issuing his threat to possess Lady Wake as if she’d have no say in the matter at all. Too often widows were easy marks for men and their baser needs. Hostile vibrations thrummed in his chest. Lyon’s natural, primal need to defend her and claim her for his own took over and left little room for civility for the three men verbally going at one another over who could best win the attention if not the affection of such a prize as the countess.
“Shut your mouths,” Lyon snarled, realizing the words could very well start a predatory confrontation in his own home.
The verbal conflict between the men ceased immediately and they all stared at him.
But Lyon wasn’t through. It was a rash, harsh but necessary statement of warning to the men fighting over her. There would be no backing down from this. He would defend her honor and not permit such gutter talk whether or not she’d want it or approve. He waited a few moments to see if anyone was going to test his order and challenge him. No one said a word.
“You are talking about a lady—a countess. You’re all married and should respect your wives and stay silent about your lusts for other women.”
The tension and glowering between the men lingered until Pritchard said, “Very well.”
“Is anyone courting her presently?” Lord Thurston asked to no one specifically after several seconds of silence. He looked around the room. No one answered so he scooted his chair back up to the table, seeming to take no offense at Lyon’s reprimand to the three men challenging one another’s masculinity.
Lyon looked over at the viscount and thought, “She’s taken.”
If any of the men present had a chance of catching Lady Wake’s eye it would be Thurston, and he was eligible if it was marriage he had on his mind. Lyon doubted that. Right now none of them had the right to tell any of the others hands off—including Lyon. Though he was on the verge of doing it anyway.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d upset the countess.
By the look on the viscount’s face, and his low derisive laugh as he picked up his cards and shuffled them in his hands, Lyon knew the man didn’t give a damn what any of them said.
Lord Thurston intended to call on Lady Wake.
Fine. Lyon enjoyed a good fight.
If any of them thought the reason he’d been so aggressive was that he wanted her for himself, none had the courage to call him on it.
Which was best.
He sat down and picked up his drink with one hand and his cards with the other. “There’ll be no further talk of Lady Wake,” he said to everyone in the group, maintaining his ruthless tone. He might not have claimed her for his own, but he’d left them no doubt he would not hear another suggestive word about her. “Next week find another place to have your carriage wait. Let’s get back to the game.”
A muttering of grumblings, grunts, and scrapes of wood against wood rumbled around the tables as the rest of the men seated themselves and prepared to resume their games where they left off. No doubt there would be much talk of this incident in the homes and clubs tomorrow. Lyon didn’t care. If they didn’t like the measure he took to halt their challenges or if they thought he was kowtowing to the countess about their coaches or anything else, they were free to confront him—and no one did. Lyon would have defended any lady against such talk.
He looked down at his cards and caught sight of a pair of soggy kid gloves lying beside his drink. Her reticule was gone. Had she left them there for a reason?
As a challenge?
An invitation?
He didn’t know but he had a feeling she hadn’t simply forgotten them when she picked up her purse. His mind and his heart teased him for a moment, making him think that she was the lady he’d been waiting for and there was no way in hell he was going to let anyone take her from him.
Lyon had an edge. Unlike the other gents in the room, he already had her attention—for the good or bad was questionable.
Returning the gloves to her might prove to be a good start to finding out what she had on her mind when she left them behind and put him on the path of garnering more than just her attention.